The Motherland

Jericho has started to smile. But he doesn't smile at me. He smiles at strangers and his Bubby (my mother-in-law). He smiles at his father and looks around when he hears his father's voice. But I don't get the sense that he recognizes me as a separate person. I'm more like a landscape.

That makes sense, since 7 weeks ago he was literally housed inside of me. And he continues to be nourished by my body. He sleeps on me. I carry him around. I am (almost) always there, part of him. This is good. But it doesn't get you appreciation.

It's a little bit of an ego trip to be Mother Earth for someone. You feel so ... essential. It's so primal. You feel a lot more important than just being someone's lawyer. I am his landscape. Of course, without me, life would still go on for him. Lot's of people love him and can take care of him. But I like feeling so needed.

I also hate it sometimes. Like the other night, Bryan, Jade, and I were going to go see a movie. Of course, it was last minute and I hadn't pumped, so we figured we'd take Jericho with us. It was after 9. He'd (probably) stay asleep. So we drove into Center City to the Ritz Five Theater (where Babies was playing, coincidentally). We bought our tickets and got in line to buy popcorn. I detected some apprehensive looks from other theater-goers. Before we could go into the theater, the usher said, "You can't go in there with a baby. No one under 5 is allowed entry. It's been that way for years." This was confirmed by the manager who gave us our money back. We dejectedly went home.

Duh! If we had thought about it for a minute, we would have realized that one never sees babies in movie theaters. No one wants to hear a baby crying while they are trying to enjoy a movie. I don't know why we thought we could just waltz into a serious foreign film carrying a baby, who would hopefully keep quiet, but most likely cry, at some point.

And then last weekend, Bryan and I wanted to go out for dinner. I have been feeling some serious cabin fever lately. We drove through Manayunk, a nearby trendy strip, which was hopping on a Saturday night. The thought of going into one of those pubs or nice restaurants with a baby made us feel like wallflowers at prom. We ended up driving from the city into the suburbs to dine comfortably with our baby at a Jewish deli. The waitress rushed us because they close at 9.

I know what you're thinking. Get a babysitter, stupid. We're working on it. Bubby is ready and able. But it takes orchestration. And I'm not especially good at orchestrating things these days. I mostly just get through the day. It's hard being Mother Earth.