“You’ve been carrying that thing around for a while.”
“I like it.”
“You like balloons? Why?”
“I don’t know, I’ve just always liked them.”
Last night we were running short on time. We happened to be up at Bloor and Bathurst, so I suggested we have Hero (veggie) burgers. Pete made a slightly funny face, but it didn’t seem like it was one of those times when he was thinking, “Eiko I don’t really feel like that but I can’t think of anything else so I GUESS we’ll go with your weird and healthy suggestion that doesn’t involve any brown food.” (He’s always awfully nice about it, but it happens now and then.) In fact, he looked sort of gleeful, if slightly hesitant.
Not having the energy to tease out whatever conflicted emotions he was experiencing, I strutted away in the direction of soy patties and onion rings.
After dinner, I asked Pete what he’d had for lunch. He made the same face.
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Did it involve dairy?” (We don’t usually eat dairy.)
He shook his head.
“Wait. Did you eat…meat?”
“Just tell me.”
“I had Hero Burger for lunch. With fries.”
“You ate the exact same thing for dinner as you did for lunch? Why didn’t you say anything?”
He shrugged. “You seemed so excited about it.”
I’m not sure why he was so embarrassed; this is a man who once ate twelve (12) Pillsbury Crescent Rolls and two (2) packages of Rice-A-Roni in one sitting.
“I can’t wait until Reiden starts napping in her crib!”
“I really have to nap train her soon.”
“I wish I had time to do stuff during the day, but she’s always napping on me.”
“This napping on me thing is killing my back.”
“I heard that sitting all day is as bad as eating like ten Big Macs a day.”
“Err, what do bed sores look like?”
“PLEASE COME BACK AND NAP ON ME AGAIN OMG I MISS YOU SO MUCH OH GOD IT HURTS.”
My heart is broken, and the worst part is I broke it myself. Rei is crazy affectionate but isn’t a sit-still-and-snuggle baby. Napping was our special time.
Solution: breastfeed forever!
(I did the holding her for naps thing for almost six months…my body just couldn’t take it anymore. Stupid body.)
PS: I know that’s a toy in her crib. I’m right here watching her. In 100 years when I’m okay with leaving the room while she naps, I’ll take it out.
I’ve been finding it everywhere, lately.
Two Facebook friends who don’t know each other post updates about the weather using the numbers 17 and 19. The posts refer to two very different cities. The posts appear adjacent to each other in my news feed.
While reading Haruki Murakami’s 1Q84, I note the line, “Something wicked this way comes.” Minutes later, I read a blog post by a good friend, where she has referenced the exact same line.
Also while reading 1Q84, I realize something interesting about two of the main characters’ names:
My name is Eiko Kawano. If Eriko took Tengo’s last name, she’d be Eriko Kawana.
One letter is extraneous, and one is different: R and A.
A key theme in the book is mothers and daughters.
My daughter’s initials are R. A.
Today I was thinking of getting one of those devices that count the number of steps in a day. This evening, I checked the same friend’s blog, where today she’d posted about getting one of those devices.
What does it meannnn? Are she and I in a parallel universe?* Should I go see how many moons are in the sky?
PS: If you haven’t read 1Q84, I highly recommend it. Sure, the prose has been criticized for being a bit boring and repetitious at times, but there’s something about surrealist Japanese fiction in translation that’s awesome. And clearly, the reading of it has transported me to another universe. So far it’s pretty fun.
PPS: The Artist’s Way talks a lot about synchronicity, how when you stop to look, there are coincidences everywhere. I do find that I “see” much more during times of heightened creativity. I guess it also means TURN OFF THE INTERNET EIKO AND WORK ON YOUR NOVEL.
*No really, are we? You’d tell me, right?
This morning, the same friend who posted about the weather in coincidence #1 just posted this:
(Okay, it’s possible she read my blog, and it made her think of Murakami and thereby inspired her post. But I didn’t share this post on FB and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know this blog exists.)
Pete: “If you had to choose the theme song from 30 Rock, Community or Parks & Rec, which would you pick?”
Pete: “Trick question! They’re all great!”
Slightly less existential than last time.
I wrote this on Sunday and didn’t post it. I didn’t want anyone to worry — I’m feeling good, great, and thankful every day that I don’t have PPD.
But lately, I’ve been inspired by several brave women who are willing to talk about their struggles with depression. Like this one.
And I’ve been thinking how it’s amazing that someone, friend or stranger, can make a difference just by being honest.
So, here’s how I was feeling on Sunday.
Some days are perfect. They can be full of sucky things like bad sleeps and screwed up naps and diaper blow-outs and spit-up everywhere, but they are perfect because Reiden smiles or laughs or does something funny and erases everything else. Not just some days. Most.
But other days. The same smiles, laughs, the something funny but still I’m left with some kind of Sunday melancholy, trying to get back to happy.
I might just be eating too much sugar? Not enough vitamin D?
I know it’s not depression. But still, there’s a flicker. A something.
It’ll go away tomorrow, just in time for Peter to go into the office. Yay me for ruining our Sunday.
The best part about Peter is, if I ask him, he’ll say the day turned out pretty well. I think Reiden would say the same thing, if she could talk.
It’s just me who gets lost sometimes, in the little hollow in my brain. The place that stores the memories of much sadder Sundays, dreaded weekends, clock watching, loneliness.
I know I am incredibly lucky, to only have to live with memories.
For me, depression was never just in the moments I was clawing my way through the mud, but in all the memories of other dark times; everything adding up, compounding, colluding.
And always, and still, the threat that it might come back. That’s why these occasional Sunday glimmers scare me. That’s why, even when I’m feeling the opposite of sad, I make sure to remember what Peter would always say to me, when things were really bad:
“It’s not all the time, and it always passes.”
And then I remind myself, “Just because it hasn’t come back doesn’t mean it will.”
That was one of the hardest things about living with depression: even the good days were tainted because I knew there were bad days waiting to pounce.
That’s a sad way to look at life. Over the years I’ve worked hard to flip that around, to look at it like Peter does. To see that the bad days are numbered, because the good ones are waiting to pounce.
This little one sure helps.
Last night we were talking about how Reiden is quite, err, precocious. This kid has never sat still since she was about six weeks old. The only times she does sit still, we’ve accidentally left the TV or a computer screen on (I know, we will lose this battle eventually), someone new is holding her (anyone want to come over?) or she’s pooping.
She wants to be bounced, sung to, walked around, entertained all the time. She will sit by herself and play, and she’s willing to let us eat dinner while she sits in her bouncy chair, but there’s a short time limit on everything. She’s smart and wriggly and impatient and we would not have her any other way. She rarely cries, but she protests a LOT. She’s an amazing kid. It’s all good, all of it.
“Wait til she’s older. She’s going to run circles around us,” I said. “She’ll ask why about everything.” We talked about how we won’t always be able to answer her questions, like why don’t the rich people just give more money to the poor people? But we’ll try to set a really good example by doing things like volunteering.
Then we watched this, and reminded our future selves to remember how full of crap we once were.