Vincenzo started school this week, and I have to send in a letter for his emergency supply kit—something the teachers could read to him to comfort him down in case of disaster. Here’s a draft I’m working on…any thoughts?
So I had this day last week. It started when I loaded both kids into the car and headed to Costco. Halfway there I realized I had left my Costco card at home so I turned around to get it. I then made it all the way to Costco, unloaded both kids, and set up the stroller, only to realize I had left my wallet at home. We had to abort without so much as a free sample.
Later, I left Vincenzo at home with Grammy and headed to a laser hair removal appointment. I got lost and was a half an hour late, showing up doubly stressed out because of getting lost and because they were about to shoot friggin’ lasers at a *very* sensitive area of my body. Once there, I was told the baby would have to be left in the hallway during my treatment. The tiny, helpless five-week-old who I haven’t even left alone with his own father! It wouldn’t have been that bad if the 21-year-old technician (21!!?) hadn’t stretched out the appointment by telling me about her past few nights of casual sex and going off about how gross everyone’s vaginas are while I nodded politely and prayed to God that the receptionist who was all over my baby when I came in hadn’t ran off to Canada with him by now.
I got home with just enough time to scoop up Vincenzo for a birthday party at a park, but when I went to get the present I saw the cat had peed on it. (By the way, CAT FOR SALE. CHEAP.) My mom rewrapped the gift while I looked for the shotgun which, lucky for the cat, I couldn’t find, and we drove the 25 minutes to the park only to find ourselves the only ones in the entire vicinity. I realized the party had been moved due to rain, but I couldn’t talk Vincenzo into walking back to the car to get my cell phone, so I sat down on a wet park bench and nursed the baby, who promptly spit up on my jacket. Then again on my shirt. Then in my hair.
This is normally the point of the story when one might start crying. I almost did.
But then I happened to look down at Rocco, who had fallen asleep with his tiny hands on my shoulder. He had that milk-drunk look of contentment on his miniature face, and he breathed his perfect, tiny breaths on my neck. I fell in love again, like I do every time I hold my baby.
And I looked at Vincenzo, bouncing around the play set and lasering things to oblivion, the picture of glee. He didn’t care that his pants were soaked from the rain or that we were missing the party or that his mom was tired and cranky and not playing with him. He was running, skipping, galloping, jumping from toy to toy—doing anything but walking—thoroughly enjoying his own imagination.
Despite my own rain-soaked pants and my sour-milk smell, I felt my feathers fluff back up with Rocco’s peace and Vincenzo’s joy. I thought about how I spend my days with two of the three people I love more than anything in the world, and who love me back just as much. We were at a park surrounded by trees and trails, breathing in the rain-washed air and the woodsy soil and the smell of a thousand green things growing around us.
Did I mention I was holding the baby I spent the past two years longing for? That I was holding new life, brand new life, in my own arms?
I used to spend my days with 150 kids who could care less about me. And then I’d meet with their parents who often wanted to “have a word with me.” At night I would spend hours grading essays and trying to unwind from my hectic, draining day. The next day the kids would throw those essays in the garbage on their way out of the classroom.
Bad days really aren’t that bad anymore.
Just a few tales from the week:
1. Vincenzo visited his teacher for the first time and she asked what he would like to be called for the year. Can you guess what he told her? Think about it…think about it…
Wrong! You’re all wrong! He did not ask to be called a ninja turtle for his first year of school. He instead chose the nickname “Cocktail Pep.”*
2. Vincenzo was telling his Uncle Michael all about the show “Wipeout,” and that he should come over and watch it someday. He generously added, “If it’s too late then you could spend the night. You could sleep with Mom and Dad in their bed.”
3. Vincenzo and Grammy were playing a game of tow truck and I asked if I could play. “No,” answered Vincenzo, looking at his hand. “You’re not on the list.”
4. Kevin, who has sired three boys, was talking with his friend, who has sired two girls. The friend asked Kevin if he had any tips on how they could get a boy next. Kevin answered, “Sure. Just give me two hours alone with your wife…”
5. My favorite quote from myself this week: “People who consciously decide to have two kids should be institutionalized. But ain’t it fun to be crazy?”
*Actually, he chose“Crocktail pep,” which is what he calls them and we don’t have the heart to tell him he’s not actually eating crocodile, as he *may* have been led to believe
QUICKIE: Vincenzo, spotting our new mailman: “I can’t tell if it’s a boy or a girl because I can’t see how much hair is on its body!”
My BIL lent me his old camera so I’ve been playing around with it a lot lately and also trying not to leave it on the stove or on the back of the toilet or on the bumper of my car or any of the various places I’m prone to leaving cameras and cell phones. Anyway, I wanted to get a good shot of Rocco with Grammy and Poppy, so one afternoon I had them stand in a carefully chosen spot in their yard, then I selected the lowest possible ISO I could for the available light and opened the aperture as much as possible to narrow my depth of field and thought about composing the photo in thirds and all that other fancy stuff that I’m now smart enough to do. There was just one small problem, though. None of my photography books, not one, told me to change my son’s onesie before snapping the picture.
Nothing says “awwwwww” like an iPood shirt does.
All right, now you’re stealing my spotlight. The comments everyone wrote yesterday were way better than my post; if you haven’t gotten over there to read them, then pop on over to yesterday a la Michael J. Fox and get reading!
Okay, okay, we also did get some pictures of the little guy, and being a fourth-born child myself, I’m hyper-conscious about having as many blog posts about our second son as we do of our first. (Can you believe it? My mom didn’t write a single blog post about me!) Put your bibs on—major baby nom ahead!
*It’s AM as I write this post, and these pictures are SIGNIFICANTLY less cute than I originally thought.
We went to a studio for professional photos of our newborn (Rocco) a couple weeks ago because we did the same thing for Vincenzo and, being a fourth-born child myself, I’m hyper conscious about having as many photos of our second child that we have of our first. I’m pretty happy with how the pictures turned out; what do you think?