April 8, 2011

Dear Babies,

One of the smartest people I have ever met was a bartender at the Excellence Resort down in Riviera Cancun, Mexico.

He asked me and your father where we were from, and when we said New York City, he said, ever so politely, “Oh, not for me…”

This could turn into a really long story about our experience at a class I tried taking to you guys yesterday…

About full-on sweating panic attacks upon spying this tiny enclosed tent, a tiny, tiny HOT germ infested incubator jam packed with kids and babies and nannies and moms in black LuLuLemon pants with a maniacally smiling blonde woman in the center, singing…

About deciding no way, not going to take you guys in there and sitting in a corner to read to you on my own instead and meeting so many characters…so many mothers…so many women…so many stories about twins…From the comical, “my boys painted each other in Balmex,” to the tragic, a tough pregnancy with a premature birth…to the ultimate tragic, the story of a preemie who did not make it…

About how hearing the story of this woman’s trying experience made me feel I guess guilty about what an amazing, healthy wonderful pregnancy and birth and even now I had and continue to have with you, my two full pink-cheeked Gerber babies with rolls and double chins, younger but nearly twice the size of her little, fragile two…

How hearing the story of the baby who did not make it brought a feeling close to a knife stabbing in my heart, “NO.” I could not imagine. I cannot.

This could easily turn into a grand moral story about how I went there expecting to have this fun, silly, ridiculous experience with you, and ended up not…

How life is hardly ever what you expected…

How I left the class and took you guys to an Irish bar, Sullivan’s Quay, for lunch where we had the best time instead…

Was it all too much for us?

Is this what people do, chit chat at such “mom things?”

I think I’ll just say, ever so politely, “not for me.”



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