Either I’ve had a magnet inserted into my body while I was sleeping and J has a metal disc somewhere in him, or we are going through yet another clingy phase…
Don’t look now, but I’m being followed. Closely. Relentlessly. Proof of it is that it’s nearly one o’clock in the afternoon and I’m still in my nightgown and robe, and if John Cassavetes was still around he’d think I’m trying to inspire another screenplay.
Spring cleaning has been postponed until I can do it in peace and quiet; that is, as soon as J leaves for school on Tuesday, I will be blissfully reunited with my bucket, rags, cleaners and I will peel a layer of winter off of our surroundings. For now all we’ve done is shred piles and piles of paper, move some furniture, make a few bars of soap, start two greenhouses and listen to The Easter Parade until I’ve considered confessing things I’ve never done just to get it to stop. J thinks, by the way, that this is funny, and he laughs when I stomp out of the room seeking quieter environments. I’ve found myself prancing around the room like Tom Hulce in Amadeus, sticking my tongue out at poor Irving Berlin (who is, quite clearly, NOT to blame for this atrocious rendition of a perfectly good, when listened to ONCE, song.)
The weather is improving slowly. Not enthusiastically, but improving nonetheless. When I look at pictures from last year, I see that we were farther along in the “warm weather” trend than we are this year, but we also had several freeze warnings into April so I will endeavor to be patient. J, on the other hand, insisted on starting seeds for peppers, tomatoes, spinach, chard, peas of two different varieties and two different squashes. If they will prosper is anyone’s guess, but we’ve placed them in a sunny spot in the kitchen with hopes of seeing something good come out of them.
Since we still have tomorrow, Sunday and Monday left of Spring Break, we have three more projects to attempt. J likes mosaic, so that’s on for tomorrow’s schedule after our trip to the store. TGG has promised a trip to the movies for Easter Sunday while I take a breather from all this togetherness we’ve been enjoying. Not that I don’t love the kid, but I really am looking forward to taking a shower without feeling like Lady Jane Grey during her imprisonment. I feel protected, yes, and I feel loved, but I also would love to walk out of the bathroom in my robe without J standing there with that “well, that took you long enough!” look on his face.
Why is it, I ask myself, that J is totally fine with being left alone when there are two more people in the house, but he isn’t fine with being alone when it’s just me who’s home??? I ponder this as we walk up and down the stairs, my shadow closely following, doing chores. I ponder this when I manage to go upstairs to the garage without company and suddenly find him standing in the doorway, quietly observing me as I try to get some chore done. I ponder this when I am brushing my teeth and I hear him sitting on my bed, whipping Slinky around to keep Miss Zelda the Cat from getting too close to him. I also ponder it when Dada and TGG are home and, should any of us go to where J is, we get greeted with a hearty and dismissive BYE!!!!!!
Theories abound. I think he just wants to annoy me. Dada thinks he’s just bored. TGG thinks he’s being protective of me. Jane Goodall would probably say it’s not her department as this is not necessarily chimpanzee behavior, and I should consult a marsupial expert. Either way, if we are koalas, please, let ME ride on J’s back and not vice versa. I think I’ve earned being lugged around by a youngster rather than the other way around.
As I write this, a dear friend is in the hospital about to deliver her first child. She was taken in yesterday and they started inducing late last night. I remember when TGG was born, and I was fruitlessly induced until they decided fetal distress trumped natural childbirth and they took him out. Twice I’ve received messages from her saying “still nothing,” and -more recently- “this sucks.” I reply in as light a tone as I can because she’s a first-timer and she’s scared (and who wasn’t, really, the first time around?) It hasn’t escaped me that my friend, in her late thirties, is currently in a position I haven’t been in for more than 18 years, and that I will never again be in that position. I don’t mean feet in stirrups, I mean feet in stirrups and pushing for dear life (mine and someone else’s.) I go to her house, play with her dogs, tell them she’ll be back with a baby in her arms “soon,” and I realize I no longer sound like someone still capable of popping out babies, but rather like someone who is closer to becoming a grandmother… Strangely enough, this doesn’t pain me at all. When I consider all the work I still have to do with J, I am glad I can’t add more bodies to our already hectic household.
So as I walk around the house with my not-so-little bundle of joy following me around, the neighbor across the way is about to bring to this world her own little marsupial. Can you feel me sending good vibes her way? I remember the anxiety with which I entered each of my maternal enterprises, and I am struck by my naivete, my innocence, my youthful enthusiasm and willingness to tackle whatever life put in front of me. I look back as I sit here and wait for news on my friend’s endeavor, and I am amazed at how I’ve managed to not screw up too badly…