Our son was born at the end of summer at 9 lb 4 oz. A very healthy baby boy born just 2 inches shy of 2 feet long. C's mother and sister came to help and showed me some things about babies that the hospital didn't. 

I was completely infatuated with my baby boy. Counting his little fingers and toes, his small wifts of hair, the smell of his newborn skin, all endeared me to him. He was the sweetest baby with beautiful dimples.

We were happy little family for a time. We did many things together the three of us and C taught me many things I didn't know. But, he never really understood why I didn't know. Perhaps that was me, keeping my secrets.

We slipped into these roles C and I. He slipped into a father role while I slipped into that of a daughter. I learned things from him that I should have learned long ago. He also taught me to drive a stick shift.

But like any parent-child relationship, the child eventually grows up and flies the nest. I began to resent the constant corrections, the disapproval and the looking down his nose at me whenever he thought I made a mistake. And when one falls into the roles that we did, our relationship changed.

I no longer wished to share my body with him. It felt more like sleeping with my father instead of my mate, who wants to do that.

He too changed and grew distant from me. Then I learned he had a new relationship with his boss's sister.

After that, my son and I were on our own.

By that time, I had cleaned up my education, took some clerical courses and began to work for the railroad doing payroll.  Five years we spent to together and managed an amicable split.

There was a little fear and a little excitement too. I was on my own, I was doing it by myself and I felt that I had enough knowledge to do this successfully.

I still had so much to learn about human nature, emotions, understanding my own and others. I blundered, said the wrong things, made the wrong decisions, but I learned...the hard way.

My son and I did ok on our own. I worked a swing shift at the railroad.  Forty hours in three and half days. In between one of these shifts, when I only had eight hours off, I would sometimes play pool and have lunch until my next shift began.

It was in this environment that I met the father of my second son, over a game of pool. He was tall, muscular, dark curly hair and green eyes. Resembling a man who lives in the woods. Strong man, nine years older than me. Over the next few months, we began to get to know each other, the three of us.

I watched the interactions between him and my son with pleasure, they seemed to get along fine. My son was interested in him and he was interested in my son.  We did many things together as a trio while him and I grew closer as adults.

Then one morning, after breakfast...

I threw up.