Title; Can You Feel the Rain?
Author: yours truly, D'C'A'
Rating:G, pretty much
Discalimer;The character of Tara and the Sunnydale setting are property of Mutant Enemy Productions. No compensation is beign received for this story.
Feed back: Yes, if you're so inclined
Summary: No action, either of the plot kind or the Willow-Tara kind, just a pregnant Tara, circa 2010, talking to her "abdominal passenger."
Can You Feel the Rain?
Well, you can’t see what’s happening, but I think you know something has just changed. For most of the walk that helps keep us both fit, you were kicking in rhythm to my own footsteps. Now you’re moving your legs faster than I am, and I can feel the little fists, too.
I was almost at the corner where I’d already planned to turn around, ending our afternoon stroll, when the clouds the clouds opened up. Then I took an unplanned shortcut back; I wanted to hurry, but I couldn’t really run, because I want to keep you in there, little Autumn.
They say you can feel many things already, so I wonder, can you feel the June rain? As these droplets hit my body, gently but so very, very many, does it change things in there? Do you feel a million tiny drumbeats making waves in your amniotic fluid, waves that aren’t there in the quiet air? What do you feel when I stumble, when my eyes fill with water and I can’t see my own feet. Your mother could do this better; she’s the hat girl, your maman isn’t.
At least I’ve reached our own sidewalk and come up to the landing. Dr. Bhati has told me pregnant women aren’t supposed to walk barefoot outside, but I don’t think she’d worry about three feet of concrete and welcome mat. So for the sake of our pricey natural-fiber rugs and hardwood floors, I think I’ll leave my wet sneaks and socks out here.
First stop is the bathroom, to toss my soggy outfit into the clothes hamper and towel off. Then comes the bedroom and a robe and slippers. Of course we’re alone in the house, but it still means something that I feel comfortable walking room to room with nothing on. Perhaps an expected thing, in a single-gender household with a close-to-nature ethic, but it’s quite the advantage.
The time! Your mother and sister will be back from the bakery soon; I’d better put the kettle on.
I hope I can do justice to whatever they’re bringing back, because I hit the jackpot with the 24-hour morning sickness, and the doctor is already mad at me for not gaining enough. Well, at least my nipples don’t ache as badly as Mother’s did. When she asked for the hot compresses, I’d get them as fast as I could. But by the time I got back with them, she’d still be bouncing her breasts for a bit of relief, and that look of pain in her eyes. I remember how I felt when I’d see her like that, and I’d hate to make her feel that way.
Well, the water’s started, at least, that much is done. Summer looks so much like me; I wonder if you, growing down there, are going to look like your mother. Sure, we chose the donor carefully, physical characteristics included, so there’ll have to be a resemblance. But until you show up, we won’t know how much you’ll look like her. I can’t help but hope it’ll be a lot, I want that, I really do.
I think I’ll take us into the family room. I’m in the mood to check out photo albums.
Here’s the album I wanted; on the first page is that shot the hospital photographer took of Summer at two days, and facing it the one Aunt Cordy took of all of us leaving the hospital, Mother in the wheelchair holding your sister, me walking alongside with a smile bigger than my head, Aunt Anya in the other wheelchair holding Lexa, and Uncle Xander wearing the same expression I am.
Then more pictures, Summer this and Summer that, we took so many. And we won’t be like most parents, it won’t be fewer for you. And it’s partly because you and your sister are going to be so different; you’re only related in the way that counts most.
Now, here we have the pictures of family and friends, lots of generational shots. Aunt Anya with Lexa, Uncle Angel with Liam, Uncle Xander with Nick, and anyone can see the resemblances. But there’s Jonathan Levinsohn with Frank, who looks like his Uncle Trevor on his mother’s side; Aunt Buffy is so mean to say that makes Frank a lucky kid, tee-hee.
Oh, I thought we’d put this one in this album. Aunt Jayneesha got all four of us in group and distracted us, and Uncle Oz got a candid shot. Faith, Harmony, Aunt Buffy, and me, and all of us are showing, cute in its way. Plus, two Slayers, an ex-vampire, and a formerly dead witch all standing around with buns in the oven, it’s sort of historic, too.
Yes, honey, I was once someplace else, you’ll learn about all that when you’re ready. But nothing can compare to having you and your sister, sharing my life and you two with Mother. Nothing could be more right; maybe it’s wrong to sound so sure, but I am.
I’m almost impatient, I want to see you, I want to know who you’ll be. Like Billy Bigelow, I wonder what you’ll think of me. And I know I’ve said this already, and I know this is already settled by your genes, but I want you to look like your mother.
Well, talk about timing! Right when the kettle starts whistling, I hear a car pulling into the garage. Time for something sweet, and I think you’ll like it as much as I will.
END
