I'm waiting in a lobby with my wife like we did two years ago.  Then, we were an engaged couple anticipating the arrival of our baby.  I was just a kid trying to make the abstract of fatherhood real.  Acting like I was ready without wondering who I had to prove it to.  She was starting to show in a white maternity dress, peacefully reading Time magazine while the sun fell on me through her hair.  I asked her what she was reading.  She said something about how one bad genetic experiment could kill food production.  All of the seeds would become sterile.  We laughed, and she asked me what I was reading.  I said something about it getting harder to track asteroids, and asked her if she thought it was a bad time to bring someone into the world.  No way, she said, and I believed her.

I'm waiting in a lobby with my wife like we did two years ago.  Then, we were an engaged couple anticipating the arrival of our baby.  I was just a kid trying to make the abstract of fatherhood real.  Acting like I was ready without wondering who I had to prove it to.  She was starting to show in a white maternity dress, peacefully reading Time magazine while the sun fell on me through her hair.  I asked her what she was reading.  She said something about how one bad genetic experiment could kill food production.  All of the seeds would become sterile.  We laughed, and she asked me what I was reading.  I said something about it getting harder to track asteroids, and asked her if she thought it was a bad time to bring someone into the world.  No way, she said, and I believed her.
       Now, I'm hoping it's possible to be the same person you used to be.  I don't want to tell anyone we're going to marriage counseling.  Haven't said that out loud yet.  I got a magazine but I can't read more than a couple sentences on any page.  We don't look at each other, and I have no clue what she's wearing.  I'm tired of these things: what she did to me, what I did to her, which was worse, what caused what, and any other abstracts of blame.  I ask her if she remembers how much we trusted the doctors with little Peanut.  She says what are you talking about—Peanut was always fine, and then the receptionist calls our name.

       We go to a small white office with just enough room for the two of us and one more.  It's time to get down to the business of marriage repair.  The counselor comes in and I see her long curly black hair.  After she sits down, her knees peak at me through the end of her skirt.  I can hear her talking, but I don't know what she is saying.  I just know it sounds so genuinely optimistic, my head hurts.  I can't resist a peak at the crescent in her v-neck sweater.  Her goddamned chest is dancing while she talks, and it's so perfect I want to cry.  She reminds me how beautiful the world is, how out of place I am.  Even though I'm still trying to reconcile this, the appointment is over.  My wife is ready to go—I'm ready too.