" We started down the steps of the bleachers and headed for the parking lot. I saw a couple of my fellow athletes give me almost friendly glances as I walked, hell--as I strutted--with the two beautiful girls."I hate to be the dumb blond..." Tami started."Especially since you're a brunette," Robbie interrupted."I was thinking of dying it. Trying the blond thing for awhile." What shade?" Kind of a California gold."I could have evaporated and they wouldn't have noticed as they talked around me."Excuse me, ladies."They stopped talking and looked at me. Maybe the minefield would be a better idea."I think you were going to ask a question, and if my opinion counts, I think your hair is beautiful the way it is." Of course, your opinion counts," they said together, convincing me that it didn't. At least about hair color."I was just trying to say I didn't understand why we were here." I was trying out for the baseball team. You were rooting me on." I said dumb blond, not brain dead," Tami said. At some point in this madness, and possibly sensing no end to it, my husband told me at last that his love for me was gone entirely. That he was no longer attracted to me. That he felt resentful toward me. That I had changed too much. After a week of constant crying, of self harming for the first time in years, of sleeping on a palette of piled sheets and blankets in the nursery next to my baby’s crib, he came to me. He said he’d been wrong. He said he never meant a word, that he just needed to ‘get it out’. He had needed to see me hurting over him. We resumed. I began to put forth more effort. I truly believed that more effort on my part was really what was needed. I tried to lose the baby weight by denying myself rest after a long day of reading Peter Rabbit and Goodnight Moon, of cleaning up thrown food, of endlessly wiping and powdering a little bottom, of choking back my own tears while rocking my crying baby. I denied myself the fleeting pleasure and comfort of food and.
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