Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Nutmeg wants us to stay confined to the couch today, and who can argue with that? I think it's a growth spurt: For the past few days she has nursed more and more often and intensely. With those little grunty whimpers as she goes to latch on, that make her sound like a sex-starved vixen. But it could be early teething, too, because she is drooling a ton. But then again, I think she's drooling so much because if one of my breasts isn't in her mouth, her hands are. The upside is that she sleeps a lot because of all the nursing. I could sneak away next time she falls asleep, and get some housework done, but I already mopped the hardwood and put the freshly laundered hallway runner back, and it's soooo nice to just cuddle. Besides, I've been up since before 4 a.m., when Nutmeg went on a nursing binge long enough that my mind completely woke up and I started thinking about our homeowner's association accounts. Before I knew it, Nutmeg was cuddled up with her daddy asleep and I was e-mailing our co-owners a strong recommendation that we increase the amount we contribute to our reserve fund. I wonder if they checked the time stamp on their emails -- 5 a.m.

Anyway, it's nice to savor all Nutmeg's little facial expressions when she nurses. She just came off the breast earlier and gave this self-satisfied look that only a stubborn, toothless grandma could match. My real favorite, though, is when she is offered the nipple and she doesn't want any more, and she smiles at IT, as if it's a person offering her another cup of tea. She smiles as if to say, Oh no, I really shouldn't, much as I'd like to.

I just read the blog of a friend who's been trying with her husband to start a family since long before we were. I looked at the archives and discovered that they visited their first fertility clinic the same week that I got a positive pregnancy test. It gave me an eerie feeling and also made me feel -- like I do so often these days -- as if we'd won the lottery. It's like when we were carrying Nutmeg out to the car with my mom and dad, early in this adventure, doing nothing special, when this homeless guy sitting across the street says, in a conversational voice, "Hello beautiful people."

My family and I look at one another in awe. We are the beautiful people. As good old Kurt V. said in my favorite book of his, the little-noticed "Hocus Pocus," "we'd won, we'd won, we'd won."

But then, I give him the quick look-tiniest hint of a smile-look away treatment that I usually give homeless men who speak to me, a vain attempt to say, "I'm not a bitch, but please don't talk to me again." His reply: "Sorry for being here."

And instead of a winner, I feel like a thief. A jerk. A flaunt. Did I make this guy homeless? No, but I still feel guilty about it. I felt that way reading my friend's blog, too, especially when she wrote about how difficult christmas was, what with relatives asking when they were going to have kids and friends bringing by their ultrasound picutres. That ultrasound was Nutmeg.

No comments: