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02/08/2009
Association: free. Puff-painted STDs: priceless.
I think about the dead when I'm holding Ben, when the house is quiet and the room is dark and there's nowhere else I should be. It's the only time I really do, waiting for him to finish a feeding or to drop back into sleep. It's hard to fit in otherwise. The days are busy and I'm seldom alone. My grief is catch-as-catch-can.
I hold him and think of my dad, who died before Ben was conceived, and of my aunt, who died just after his birth. I'd have thought it would make me sad, to hold what I've gained beside what I've lost. I'm surprised by how peaceful I find it.
It's enough of a balm that once he's asleep, I often sit longer than strictly necessary. I did this last night at his bedtime. I'd been thinking of my aunt, and how she'd have laughed at the series of posters I'd seen in the halls of the high school that morning where they'd held a family fun day. (Nothing says "Use a condom" like glitter-glued pompoms, I always say.)
From there via free association, I was off to my dad. I was thinking about an awful year in college when I failed all my classes, caught a few STDs, and went a little crazy, and how humane he was when I told him I needed a therapist. There's no shame, he said, in needing help. Sometimes, he told me, we all do.
And from college I zipped off to Shakespeare, and the summer I spent on campus with my Riverside. I was thinking about how cold the comedies left me, how sinister and mean some of them seemed to me, but how ferociously I'd loved the histories. And then I heard Paul and Charlie in the hall, getting ready for Charlie's bath.
Charlie was playing with a calculator. I could hear him wittering brightly to Paul about it. (I wished, as I usually do at bedtime, for a lower volume or thicker walls.) And then, puzzled, "Dad, I don't know what happened. Look."
I suppose he showed Paul the calculator, because Paul then explained that the screen said, "ERROR." "That means there's a problem," he said.
"I was just making numbers," Charlie said sadly.
"Sometimes it happens when you push a strange combination of buttons," Paul said. He must have taken the calculator and pressed the clear button, because then I heard him tell Charlie, "There. Now you can make all the numbers you want."
And he just said it so kindly. And Charlie was just so pleased. I can't quite explain why this hit me so hard, this commonplace exchange, except that it is so commonplace. So absolutely ordinary. I didn't think I'd get this, one son made happy by the simplest contrivance, another sleeping soundly through the cheerful noise of it. The force of it was almost physical.
And so then I was back again at Shakespeare, thinking of a line I hate to hear quoted out of context, so thoroughly does the meaning get mangled. Now is the winter of our discontent, it begins, and that's where people tend to stop, and, egad, how depressing is that?
But it actually goes on:
Made glorious summer by this sun of York.
And it's a pun, of course; that sun of York isn't only a metaphor but a person, a son of the house of York. That the eponymous Richard III is being snarky in these lines, and that he was kiiiind of a rat bastard overall, isn't important at the moment. That he speaks of glory is. (Apparently I can decontextualize with the best of them.)
So there I was, sitting in the dark crying, not out of sadness, not for who's gone, but with wonder at who I have, with the winter of my own discontent, years I prefer not to think of now, magically made summer by these sons of ours. (I get a little grandiose in the dark. And, as it happens, in blog posts.) And laughing a little again, because is there anything not funny about GENITAL HERPES in eight-inch glittery bubble letters? And trying not to wake the baby as I chortled.
I am so lucky. I am so lucky.
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Isn't it amazing how much joy there can be in the little things? Pun intended.
You're at such a peaceful place, Julie. It shows in your writing and I am so happy you found it.
You deserve to be happy. I have those kinds of thoughts all the time too. Before our last two children were born, I used to torture myself by going to Babies R Us and cry cry cry. Needless to say, I'm in a much better place. Your sons are beautiful!!!
Best. Blog. Post. Title. EVAH.
And those peaceful moments when you have time to actually recognize how lucky you are WHILE it's happening? Also priceless.
I had 3 miscarriages before I had my son (who is, as I type this, asleep in my arms) and it hits me like that sometimes too. When he giggles or tries to tickle me with a mischevious look in his eyes. Or, today, when I leaned over him to play peekaboo and he put one hand on either side of my face, pulled me too him and gave me a loud, drooly kiss. He does these things and I look at this beautiful healthy baby I'd given up hoping for and it just makes my breath catch in my throat. They are an embarassment of riches :-D
I liked "Laser Destroyal."
Um. Lovely post and all that, but...yeah. "Laser Destroyal." Heh.
And you explained all those posters to Charlie, because one's never too young to learn that face paint isn't a substitute for a condom!
Look at those ears!!! What a doll!
Julie, in case no one's mentioned it (except in the previous comments above), you rock. Categorically and without qualification. If you knew the number of ways in which you rock, and how perfectly timed this particular post is, you'd scare yourself. Just trust that I have goosebumps enough for both of us.
Thanks for this.
~C~
Oh my god! I love his ears!
Oh my. That just says it. Beautifully. And honestly? My experience wasn't as harrowing as most, so I can say this: I'd go through the whole awful tear soaked mess of infertility again, just to have these two children. It feels miraculous, that somehow they are here.
Beautiful. You actually make me look forward to those night wakings when my new baby arrives. I remember with my last baby, nursing in the living room of our Chicago apartment watching the streets fill with snow at 3 a.m., and thinking I was the only witness to that beauty.
What an incredibly beautiful post. You captured the joy I feel holding my son...the son I sometimes thought would never get here.
Beautiful. Just beautiful. Pubic lice, and all.
lucky. and. blessed.
so am i.
As someone deep in her winter of discontent, I take heart and hope that my glorious summer will eventually come too. So lovely that you can recognize that your summer has arrived.
You just said what I've been feeling all night. I just passed a somewhat sick miracle girl off to her father at 1am so I could check on the other miracle sleeping in the twin crib across the room. Two perfect, beautiful, funny, rebellious, loud, smart and strong girls were born into my life just days before my 40th birthday. Words do not adequately describe the sweetness of my life now. Oddly, it even spills over such that my "troubled" past seems more sweet than bitter. Thank you Julie for putting words to this experience for me.
How about a penis with googly eyes glued on, with the word "Silly Phis" in big happy letters?
The vein of malice in some of the comedies runs a mile wide... he was a bitchy bugger, right enough! But living in Stratford on Avon does have the odd compensation. The RSC performed the Histories cycle during 2006-07, using the same company throughout. I worked for the local tourist board at the time, and managed to wangle cheap tickets to see the first tetralogy a number of times. I've seen some electrifying theatre in Stratford over the years, but these plays were really something quite exceptional. The only serious (and meaningless!) regret I have about my pregnancy was that it prevented me from seeing the second tetralogy. I do so wish I could have magically teleported you over here to watch! I bet you open sweeties quieter than my husband does, too.
And can I just say that US STD posters absolutely rock?! We show boring things like a pair of discarded-on-the-floor knickers with 'Gonorrhoea' stitched prettily onto them. I like the pom-poms so very much more.
Ben is A) eminently and overwhelmingly nomnomnom-able, and B) showing dangerous male sock-removal tendencies. Both chaps in my household cannot keep a sock on for love nor money, and drive me daily closer to the brink of insanity by strewing them in their wake like small colourful droppings. Squash this early tendency at all costs!
Actually, Richard's talking there about his elder brother, Edward IV, who's just been crowned, and continues to mock his glory. (Richard speaks of himself as a 'shadow in the sun' in the same monologue.)
Lovely post, nonetheless!
A lovely update. Also, even though many have already said it... THE EARS!
Julie, you take my breath away.
Lordy - that overwhelming feeling of gratitude in the middle of the night? You've captured it perfectly in words.
Thanks
Ha, thanks, Tam, for the friendly demangling.
Regular reader, irregular commenter here.
Just had to leave a note to tell you how utterly moving this post was. I'm still choked up. If you aren't proud of your writing in this post, you should be...IMHO, it's one of the your best.
Well done.
Even if it can only be occasionally - this is why you should never stop posting. Beautiful piece of writing!
Your post was so beautiful and moving, Julie. It expressed how I've felt since my son's birth. I did not have trouble conceiving him (though I suffered a miscarriage before his birth), but like many women I had struggled and suffered and agonized through my twenties. Those were dark years, a closed-in trap, hopeless. Then I met my husband, and then my beautiful son. My little boy, who was born on the anniversary of the worst day of my life. I had thought the coincidence might sour the day, might make me anxious and feel like his unblemished future was somehow shadowed by this (former) terrible grief. But the opposite happened - it felt like a gift, the universe handing me this impossible blessing. And now, bliss.
Thank you so much, Julie, for sharing your life with us.
when i nurse mine in the dark, i think of the dead as well. i think of my mother-in-law, who died 6 weeks before #3's birth, without warning. she was in every sense the mother of my heart, the one i would've chosen, and her loss has been the purest, most enormous sorrow of my adult life. i have often gone back to reread posts about your father; much of what i feel has been reflected back to me through them. except for the peace. i'm not there yet. i have far too much anger and sadness that her grandchildren will grow up without her, altho if i'm honest i can say there have had moments, flashes, where i almost felt her presence, and that was a kind of peace.
i hope that i can get to the place you describe. thank you for continuing to share about youe experience.
hilarious posters, adorable children, wonderful blogger. thank you!
You made me cry--in a good way--about suns and sons.
Oh. That was beautiful.
Also--CUTEST BABY EVER. So cute. My lord I just want to give him a big snuggle.
I am so glad for you.
Yeah.
The "(CRABS)" poster is incredible. I would love to shake that kid's hand. So skillful that you've incorporated this comedic masterpiece to form a very moving piece of writing.
Where is your book deal? I don't want your blog to change if you get one, but you damn well deserve one.
I'm not sure what my favorite part of this post is--the glittery genital warts, the story of the calculator, the beautiful Shakespeare reference, or those amazingly adorable baby ears! Oh, I just love it all...I'm going to borrow your moment and dream about the day when I can experience a similar one. Thank you.
You've expressed so beautifully exactly how I've been feeling lately - an overwhelming gratitude for what I have despite what I don't, and how it's embodied in the form of my 5-month old son. Thank you for that.
I'm going to skip over the deep stuff here and just comment on the cute baby. And how I love, oh how I love, those ears!
You ARE lucky. But also lovely, wonderful, funny, and deserving. What a great post, sparkly STD posters and all. And especially the tot pictures, I could stare at them for hours.
Achingly beautiful. I also spend time thinking about the dead while up with my Diva at night. We lost my husband's grandmother just afer we found out we were expecting and lost my grandmother four months later. One generation just ended in less time than it took to create a new person. But I take comfort in the fact the our daughter's first and middle name come from that generation and it's impossible to be overly sad in the face of such perfection as your own new baby.
My Ben had those ears too. Now it's hard to see them because they're hidden beneath his Mowgli hair, but they're still there, catching the soundwaves.
I would be remiss not to point out that crabs, fuzzy pompoms or no, can still jump from crotch to crotch even if the couple's using a condom.
This is not a problem I currently face.
When my aunt showed her dying father her newborn son, his comment was "Looks like a Ford with the doors open." The ears, you see.
Lovely!
Just chimin' in to say the same. One of your best posts. You write whenever the heck you can, because its worth the wait.
Wow. What a great post. Thank you. I know that exact feeling.
Really lovely post. I think you really capture what I often feel--it's not just that the horrible wanting of infertility is gone now, but also that the reality of being a parent is sometimes so much more fantastic and fulfilling than you ever dared hope.
Also, that crabs poster is one of the funniest things I've ever seen.
Oh Julie, that was such a lovely post. As a recent widow and DE mom of a 2 1/2 year-old, I so resonnated with your experience of death and life peacefully coexisting. And, I cried at the beauty of Ben. (Plus, I have that exact same rug in my dining room.)
I'm sorry to say that I rarely ever comment to you... but I know of no other word for that picture of Ben than "cute". Honest to God, that is one of the very cutest baby pictures I have EVER seen!
Ok, crying now. This post was beautiful. Those times that I stand a little too long inhaling my daughter's scent just came rushing in. Thank you.
And it's the moments that you just described that make me mourn what I can't just have. So glad that you have such happiness in your life, Julie. Here's hoping that we all get that.
Beautifully written! There are days when I actually Thank God for my infertility because I may not have otherwise been blessed with my beautiful twin boys. I always think it could have all worked out differently and then these 2 boys would not exist. OMG!
I also really miss my grandparents now that i have children of my own. So I get what you are feeling in mourning what is lost. Thanks for sharing! Your baby is gorgeous! Love his outfit too!!