The Best Moment
I'm going to break up the two parter about the dark side of parenthood by telling you about my trip home with Eliza last night. C has his kids for their spring break and decided to take them to his parent's beach house in Rehoboth. Since C has the other kids, he often has the power to decide where we spend holidays. Being that his two kids from his previous marriage have no tie to my parents, he chose to take them to see his parents. I know going with him is a good way for the family to be together, as much of my independence is now on hold due to this five month old I bounce on my knee. However, I decided to stop allowing him to choose where I go for this holiday. Though I hate to rob Eliza of the company of her considerably older brother and sister, and her paternal grandparents, I wanted to spend Easter with my parents. It's nice in Rehoboth this time of year, but I'd be stuck for five nights with C, his parents, and his kids. C spends most of his time with his son, his daughter spends most of her time with her granmother and C's father spends most of his time in his bedroom with the door shut. Whether he's sleeping or just the proud owner of an impressive stack of nudie magazines, I'm not quite sure but at Christmas, I only saw C's father in the morning for breakfast and in the evening, for dinner.
This scenario basically leaves me with no one in my age group to play with. Now that I'm a SAHM, I'm desperate for adult attention. Five days of bike riding, cartoons and monopoly seemed like my idea of "No Exit." My parents, now divorced, live in Jersey, not far from one of my closest friends. The woman who lives next door is also a friend. I realized going to Jersey would enable me to get in some time for me as well as give Eliza some time with her maternal grandparents.
C came up with several elaborate scenarios to blend it all together but I wasn't interested. I wanted my family, my friends and frankly, my daughter. I've taken two short trips with Eliza before, but this time would be longer and would involve her first bus ride back. I packed just three changes of clothes for her, two for me, a portable changing pad, and toiletries in a small, wheeled suitcase. My mother's house is stocked with diapers, a small travel portocrib and burp cloths, a must for my very pukey daughter. I loaded our new Johnny Jump Up in a plastic Buy Buy Baby bag and we were off. C drove us down to my mother's so the trip to Jersey was easy. My mother had my brother Billy for the weekend, but he was gone for the afternoon with a family friend. I left Eliza with my mother and did what all suburbanites do, I went to Walmart. It felt incredibly freeing to be out and about with no set time to return. I wandered through the aisles looking at stuff in slow time, just enjoying the ability to pick things up and put them down without a baby attached to me. In the check-out line, perhaps feeling guilty for loving this freedom so much, I called my mother to see how it was going.
An enormous wail greeted me alongside my mother's "hello."
"Doesn't sound good," I said. "I called to see how it was going."
"Fine until now," my mother said. "She was sleeping."
"Sorry. I'll let you get back to her now."
I hung up quickly and decided to alleviate my guilt by purchasing a glossy magazine with Lindsey Lohan and Jessica Simpson on the cover beneath a headline that read "FIGHT!" Not wanting to interrupt my mother and Eliza, being how badly I'd bungled with that phone call, I went to Costco and again wandered happily through a maze of oversized peanut containers, plastic bags stuffed with 20 rolls of paper towels, and elderly ladies in white bonnets doling out free food samples. I had to fight to get a Jamaican meat patty sample as portly, balding men seemed to think they had a VIP ticket to that counter.
Then I knew I had to go back and I returned to find my mother and Eliza exactly as I had left them, my mother in the chair and Eliza across her chest, eyes closed.
"She had a very nice nap," my mother said.
The following day, Easter Sunday, I went to my father's. This is only the third actual holiday I've spent with my father since he and my mother split in 1980. My father has been married to a woman named Debby for the past 16 years. We had a nice day, I restarted my daily routine of 500 situps while Eliza lay on her tummy impressing us all with her mini-pushups. I found a documentary on George Balanchine and hoped Eliza was as fascinated with the ballet as I am. I drank a little too much red wine with our late lunch. As I fed Eliza in the bedroom, my father and Debby fell asleep on the couch. When I emerged, they woke up and we went for a short walk around their neighborhood.
My father lives in a retirement community. It's a nice looking community that resembles the set for the "Truman Show" with it's uniform houses, all set the same distance from the street, and sidewalks that don't lead anywhere. It would be a great area to live in if there was an actual destination to walk to, say a town strip with a corner store, restaurant and ice cream parlor. Instead, it just feels a little creepy, the kind of neighborhood that would do well to house Edward Scissorhands.
It was nice to spend the day with my father and then the evening with my mother again. Billy left for his home the following day and my mother and I had the day to ourselves. I'd hoped to meet up with my friend but she had to work late so my mother and I had a pleasant dinner of cavatellis and meatballs. My mom fed Eliza her cereal, amazed by what a good little eater my daughter is. At less than five months, I'll only give her one tablespoon of cereal a day determined to keep the nursing front and center. But my daughter is fascinated by what I'm eating, in fact watching me eat seems to be one of her new favorite activities.
While I'm on favorite activities, let me just list a few of her new things now so I can keep them on record. Eliza has discovered her feet but will only play with them when they're bare. On her back, she loves to grab her toes and try to stuff them in her mouth. When I sit her on my lap, she often bends forward to get a better view of her feet but again, she won't grab them unless they're bare. She loves to be naked, giggles and squeals with delight when I kiss her naked tummy. I'll kiss her tummy and she'll reach out with both hands and grab my hair, her mouth wide in a toothless smile. She rolls from tummy to back and rolled from her back to her tummy for the first time on Easter but couldn't figure out how to stay on her tummy so she just rolled right onto her back. She kicks and pushes off while nursing, my nipple still firmly in her mouth (yes, ouch!) She was enthralled by my mother's hands when my mother spoke to my brother with sign language. My mother and I kept doing the sign for milk, an opened and closed fist, and Eliza raised her little hand and made a few half-hearted fists. Sometimes she responds to her name, sometimes. This one I'm going to be really looking for because this was the big red flag with Billy.
We had a lovely time visiting my mother's next door neighbor in her backyard, now practically a full on playground for toddlers. There are swings for kids and babies, a plastic kid house, three slides of various sizes and a big plastic climbing tree house. Fenced off in another section of the yard is an in-ground pool I looked at very lustfully.
And then it was Tuesday and time for us to take our first bus ride back. I was nervous the bus would be crowded as this particular evening bus originated in Atlantic City. I strapped Eliza into the bjorn, waved good-bye to my mother and dragged the suitcase, the diaper bag and the big bag with the Johnny Jump Up to the bus. The driver put my case under the bus and I stepped inside to find plenty of empy seats. I dumped my bags on the seat and sat on the aisle with Eliza. Her head whipped back and forth, locking eyes with the only two passengers in eyeshot. The woman beside me, a heavily tattooed girl of about 21 smiled back. The portly ex-con type, hooked on his head phones and closed his eyes. The bus driver went inside as my watch ticked past the departure time. Eliza continued to look this way and that, her little legs thrashing against mine. Still the driver didn't return and I wondered if perhaps he was suffering from a bout of bad diarrhea.
Finally, Bus Driver Bob stepped on and put the bus in gear. I waved to my mother from the front seat and felt like crying. Was I sad because I'd had a good visit and was sorry to leave or was I sad to be leaving my mommy, now a new mommy myself, one who couldn't come home but had to make a home? Is it my youth and my carefree existence I was sad to see as the mile markers on the parkway sped by outside the windows? Five minutes or so into the ride, Eliza fell asleep and she stayed asleep as the bus lurched forward and the sky faded from orange to dark blue to dark gray. In the twilight of evening, not far outside the Lincoln Tunnel, Eliza woke up. Again, the head went from one side to the other as she struggled to take in her surroundings. She fought against the brace of the bjorn trying to push herself away from me. I pulled out the bottle I had with me and waited for her to fuss but she didn't. Not through the tunnel, not in the darkness of the New York City Street, not until we stopped behind another bus in the Port Authority Terminal. But it never escalated into a cry, never was more than just a few little screeches. A man helped me retrieve my suitcase and I ungracefully made my way to the elevator that took me all the way down to the subway level.
The first big hurdle was the turnstile. A cop stood right on the other side of the turnstile but he didn't help me kick my suitcase through or stoop to pick it up when it fell over. Placing my arm on Eliza, I squatted to retrieve my case. I banged it down the steps, the Johhny Jump Up now threatening to bust through the holy plastic bag. An E train came right away and I bumbled my way onto it. A very attractive blond woman immediately stood up.
"Would you like to sit?"
I shook my head no, thanked her, placed my suitcase at my feet and grabbed onto a pole. The blond seemed a little perplexed, perhaps unnerved by my lack of acceptence in her act of kindness. An attractive black woman and a man further down, who'd both apparrently not seen my exchange with the blond, both also offered their seats. I waved them off. The blond sat back down and resumed reading the play "The Last Night of Ballyhoo."
A middle aged couple behind me started cooing and talking. Beside them were two women clad in softball attire and dirt.
"How old?" The middle aged woman asked, stripping the peg of her Ipod out of her ear.
"Five months," I said.
"She's very social," she said. "So expressive."
"She likes attention," one of the lesbians, I mean softball women, said.
"She likes to be looked at."
The middle aged woman smiled and put her headphones back in. In a moment, she was actively mouthing the words, all the while smiling and reacting to Eliza. Eliza whipped her head to the other side of the subway car, ready to flirt her way into the hearts of these people. A begger came on and started singing "Lean on Me" but was he crazy? Did he not see my daughter, did he honestly think he could compete with the best little floor show on the IRT? A man in a suit with big glasses got off the train at 34th Street, practically tripping over my suitcase for a better look at Eliza. Eliza turned back to the middle aged couple who grinned and waved with the enthusiasm. The lesbians laughed and turned back to each other only to halt their conversation again when Eliza squealed in protest to their lack of attention. The blond with Ballyhoo looked up at me and smiled as I spoke to my daughter when the train paused between stops and suddenly I felt tears come to my eyes and I pulled her little head towards mine for a kiss, loving this moment, loving this night.
I was back, my independence was back. I could go places and be me and I wouldn't need help, not that much. And others would be receptive, they'd help me and my daughter shutter our way through the night. The guy continued to sing, the lesbians continued to stare, the woman with the Ipod kept singing silently along and I realized that practically every moment with this baby was the best, the best moment of my life.
I got off at 23rd and made my way up the stairs, feeling great at this small accomplishment of getting off the train and up the stairs without pelting anyone with my suitcase or Johnny Jump Up. It was a beautiful night and I was happy to be with her and her only, happy to make my way to my building, happy the night was warm enough to enjoy, and so happy to have this wonderful, delicious, oh so lovable little baby.
This scenario basically leaves me with no one in my age group to play with. Now that I'm a SAHM, I'm desperate for adult attention. Five days of bike riding, cartoons and monopoly seemed like my idea of "No Exit." My parents, now divorced, live in Jersey, not far from one of my closest friends. The woman who lives next door is also a friend. I realized going to Jersey would enable me to get in some time for me as well as give Eliza some time with her maternal grandparents.
C came up with several elaborate scenarios to blend it all together but I wasn't interested. I wanted my family, my friends and frankly, my daughter. I've taken two short trips with Eliza before, but this time would be longer and would involve her first bus ride back. I packed just three changes of clothes for her, two for me, a portable changing pad, and toiletries in a small, wheeled suitcase. My mother's house is stocked with diapers, a small travel portocrib and burp cloths, a must for my very pukey daughter. I loaded our new Johnny Jump Up in a plastic Buy Buy Baby bag and we were off. C drove us down to my mother's so the trip to Jersey was easy. My mother had my brother Billy for the weekend, but he was gone for the afternoon with a family friend. I left Eliza with my mother and did what all suburbanites do, I went to Walmart. It felt incredibly freeing to be out and about with no set time to return. I wandered through the aisles looking at stuff in slow time, just enjoying the ability to pick things up and put them down without a baby attached to me. In the check-out line, perhaps feeling guilty for loving this freedom so much, I called my mother to see how it was going.
An enormous wail greeted me alongside my mother's "hello."
"Doesn't sound good," I said. "I called to see how it was going."
"Fine until now," my mother said. "She was sleeping."
"Sorry. I'll let you get back to her now."
I hung up quickly and decided to alleviate my guilt by purchasing a glossy magazine with Lindsey Lohan and Jessica Simpson on the cover beneath a headline that read "FIGHT!" Not wanting to interrupt my mother and Eliza, being how badly I'd bungled with that phone call, I went to Costco and again wandered happily through a maze of oversized peanut containers, plastic bags stuffed with 20 rolls of paper towels, and elderly ladies in white bonnets doling out free food samples. I had to fight to get a Jamaican meat patty sample as portly, balding men seemed to think they had a VIP ticket to that counter.
Then I knew I had to go back and I returned to find my mother and Eliza exactly as I had left them, my mother in the chair and Eliza across her chest, eyes closed.
"She had a very nice nap," my mother said.
The following day, Easter Sunday, I went to my father's. This is only the third actual holiday I've spent with my father since he and my mother split in 1980. My father has been married to a woman named Debby for the past 16 years. We had a nice day, I restarted my daily routine of 500 situps while Eliza lay on her tummy impressing us all with her mini-pushups. I found a documentary on George Balanchine and hoped Eliza was as fascinated with the ballet as I am. I drank a little too much red wine with our late lunch. As I fed Eliza in the bedroom, my father and Debby fell asleep on the couch. When I emerged, they woke up and we went for a short walk around their neighborhood.
My father lives in a retirement community. It's a nice looking community that resembles the set for the "Truman Show" with it's uniform houses, all set the same distance from the street, and sidewalks that don't lead anywhere. It would be a great area to live in if there was an actual destination to walk to, say a town strip with a corner store, restaurant and ice cream parlor. Instead, it just feels a little creepy, the kind of neighborhood that would do well to house Edward Scissorhands.
It was nice to spend the day with my father and then the evening with my mother again. Billy left for his home the following day and my mother and I had the day to ourselves. I'd hoped to meet up with my friend but she had to work late so my mother and I had a pleasant dinner of cavatellis and meatballs. My mom fed Eliza her cereal, amazed by what a good little eater my daughter is. At less than five months, I'll only give her one tablespoon of cereal a day determined to keep the nursing front and center. But my daughter is fascinated by what I'm eating, in fact watching me eat seems to be one of her new favorite activities.
While I'm on favorite activities, let me just list a few of her new things now so I can keep them on record. Eliza has discovered her feet but will only play with them when they're bare. On her back, she loves to grab her toes and try to stuff them in her mouth. When I sit her on my lap, she often bends forward to get a better view of her feet but again, she won't grab them unless they're bare. She loves to be naked, giggles and squeals with delight when I kiss her naked tummy. I'll kiss her tummy and she'll reach out with both hands and grab my hair, her mouth wide in a toothless smile. She rolls from tummy to back and rolled from her back to her tummy for the first time on Easter but couldn't figure out how to stay on her tummy so she just rolled right onto her back. She kicks and pushes off while nursing, my nipple still firmly in her mouth (yes, ouch!) She was enthralled by my mother's hands when my mother spoke to my brother with sign language. My mother and I kept doing the sign for milk, an opened and closed fist, and Eliza raised her little hand and made a few half-hearted fists. Sometimes she responds to her name, sometimes. This one I'm going to be really looking for because this was the big red flag with Billy.
We had a lovely time visiting my mother's next door neighbor in her backyard, now practically a full on playground for toddlers. There are swings for kids and babies, a plastic kid house, three slides of various sizes and a big plastic climbing tree house. Fenced off in another section of the yard is an in-ground pool I looked at very lustfully.
And then it was Tuesday and time for us to take our first bus ride back. I was nervous the bus would be crowded as this particular evening bus originated in Atlantic City. I strapped Eliza into the bjorn, waved good-bye to my mother and dragged the suitcase, the diaper bag and the big bag with the Johnny Jump Up to the bus. The driver put my case under the bus and I stepped inside to find plenty of empy seats. I dumped my bags on the seat and sat on the aisle with Eliza. Her head whipped back and forth, locking eyes with the only two passengers in eyeshot. The woman beside me, a heavily tattooed girl of about 21 smiled back. The portly ex-con type, hooked on his head phones and closed his eyes. The bus driver went inside as my watch ticked past the departure time. Eliza continued to look this way and that, her little legs thrashing against mine. Still the driver didn't return and I wondered if perhaps he was suffering from a bout of bad diarrhea.
Finally, Bus Driver Bob stepped on and put the bus in gear. I waved to my mother from the front seat and felt like crying. Was I sad because I'd had a good visit and was sorry to leave or was I sad to be leaving my mommy, now a new mommy myself, one who couldn't come home but had to make a home? Is it my youth and my carefree existence I was sad to see as the mile markers on the parkway sped by outside the windows? Five minutes or so into the ride, Eliza fell asleep and she stayed asleep as the bus lurched forward and the sky faded from orange to dark blue to dark gray. In the twilight of evening, not far outside the Lincoln Tunnel, Eliza woke up. Again, the head went from one side to the other as she struggled to take in her surroundings. She fought against the brace of the bjorn trying to push herself away from me. I pulled out the bottle I had with me and waited for her to fuss but she didn't. Not through the tunnel, not in the darkness of the New York City Street, not until we stopped behind another bus in the Port Authority Terminal. But it never escalated into a cry, never was more than just a few little screeches. A man helped me retrieve my suitcase and I ungracefully made my way to the elevator that took me all the way down to the subway level.
The first big hurdle was the turnstile. A cop stood right on the other side of the turnstile but he didn't help me kick my suitcase through or stoop to pick it up when it fell over. Placing my arm on Eliza, I squatted to retrieve my case. I banged it down the steps, the Johhny Jump Up now threatening to bust through the holy plastic bag. An E train came right away and I bumbled my way onto it. A very attractive blond woman immediately stood up.
"Would you like to sit?"
I shook my head no, thanked her, placed my suitcase at my feet and grabbed onto a pole. The blond seemed a little perplexed, perhaps unnerved by my lack of acceptence in her act of kindness. An attractive black woman and a man further down, who'd both apparrently not seen my exchange with the blond, both also offered their seats. I waved them off. The blond sat back down and resumed reading the play "The Last Night of Ballyhoo."
A middle aged couple behind me started cooing and talking. Beside them were two women clad in softball attire and dirt.
"How old?" The middle aged woman asked, stripping the peg of her Ipod out of her ear.
"Five months," I said.
"She's very social," she said. "So expressive."
"She likes attention," one of the lesbians, I mean softball women, said.
"She likes to be looked at."
The middle aged woman smiled and put her headphones back in. In a moment, she was actively mouthing the words, all the while smiling and reacting to Eliza. Eliza whipped her head to the other side of the subway car, ready to flirt her way into the hearts of these people. A begger came on and started singing "Lean on Me" but was he crazy? Did he not see my daughter, did he honestly think he could compete with the best little floor show on the IRT? A man in a suit with big glasses got off the train at 34th Street, practically tripping over my suitcase for a better look at Eliza. Eliza turned back to the middle aged couple who grinned and waved with the enthusiasm. The lesbians laughed and turned back to each other only to halt their conversation again when Eliza squealed in protest to their lack of attention. The blond with Ballyhoo looked up at me and smiled as I spoke to my daughter when the train paused between stops and suddenly I felt tears come to my eyes and I pulled her little head towards mine for a kiss, loving this moment, loving this night.
I was back, my independence was back. I could go places and be me and I wouldn't need help, not that much. And others would be receptive, they'd help me and my daughter shutter our way through the night. The guy continued to sing, the lesbians continued to stare, the woman with the Ipod kept singing silently along and I realized that practically every moment with this baby was the best, the best moment of my life.
I got off at 23rd and made my way up the stairs, feeling great at this small accomplishment of getting off the train and up the stairs without pelting anyone with my suitcase or Johnny Jump Up. It was a beautiful night and I was happy to be with her and her only, happy to make my way to my building, happy the night was warm enough to enjoy, and so happy to have this wonderful, delicious, oh so lovable little baby.
posted by Litgirl Mama at 6:45 AM
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