That night we both went to bed at 9:30. We slept well, together, two guys in a bed, with groggy breaks every couple of hours for peaceful feedings and rockings. I awoke in sunlight with him looking at me with huge wide chestnut eyes (his mother’s eyes) and a shy smile on his face. That was an intense bonding night.
I got through the next day with help from another friend who sat with him in the morning while I answered some emails. I understand now the stuff about villages raising children. It is certainly possible to take care of a baby without any help, but it is impossible to do anything else, and by anything I mean things like taking out the garbage or answering the phone. I’m not even considering the possibility of paid work.
Anyway, mom returned – okay, now wait a minute, let’s stop here. See what I’m doing? I called her, without thinking of it, mom. Isn’t this exactly what used to make us all cringe about the way our parents talked? When our fathers referred to the women they married as mom, in front of the kids, didn’t we all silently wonder why anyone would get married? Did any of us ever want to refer to our girlfriends, the ones we buy stockings and garter belts for, as mom? We swore we wouldn’t, didn’t we?
You know why we start doing it? Because the medical profession does, from the birth hospital out. The nurses in the maternity ward call every woman mom and every man dad. It’s easier for them than keeping track of patients’ names, but they also do it because it’s a not-so-subtle way of reminding 19-year-old parents – or shell-shocked 46-year-old ones — of their new roles. Great idea if you’re a social worker; bad if you’re a purveyor of stockings and garters.
Anyway, mom came home – Hugo’s mom, not my mom – late on Monday night and we were both there, all cool and rested and yeah, it was no problem. How was your trip?
Turned out mom’s trip (okay, I can’t stop it now) was fantastic, all restaurants and art galleries and new shoes. I very carefully refrained from asking if it involved any flirtation with French-speaking guys with scarves and shaved heads called Raoul, because even if it did, she deserved it.
Image courtesy of Peasap on Flickr.
