The other day we were driving to the studio and we noticed a women in full Lululemon gear crossing the street quickly and somewhat erratically. Actually, to really paint this picture I have to go back a few steps. When we drive into the studio we leave at 6a. It is dark and quiet and nighttime still hangs in the air. Mercedes, David, Holden and I all shuffle in and out of the bathroom, throw on our coats and pile into the little car. We cross town from our little home on our little street to bigger houses on prettier streets. We listen to music in the car and talk, sometimes Holden falls asleep.
The studio is on Yonge Street, but it is all cleaned up where we are. Last winter there was a man on a bench outside AYCT who peed in a cup and had a painful-looking leg issue. But that is about it. No one has threatened to rape and kill me at Yonge and Lawerence. Holden has a bonafide fan club at the local Starbucks, when I go in people I don’t know start talking to him. The most hardship I have experienced in the area is having to eat second-rate baked goods because a local dearth of vegan yummies. More importantly, I have never seen a crackhead.
But, on the drive into the studio that morning, we saw the woman on her morning jog – and David said, “Is that a crackhead?”
That hardened, thin-lipped face I have associated with crack addiction for so long, is actually the face of driven unhappiness.
Motherhood can make you so uptight. I was uptight before I had a baby – but now compulsion is through the roof. I actually contemplated packing everything for my trip to New York in a ziplock bag to prevent bedbugs. Mercedes asked me, jokingly, if I would pack in individual ziplock bags. And I actually pondered it for a second, thinking it might be a useful way to organize. Or a surefire way to be institutionalized. I swear I didn’t mean to become such a controlling bitch, it just happened because no one can do anything right.
I have a picture in my head of who I am and it is something like this:
crossed with this:
But really, day to day, it is more like this.
I walked by a young woman in Mysore one day. I had Holden in the carrier. She was sitting on a stoop, her legs bent in an awkward way, she was drinking a chai by herself. And I felt sad, because she looked so young. Like such a girl, and I felt so far away from that. Like I might never get back to that feeling of sitting on the sidewalk, kinda lonely, but filled with promise.
Having a baby is good because babies are the greatest people on earth and YOUR baby is the bestest person ever. OF COURSE the pros outweigh the cons, but having a baby can also suck because babies can turn you into a controlling bitch.
Plus, it hurts when they come out.