Layers

Colt asked me yesterday what the biggest source of unhappiness in my life is.

Last night, Lane crawled on top of me and fell asleep.  This morning I woke up to him in the highchair practically yelling Mamama and when I walked in the room, he was the brightest baby I've ever seen.  I am pretty in love with him.  I loved him when he was born, but my feelings have grown with him and I am so close to it now that it's completely distorted everything else and I don't even care.

My breakfast was greek yogurt, blueberries and honey - the only thing I ate for breakfast during my pregnancy.  It brought me back to feeling massive and lumbering into the car for work in heels, balancing the bowl on my legs while I drove into the stuffy office, writing down everything I put into my mouth for birth class, another stuffy place neither Colt or I enjoyed.  It was this time last year.  He drew pictures through every "practice" labor.  he didn't like touching me in front of all of those people ("It's sacred...") and I didn't like feeling like a buffer all the time between him and the outside.  Why was it so important to me that all those strangers felt like they understood us?  Irrelevant.  The classes ended up being the best thing.

The rain this morning made me think of Portland.  I've been missing powells bookstore a lot, and a small press community and the ease of consigning self-published work.  I've been missing the Tram and the dog park and smoking one hand-rolled cigarette with the addicts from the recovery center across the street.  I've been missing the geo-cache outside our window that no one could ever find.  When Colt and I think back to that time, it's no wonder we created Lane.  We were living our healthiest lifestyle ever, not drinking, living off nut mixes, vegan pizza and Colombian food. 

I bought bread yesterday - fresh baguette to make Brie sandwiches.  Another wave of nostalgia washed over me from the time I was dancing in New York.  In Brooklyn there was a sandwich shop with cheap food.  On my way to the subway in the mornings, I'd buy an entire Brie sandwich, eat half for breakfast while sitting on the subway surrounded by people trying to ignore each other, a quarter for lunch in the park, and a quarter for dinner once I'd made it back home and finally turned in to Weeds on Netflix.  Yes, I lived off cheese and bread.

 
Today, with the culmination of all my nostalgia I walked into Lane's bedroom and picked up my healthy child, the east coast summer rain drying up for a humid day, walked into my full kitchen and drizzled balsamic vinegar over my brie sandwich and ate it in the living room with my son hopping up and down, the whole time thinking how far I've come and how happy I am.

The only source of unhappiness in my entire life is my own head.  Whether being happy does true detriment to my art will have to be seen, but I am really in love and I am really doing well.