portraits

Will it be an Assasination Vacation?

in

Josh and I leave on Saturday to go to Maine for our annual family vacation. And by family I mean HIS FAMILY. Now don't get me wrong. I love his family. But after 10 hours in the same house with anyone other than Ben and Josh and I start to hyperventilate. And Josh has the stereotypical neurotic NY mother. She worries CONSTANTLY. No, I really mean constantly. Even in her sleep. It makes me crazy. But at least she can talk about books, which is more than I can say about most of the world. Vacation is supposed to be one of those relaxing things. But, frankly, I would rather have a week off work and have someone at my house catering to my every whim. Going away takes so much damned energy. I have to wash all the clothes and pack all the bags and arrange for someone to take care of the dogs and clean the house. I'm funny about vacations. I feel like I need to leave the house in pristine condition. It's like how your mom always tells you to wear clean underwear because you never know when you will be in an accident. I feel that way about leaving my house to go on vacation. What if something happens to me and someone comes in the house house and says, "What a fucking dump"? It's one thing for it to be a dump when I'm home, but another to have it publicly acknowledged as one.

And for some reason I have determined that ALL the loose ends in my life need to be tied up before I go. So I try to do everything I have not done in the past year in one week and then TOTALLY STRESS OUT the night before leaving because, of course, none of it is done. Guess how much fun Josh has the night before we go away? One of these days he is just going to leave me behind. And considering what a joy I am to travel with, that might not be such a bad thing for all involved.

One of Us

in

Years ago when my high school friends started having babies, it was a novelty. An excuse to buy something from Baby Gap. But boy did they turn boring quickly. Suddenly all they could talk about was strollers and breast milk and other boring stuff. Meanwhile, I wanted to discuss the latest 'New Yorker' article or the newest show at MOMA. And so as a babyless singleton, I began to spend a great deal of time at parties choosing between sitting in a corner by myself or listening to the merits of breast milk over formula. And let me tell you, it was not a tough choice. I took the me, myself and I route. It was a bit lonely, but I got plenty drunk on all of my rich friends' booze. There was plenty to drink, what with all the women either knocked up or a kid attached to their boob. My friend Leslie and I would commiserate about how if we ever had kids we would never sit around and talk about such frivolities. We would continue to probe the cultural landscape with our minds and talk about more important things than strollers. And during the years I was in art school and in constant need of mental stimulation I couldn't understand why they would want to waste their minds on making playdates and driving carpool.

And now here I sit. With a five month old baby I have already become that which I found intolerable. I am everything I said I would not be. I talk about boobs and bowel movements and between the dogs and Ben I usually have a piece of poop in my hands. But, I will admit that I no longer see it as a waste. Little Ben is a marvel and definitely my biggest accomplishment thus far (not that he has a great deal of competition). Josh and I are totally confounded as to how two such miserable people managed to make someone so joyful. But at least I still read. That counts for something. Doesn't it?

Should I or Shouldn't I?

in

20 years ago I graduated from high school. Shit do I feel old! So now my 20th high school reunion is approaching and the questions is to go or not to go? I had always fantasized that I would make a glamorous return to the halls of learning where I was, lets say, 'not the hottest chick in the barn'. And three years ago that looked possible. I was thin and in shape and looking good. But alas, many binges and one baby later, I am scary. I could give Moby Dick a run for his money. So now it seems like it might be better to stay at home with a good dvd and a pint of my old pals Ben and Jerry. It's better than going and knowing that the gossip the day after will be about how I have 'let myself go'. Well, it's true. I have. But I don't have to give anyone else the satisfaction of knowing. There's the part of me that says that it doesn't matter. That who I am on the inside is all that matters. What I have accomplished should matter more. But then reality sets in. Who the fuck am I kidding? This is America! How you look is everything. Especially in high school! You can never be too rich or too thin. And I am sadly lacking in both. So unless I can lose 50 pounds in 30 days, I think I will be hangin' out with B+J. Stay tuned.

Dear Ben

in

May 11, 2005 Dear Ben:

I sit here writing you this letter as you lie next to me sleeping. As usual, we are on the very edge of the bed, scrunched together. We would be falling off if it weren't for your bassinet holding me on. Each night I come perilously close to winding up face down on the hardwood floor because of your need to be tightly pressed up against me. And I must confess that I love this need of yours.

You are two months old this week. I can hardly believe it. Already it is going so quickly and I want so desperately to stop this moment in time and see what future things you will do simultaneously. You are truly my little angel. I never thought I could love someone like I love you. It seems such a cliche, but it is true. I never knew that I had so much love to give and the well is bottomless for you. You have truly stolen my heart.

You are an exceptionally easy baby. You love to sleep (THANK GOD) and smile and laugh. Your cry is insistent, but quiet. You love to lie under your mobile in the mornings while I make my first (and much needed) cup of coffee. You coo and talk to it so convincingly that I begin to believe that it answers you back.

You are exceptionally strong, rolling onto your stomach already and holding your head up on your own from the get go. And you are fascinated by faces, especially other children's.

You have already been on an airplane and came through it like a pro. We went to the desert to visit Nana and Grandad. Nana gave you a bath after a bout of fussiness and you passed out in her arms, exhausted from crying, as your not a big fan of the bath yet. And you gave me the wonderful gift of seeing my child in the arms of my own mother.

We had your bris on Wednesday, March 16th. It was such a lovely day. Our friends and family came to share in this ceremony to celebrate your birth. I must admit that I seriously considered stealing you away. Circumcision seemed like a fine idea in the abstract, but once you were born I thought you were perfect just the way you are and there was no way anyone was going to alter one hair on your head. But convention won out. After all, we had all these people coming and there was food bought. I couldn't possibly disrupt that (this warped way of thinking that I got from my Southern family will probably ring true once you are old enough to read this).

I look forward to many adventures and certainly much dysfunction with you. Don't worry kid, I already started saving up for your therapy. As your daddy says, You light up the room. You light up the world."

another day, another diaper

in

Each time I would try to write in this blog I would become inhibited because I thought that what I wrote should be witty. And by God it should be. But my husband Josh reminded me that all I really need to do is be real. As if it were that easy. It is ironic that wearing the mask is easier than the real mccoy.
What a day. So busy and yet nothing really happened. Most days are like that since motherhood came to visit. (Do you think she will staying long?) I spent the morning trying to pretend to be a normal human being. Paying bills, sending e-mails, etc. Becasue after all, I am paying my babysitter a small fortune to watch Ben so that I can "work". But I like my babysitter so much that I inevitably end up chit-chatting with her. So, basically, I am paying her to be my friend. Hey, I've done worse.
I met with my mother's group this afternoon. We discussed many hot topics such as breasts, baby gas, yoga. And then we attempted to actually go to a public establishment, which is always a problem with all those damn strollers. I used to hate people like us. Those goddamned, self-centered people with their bratty kids. Taking up all sorts of space as if they matter more than us singletons. And now, I am one of them. No matter how vehemently I SWORE that I would not do it, that I would not be ONE OF THEM. I am. It is a sad, sad day.