Our wedding day was four years, two weeks and six days ago. It was one of two best days in my life, which is why I cried like a two year old getting a toy taken away when the cops came at 11:30 and told us to shut it down. Lame neighbors.
Our friend Dave tried to talk some sense into me. It had been the perfect day, he said. It was sunny, we were at my parent’s house, one of our favorite places in the world, I got to rap Empire State of Mind on stage with the band and my family, the food was good, the sunset had a green flash, the water was see-through and I was married to Scott after waiting my whole life to be with him. “All of this and it’s like there’s a pile of rat crap in the corner over there and that’s all you can see,” he told me. And when he put it that way it was ridiculous that I was upset over the police making us turn our music off.
Last week I was besides myself over the unpredictable success of feeding Sprout. Why was breastfeeding sometimes so amazing and other times so torturous. It was becoming a mystery I was obsessing over, laying awake at night thinking about what I ate that day and reviewing the number of feedings, average times and notes I had typed into my iPhone app, missing a chance to sleep that wouldn’t come again. I told Scott I didn’t feel like myself. I cried when she took a bottle of my milk one morning even though I should have been relieved. Friday afternoon after finally getting clearance to get back in the water after almost six weeks of recovery, I walked down the stairs at my parent’s house and jumped in while Scott and Avalon watched. The second I swam under a wave I started crying. It felt so good to feel like I knew what I was doing again. I thought, I have never felt so much like a mermaid.
When I got out I held Avalon in the shorebreak. I could see she was ok. I could see she was happy. I could see she was blessed to be raised near the ocean. I could see I had been too busy focusing on the rat crap in the corner.