Five Months

My favorite John Mulaney bit is from The Comeback Kid. It’s the story of meeting Bill Clinton. It’s one of the funniest stories I’ve heard in and of itself, but my favorite part is how Mulaney keeps getting distracted by this compulsion to recount the ending of the 1993 movie, The Fugitive.

“I went with my mom as her date to reconnect with Governor Bill Clinton.

We walked into the ballroom. It was a big hotel ballroom. It was the Palmer House Hilton, big Hilton hotel ballroom. Walked into the ballroom, it was packed with people.

It’s actually the ballroom from the end of the movie The Fugitive, remember?

So, that ballroom. So, my mom and I walk in, it’s packed with people, the…

Sorry, the end where Harrison Ford, as Dr. Richard Kimble, bursts in to confront Dr. Charles Nichols, right?

Okay. So, that ballroom. So, my mom and I walk in, it’s packed with people.

Why does Kimble confront Nichols?

Well, I know we all know this, but…

No, no. But, but, but… Kimble, he found out that Nichols, along with Devlin MacGregor and Lentz, who has mysteriously died, they had hired Frederick Sykes, the one-armed man, to kill Kimble. Kimble’s wife wasn’t even the target.

I know we all know this.”

I was channel-surfing the other day, came across Ghost and immediately started talking to Will about it.

“Oh, buddy! This is so good! It’s Ghost. You ever seen this? Of course you haven’t. See this guy? Carl? Yeah, Carl’s a real piece of shit. Wait. Let me back up. So, Patrick Swayze plays Sam…”

I cannot wait to take Will to his first movie. I have a whole strategy when it comes to the movie going experience.

You’ve gotta wear your most comfy hoodie because even though it feels like you’re breathing clam chowder outside? Inside the theater is about 15 degrees Kelvin.

You’ve gotta get there early because even with assigned seating, you still don’t want to miss the previews.

Movie theater popcorn is trash in comparison my homemade popcorn but popcorn + Raisinettes mixed together is a pretty great snack to munch in the dark.

And afterwards, you go and get burgers and talk about the movie and make plans for the next one you want to see.

Given Will’s age and the fact that movie theaters aren’t even open now, it’s a little ways off.

Also, Will has no clue what I’m talking about.

But, I get the feeling he’s getting more and more used to the stream of consciousness babble he hears from me constantly…and there’s a solid possibility that one day, we’ll run into Tony Goldwyn and my kid will say something along the lines of, “My mom says you’re a real piece of shit.”

Sorry, Fitz.

Dear Will:

Happy Five Months, buddy!

This time last year, I had just found out that I was pregnant with you.

I remember feeling ALL of the feelings - joy, hope, terror, nausea - and being so annoyed that I couldn’t tell anyone.

I mean, in a few short months, I would get to meet the coolest person I’ve ever known and I had to go to work and pretend that everything was normal.

Yeah.

Work was a place we had to go to instead of being a laptop set up on a bed, couch, your nursery or Nanima’s kitchen table.

Crazy, huh?

In fact, the last time I remember being “at work” was my 37th birthday.

We hosted a fundraiser at a local burger and poutine joint and I remember running around like a crazy person - greeting attendees, taking pictures, keeping track of donations - all while pregnant and in heels.

I figured I would make it up that weekend - birthday brunch with all of your aunts and uncles where Daddy and I would announce your impending arrival and we’d all toast and cheer and I’d be marginally annoyed because my champagne flute just had orange juice in it, but it’s fine. Totally worth it.

And then, COVID.

This taught me one super important lesson - celebrate as much as you can whenever you can. Find the light, revel in it and raise a glass, your voice and the volume whenever you can.

Life will always be lurking around the corner, ready to cold-cock you so don’t postpone joy.

This month - we have celebrated all sorts of milestones.

We didn’t celebrate your four-month sleep regression but we got through it together - listening to James Taylor in wee small hours of the morning and hoping for a little peace and a little sleep.

We celebrated Valentine’s Day at Mommy’s favorite bar with brunch, a puppy adoption event and a diaper blowout that resulted in me changing you on the floor of the disabled stall.

Improvise, adapt and overcome - parenting in a nutshell.

I mean, they serve food so technically, it does count as a restaurant….

We also celebrated by taking you to the science museum for a Beatles Laser Light show. Texas-sized nope on the lasers but you loved the music and you were fascinated by the aquarium.

One day, Daddy and I will take you to Robbie’s on Islamorada. We’ll hand-feed the tarpon and share key-lime pie on a stick and conch fritters together. Yeah, Mommy’s pretty much the world’s worst vegetarian.

You are whipping by your developmental milestones in a mad dash to be a grown up to which I say, dude. Calm down.

Enjoy being a kid for as long as you can because being a grown up sounds fun but it’s basically one huge back-handed compliment.

You can drive wherever you want! Wait, but what? Whose phone number is that on my car insurance? Oh, that’s how much I have to pay? Cool.

You can eat a whole pan of brownies for dinner! Wait, but what? Your stomach feels like Dresden after the RAF bombed the shit out of it? Cool.

You can stay up all night! Wait, but what? That was a terrible idea and you’re now praying for the sweet release of death despite being an atheist? Cool.

You’re a beast when it comes to tummy time and use your face to propel yourself forward which is just sheer moxie. You’re starting to sit with support and despite what this picture indicates, you hate your Bumbo.

It restricts your movement and since you’re my little yogi bear, any sort of position which doesn’t allow to your stretch and twist is not for you.

William John - you are my greatest joy. You, my baby boy, are the swagger and twang of Stevie Ray Vaughan come to life in my arms. My sweet little thang, my pride and joy.

Knowing you has made me a better person.

For example, Twitter. That stupid bird app was my favorite method of calling Donald Trump Jr. “Fredo” and telling him to shut the fuck up forever (which is still a valid and appropriate form of expression because that guy sucks) but now? I find myself thinking about people I don’t even know and sending a fervent wish of love, light and hope into the universe for them.

I think about Andrew Kaczynski’s family pretty much every day and a lump forms in my throat.

I don’t believe in heaven but I find myself hoping that it is real and that Andrew’s daughter is there - happy and at peace, enveloped by all of the love she received during her short time on earth. I see pictures of people’s kids and dogs and hope that every night, they go to bed happy - contented hearts and full bellies.

I watch you sleep and these are things I think about. I’m overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude and I want so much for others to feel it too.

That’s my wish into the ether - that you grow up in a world filled with kindness and compassion with people who wish you well and that you do the same for them.

Mama loves you, Baby Duckling.

xx

Oh and there’s a greater shot of Ted Cruz not being the Zodiac Killer than there is of Mulaney ever seeing this but just in case - John, you are loved by many and I hope you’re OK.