Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood
Bathroom Floor

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"How are you?"

"Fine."

"Do you want anything?"

"No."

"How about a drink?"

I look at him.

"I mean, ginger ale, water, juice?"

"I'm not sick," I say.

"I know, I know."

"I thought you might be thirsty," he adds.

"No, I'm fine," I say.
"How about a book?"

I shake my head.

"A magazine? The newspaper?"

"I don't feel like reading."

"That's right. You should rest. Get some sleep. Here, do you want another pillow?"

"No."

"Let me fluff up this one." He comes around to my side of the bed. I lean forward as he pounds the down feathers. I gasp as my abdomen cramps.

He hurriedly lays me down.

"You OK?"

I nod, trying to bite down on the grunt escaping my lips.

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

I shake my head. I slowly roll on my side, away from him.

"The doctor said you should sleep," he says.

"I'm not tired."

"You seem tired."

"I can't sleep."

I feel him behind me, waiting. His feet shift, creaking the floor. He's going to leave.

"Is it clean?" I whisper.

"Is what clean?" he asks.

"Did you clean it up?"

There is a long pause. I close my eyes, but all I see is red: in my underwear, on the toilet seat, streaking the bathroom floor.

I feel the mattress springs compress as he sits down on the bed.

"Yes, yes, I cleaned it all." He sounds tired.


Dianne Scott is a writer, teacher and mother of two small children living in Toronto, Canada. Her poetry, fiction and non-fiction have been featured in a variety of journals, magazines, websites and radio broadcasts. Her current writing project is a humorous book on new motherhood.


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