Bigger than this

It’s 7:30 and your alarm is screaming. You open your eyes and think 'you have GOT to be kidding.'

But you force your feet to slide to the floor and into a pair of slippers and pad your way down the hall. You toss a piece of whole wheat bread into your toaster and pour a glass of skim milk. You drag out a yoga mat and yawn your way through a series of crunches.

You eat, shower, try to do something that could be considered acceptable with your freaking wreck of hair. You go into the office. You drink coffee and chat with your co-workers. You drink more coffee.

You check your e-mail, arrange an interview for the story you’re writing, you check your e-mail again. You do some writing, slash some red pen marks through other people’s writing, you go home.

You change into a pair of jogging pants and drag yourself to the gym. You suffer through a 45-minute workout. You go back home.

You set your alarm to time the fifteen minutes you have to soak in a bath. You dry off, get dressed and head off to a board meeting.

You drink more coffee. You give a little presentation about the financial status of the women’s shelter project you’re working on. Two and a half hours later, you get back in your car and drive home.

You open the textbook for the economics class you’re taking and force yourself to study for a half an hour. A measly 30 minutes. 28 minutes pass. You figure this is enough.

You turn on your computer. You open the file and wait for inspiration to come. You decide it will likely come along with the handful of mixed nuts that are calling out to you from the kitchen. Definitely the next handful. You contemplate the right combination of words that will impress the review committee of the grad school program you’re applying to. You work on this for an hour and when your eyes feel like they’re going to bleed or roll out of your head or both, you shut off your computer, wash your face, smear an antioxidant you paid way too much for all over it and climb into bed wishing you never had to get up again.

You lie down, and just as you’re about to close your eyes you notice that the light on your phone is blinking furiously. You know you won’t be able to sleep until you’ve listened to that message. You dial the number and wait.

Her voice comes through the phone and with only the words, ‘Hi Heath,’ you immediately know that everything in her life has changed, for good, forever.

Her baby is born, although there is no more ‘her,’ no more ‘his,’ it’s ‘theirs,’ it’s ‘ours.’ A little girl, a little person, a little life.

Suddenly, your eight hours, your static hair, the flatness or complete and utter lack thereof of your abdominals, the illiteracy story you’re working on, the shelter, the economics class, the applications, they all seem very, very small. You feel very, very small. Like no matter what you do, no matter how hard you work, how little you sleep, how much you study, it will never be big. It will never be bigger than this.