Four Months

As a child, I was very anxious about being on time. Maybe I watched Alice in Wonderland and really internalized the Rabbit?

OK, but being late for tea is rude. I mean, it’s meant to be served hot.

I grew older and grew out of this anxiety. I mean, I still believe that ten minutes early is on time and on time is late, but I stopped giving myself a sour stomach over it.

I kind of mellowed the older I got and a lot of my anxieties abated.

And then, I became a mom.

And that unlocked a secret level of my brain that is basically a non-stop electric carnival of anxiety and remembering sixty billion things all at once.

I don’t do enough tummy time/Does Will have a flat head?/I need to order more diapers/Don’t forget to bring the Baby Tylenol to the pediatrician just in case/Will needs to eat in an hour/The dogs need to be fed/Add maple syrup to the grocery list/How long did he nap today/Shit, the onions are burning/You need to email that lady back.....

It’s like being on a hamster wheel….and the hamster is on cocaine.

Like, Wall Street day trader in the 80s level of cocaine.

It is….a lot and makes me appreciate parents and paper planners so much more.

BUT, every day, my kid wakes up in the morning and grins at me. Every day is a new adventure, every day is a chance to learn something and create some beauty in this mess. And I’m the one who gets to hang out with him.

Totally worth the trade-off.

Dear Will:

Daddy and I have a couple of favorite places in town. We love the tacos at Lupita’s and the potstickers at Joy Noodle. Daddy loves the wahoo roll at Sushi Jo and I love the Chuck Norris smoothie at 3 Natives.

And we both love Howley’s.

(So much so, I’m seriously considering about taking our family Christmas pictures this year).

We go there all the time and when I was pregnant with you, I couldn’t wait to take you to “our” place.

The last two times we went there were memorable to say the least.

You made friends with a biker. Like, leather kutte with patches and the whole bit. Proud grandfather that he was, he showed us pictures of his adorable granddaughter and then, literally told us that he wanted to, “kill people who don’t put socks on their babies.”

THANK GOD you had your little red socks on that day or it would have gotten real Sons of Anarchy up in there.

We had dinner there this past week - Daddy had fried chicken, Mommy had an acai bowl and fried okra and you, my little duckling, had your first bite of people food!

Wait.

Shit.

It’s people food for dogs. It’s called solid food for babies.

Whatever.

You tried applesauce!

And you liked it!

I think!

And you ate it again at Nanima’s house.

Look at you go!

Freshly cut fruit is one of the ways Indian women show their love. Seriously - it’s a thing.

Your Nanima is forever cutting and peeling fruit for me and Masi and now, I get to do the same for you.

We are so lucky to live in a tropical climate. Citrine orbs of oranges and grapefruit hang heavy as the smell of orange blossoms perfumes the air. We mix fresh pineapples with seltzer for our morning mocktails and peel lychees - their flesh as slippery-sweet as scallops between our fingertips. Starfruit and watermelon practically glow in the dark, they’re so bright and then, there are mangoes.

You’re half-Indian and need to understand that mangoes are serious business.

I’ve heard your Papa and great uncles arguing furiously about different kinds of varietals and when I was pregnant with you and started crying over the fact that the store-bought mangoes I got were trash - your Nanima knocked on her neighbor's door and said, "My daughter is pregnant. Give me some of those mangoes in your yard."

And Daddy took me to a mango farm and said, "Go nuts. Pick out whatever you want."

Hell, the DOG has a mango habit. In season, Indiana eats at least two fresh mangoes on his daily walk.

And now, we get to feast together - fresh fruit in the sunshine. Nothing ever tasted so much like joy.

What else?

Oh! You talk so much now - cooing and babbling. I’ve been talking to you since I first found out you existed and part of the soundtrack of your life is my stream of consciousness.

I hope you and I will always talk to one another because your voice might just be my favorite sound in this world....except for maybe that live version of Bruce’s Death To My Hometown with Tom Morello on guitar. Goddamn, that’s an awesome song.

And finally, you have a new best friend - Albie the stuffed Gator. We take him everywhere and you spend a lot of time “rasslin’” with him.

You are #FloridaBaby and I couldn’t be happier because I truly love my home state. I can’t wait to have Sunshine State adventures with you - Robbie’s in Islamorada to feed the tarpon and eat key lime pie on a stick, Gainesville to see Masi and Gator games at the Swamp, theme parks with your aunts, uncles and cousins, wandering around Wynwood looking at all of the art, visiting Cape Canaveral for rocket launches or hell, just hanging out in our yard - splashing in the pool with Indiana and sharing empanadas while Amy Winehouse sings about the fuckery of missing a Slick Rick gig.

You’re napping next to me as I write this - arms up and Albie strewn across your chest - and all I can think about is how utterly grateful I am.

I am so glad I get to be your mom, little koala bear. I can’t wait to see what adventures we’ll have next.

Mama loves you.

xx

P.S. - I am also grateful for this picture of you because your face reminds me so much of Gob from Arrested Development - “I’ve made a huge mistake.”

God, I hope you have the same sense of humor as me.