How was your weekend? people will say to you Monday morning at work.
You earned two new nicknames, Baby Girl: 1.) The Dragon. 2.) Ludicrous, or “Luda,” like the rapper of the same name who sings the hit “Roll Out” boasting such fine lyrics as “now tell me who’s your housekeeper and what you keep in your house?,” though he spells his name differently, Ludacris, and is probably called that for different reasons.
You threw up in Nordstrom’s, Baby Boy, and were carried through the store and out the door in nothing but your diaper and your mandals.
Yes, I taught you that your shoes are actually called “mandals,” because you are a man, who wears sandals.
I sang “Your closet is a nightmare” to the tune of John Mayer’s “Your Body is a Wonderland” while cleaning out your father’s closet, pulling out five million old wire hangers covered in tangled dry-cleaning wrap. “Your closet is a nightmare (I’ll lose my mind)”
I spent a half hour hanging fish net in the “under the sea” section of our basement. What, you didn’t know we had an under the sea section in our basement? Why it’s the tiny corner with the life-preserver clock that says “welcome aboard” from my nautical-themed baby shower and by the mat with the sea creatures on it, of course!
I said to a woman at the Clinique make-up counter who was helping me find my color, Alabaster, in the much-needed concealer for the black circles under my eyes, “I have a knack for making things difficult…” “I can see that,” she replied.
I spent four minutes staring at a spinning wheel on my iPad screen waiting for the trailer for “Anna Karenina” to load. Four minutes is a long time to stand still at a kitchen island and stare at something.
Your dad and I were discussing a two-year-old boy we saw swimming so well at the pool. Just as we said “gee, do think our kids will be that coordinated to be able to swim like that soon?” we looked and saw you, Baby Girl, not walking, not crawling, but sliding across the threshold of our patio door in slow motion on your stomach, your white feet then your legs then your bubble of a tush combing into view. It was one of the more awkward things I’ve seen someone do in some time.
I ate french fries for dinner on Saturday.
Two and a half cupcakes for dinner on Sunday.
I brushed my wet hair back with no part when I’d gotten out of the shower and let it dry like that, so with your dad’s old polo shirt I was wearing, I looked like Anthony Michael Hall in his Rusty Griswald days. In this state, I took a big swig straight from a bottle of Chardonnay while standing in the open refrigerator door to see if it had gone bad. I could not decide. I knew I would not want to drink it, but was it bad enough to throw the whole thing out? I put it back in the fridge, because I didn’t want to deal with it. Inevitably, in a few days, I will have to deal with it. Way to address a problem head on.
I did four loads of laundry…
…I miss some things about being in an office. Some days, a touch base with humanity will be nice, you’ll see. Others, chit-chat about your weekend? Not so much.