August 16, 2015
Dear Tiffany and Josh,
What an incredible month you have had.
I am at my kitchen table; syllabus prepping, listening to my household begin to stir (dogs, the kid, my mom). I am thinking of you in the midst of the managed chaos that has become my life. For instance, I thought I could get some work done (you know, live and let live), but as I email you I must simultaneously look up the name of the center outfielder for the Pirates and whether or not David Ortiz plays for Boston. The kid likes to process his thoughts out loud (he takes after me in this way), so each baseball card is announced as he flips through the pile. He's got Bryce Harper.
Just now: "Mama, look. Can you see? See? See? Get it? Kershaw and Cueto. Kershaw and Cueto. Same guys, different cards."
I love this kid. I imagine myself at 44 without having had this kid and it is the loneliest feeling. The kind of lonely you can't fix. The kind where you wonder if you should have had a kid, if that's what missing.
Everything else is more complicated because of this kid. Some days, he takes my last ounce. Actually, my love for him takes my last ounce because I would not take some of the crap he doles out from anyone else. (Didn't know tight socks were the end of the world. Didn't know tight socks make me the worst parent ever. Spending $1,000 on the opportunity that is soccer does not make up for tight socks.) And at least once a day, I get ugly. Do NOT f-cking talk to me that way. I am SORRY I swore. The kid takes our last ounce some days because the rest of the world wants our last ounce, too, and we are going to give it to the kid first.
So glad Esme is here to take your last ounce some days. So happy for you.
"Mama, Ivan Nova is a pitcher for the Yankees. Can you look up this picture online?"
"The same picture right here on the card?"
"No, kid, I can't, there must be a ton of images of him online." (Though I am already typing in "Ivan Nova".) "There it is, that's it."
"That one is different."
Neil does an impersonation of the kid calling me from the other room: Mama. Mama! Ma!Ma! maMA! maMA!
"maMa!" means "You and I are one person. You are an extension of me. I am looking for my stupid motherf-cking socks and. . .maMA!"
Have the best time ever with every little detail, joyful or tortuous.
Give Esme our love.