It all started on Friday when I took Noodle the Labordoodle on a walk in our hood. A couple of blocks away there is the steepest street in all of Los Angeles that is capped by a mountain of stairs taking you from Highland Park into the coveted Mount Washington zip code. It’s a great workout- really gets your heart pumping. When your Papa and I tried it a couple of weekends ago, I’m not trying to brag, but I basically killed it while he struggled up the steps. I was really looking forward to having another go when half way up the street two stray dogs approached. The old mangy brown one was obviously harmless, but not the female Pit Bull mix. She wasn’t harmless at all. She immediately went for Noodle’s neck, scaring the crap out of me and when I yelled she started to come at me. Terrified I waved my arms and yelled as loud as I could, which backed her off for a moment, but then she came back at me. I screamed as loud as I could, my adrenaline was pumping so hard, I’m sure you felt it Pony. A couple of nice gentlemen came outside to see what was going on and tried to keep the bitch away but I think they were scared too. So I grabbed Noodle and we went back down the hill with the dog following and me turning around every so often yelling at her to go away. It scared the crap out of me and I think my Momma Tiger came out. I wasn’t going to let that dog get near us or Noodle. I guess I did end up getting my blood going in the end, anyhow. That’s one way to get a workout.
Nothing against Pit Bulls, by the way. I’ve had one myself and she was the best dog that ever lived, Luna. I will never forget her as long as I live.
Saturday was great, went to Nanna’s baby shower that evening and had so much fun. Charla Pauley-Maxwell was there with a beautiful sun hat and her sparkling smile. Nanna is about to pop and is my pregnant buddy, her daughter is going to be named Willow. I’m thinking of writing a children’s book about The Adventures of Willow and Pony, illustrated by Nanna. You will love her, She’s Danish and loves the color grey.
Then IT happened. The Incident.
We lost the battle, but have not lost the war.
Around 5am as I was drifting in and out of sleep I felt something crawl up the back of my head and over my face and when I finally realized what it was I brushed it off my cheek and jumped up screaming like a banshee. Your Papa immediately jumped up too and turned on the light just in time for me to see this giant cockroach on my pillow rushing towards my legs. I jumped off of the bed, still screaming, and pointing, with no words available to me, while Papa grabbed a tissue and squished the motherfucker to death. He was my hero.
So here is the deal, we don’t have an infestation, we have a situation.
We live next to an open field, which is awesome, because it’s so quiet, and is not so awesome because it has cockroaches living in it. Big daddy ones with wings that sometimes take flight. Our house is exterminated outside once a month and they only come inside to die, or so they tell me. I have found many on their backs, legs wiggling in the air, waiting to die, the next morning. I pretend that they are meditating with me sometimes, and then other times I just squish them and throw them away. But live ones are rare. Lucky me.
In the Art of War it says to know thy enemy. I don’t know if I want to know this enemy but I do know that the two experiences this weekend almost made me want to give up and become a hater of my hood and home, but I am not going to let one dog and one cockroach beat me. I am fighting back! With wisdom and compassion. Two lethal weapons against fear and judgment. My spiritual guide, Tracy, the wisest woman I know, reminded me of the way of the Dharma. That I could roll over or stand up and embrace what feels unembraceable. Imagine if you will, the slums of Brazil, or India, or Mexico? I wonder how many cockroaches crawl over them in the middle of the night? How many dogs they have to fight off in a single day? Compassion. It’s a powerful tool.
I am better and stronger than I think I am.
I am lucky and loved beyond my wildest dreams.
I am safe, regardless of my fears.
I am a mother now and need to start acting like one.
Happy Mother’s Day. I couldn’t think of a better gift.
Other than maybe your Papa making me pancakes in my chicken apron.
Isn’t he just the most handsomest man in the whole wide world? This was taken at the paint store where Sara Lov helped us pick out the precious lilac you’ll see in your room. She’s really good at that sort of thing, as well as others, like singing.
And lastly- I read another awesome book about baby raising. This one is called Our Babies Ourselves by Meredith F. Small.
This one explored and explained the emerging science called Ethnopediatrics. Basically, the culture of parenting. Fascinating stuff! The ideology and theory behind the similarities and differences between such seemingly disparate cultures as America and the !Kung San of Africa. It really opened my eyes and helped me see that no way is necessarily completely 100% right or wrong however there is a basic biological argument for certain things, like co-sleeping, breastfeeding, and baby wearing. After reading it I envisioned us wandering around Highland Park, half naked with you on my hip in a sling, breastfeeding at will, before retiring at night in one family bed until you left for college. I don’t know honey, I just don’t see how this optimal biological system can work for us. We live in a different reality from the !Kung San. However, I am not so much a fan of the uber independent let’s push them away from us as soon as possible so we foster this capitolist mentality in our children in America philosophy either. There must be a balance. I know there is, and between your Papa, you and I, we’ll find it.
Like your wise father said to me this weekend- as long as we love each other, respect one another, and try our best we’ll be fine.
I think he’s right.
I can be kind of a freak about things sometimes. Just letting you know. Consider yourself forewarned, you little gymnast.
I am getting more and more excited to meet you every day that passes.
Love,
Mom
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Dear Squirt, 