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Show Motherlunge a novel 189 through the bars. We were both thinking about Pavia, I knew. She is coming back. I reminded myself. And thus each of these initial daytimes began and continued until nighttime. There were hours in each of these days in which to wonder about the purpose or cause or normalcy of X.'s behavior or appearance; this uncertainty I have also mentioned. But I followed Pavia's written instructions faithfully, and thus I was kept occupied. This helped. The business of infant care required my arms and back and legs as I lifted and carried and walked and walked and walked my nephew X. Guilt and dread and loneliness covered me like the radiologist's trusty lead apron, but I kept moving. I worked. I had him; I had to. And by the fourth day, each part of the day-which I began to think of as "our" day, was do-able, I found. Pavia was coming back, and we could live the day in small parts and get through till then. For example: Unit 1 was initial diapering and feeding and getting dressed. Unit 2 was activity-goofing off on a spread-out blanket with a few chew toys, or hanging out in the exersaucer-and it concluded with another bottle and a nap. Unit 3 began with diapering but was otherwise identical to Unit 2. Unit 4 was the evening, and we always went out for a stroll. It was cool in the evening, and there was always the chance that something had changed in the world that we should know about, for example the fact that everyone was evacuating because of a disaster or threat of some kind, and I had failed to hear the sirens during our days' earlier Units 2 and 3. In this case, I would need to put aside our charting and catch a ride out of the big city somehow. And I had begun to think that I could do that. I had packed a bag-a black plastic sack, with diapers and wipes, clothes and formula-just in case. |