Shades of Gray

My mother invited Josh and I down to for a long delayed, much needed "slumber party" this last weekend. It was absolutely wonderful. I kissed my husband goodbye (actually it felt more like a welcome home kiss -- but we've been a bit backwards lately as you well know), tossed the Roo and the bassinette, two backpacks (one with his stuff, and one with a shirt for me and more of his stuff) my purse, a cooler with frozen moo, and the stroller (in case Dad can figure out how to get some rubber wagon wheels over the stroller's originals, so that we can trek off-road in Dawes Arboretum) -- and tried really hard not to peel out in my attempt to FINALLY FINALLY give Josh and Mom their day (oh, yeah, and mine, too!!!). Jon absolutely hated the idea of my leaving. Hated, pure and simple. We've been living together for a little over five years, and have been married for almost four. In that time, there have only been two nights that we were separated -- the first was the night before our wedding. The second was this trip. Jon was going to try to console himself by having a one-man Jon party -- complete with a whole deep-dish pizza and home-made cupcakes for himself, while he watched anime, played video games, and plowed through some crucial paperwork -- not necessarily in that order, of course. Still, he looked like an abandoned puppy, and was too unhappy to watch me leave. We kissed, hard and fast, and then broke away before I forgot I was supposed to heading out.

The little red Honda was overflowing with all things baby, but as I pulled into Mom's driveway, I realized that while I had prepped for a siege for him, the basic necessities for myself were stashed safely in the drawers at home. No undies for me, no socks, and a limited supply of breast pads. I just barely remembered to bring my little life saving manual breast pump -- I've been without it in times of dire need, and manually milking myself was an ugly, clumsy (and deeply slimy) experience. Reminded me much more of my experience milking cows at the State Fair (and if my hands were as cold then as they were for me, my sincerest and deepest apologies to the entire bovine community).

Mom kept trying to make it an Uber-Spa experience, even offered a foot soak...but I just wanted to be all comfy and cozy. Not that my motives were entirely altruistic, mind you...in addition to my goal of finally (after weather and flu delays) getting a Mom visit, I was after something just as special (sorry Mom, but for some reason, new parenthood puts this right up with my love of you) -- a shower. A real, honest to God, lobster-steamy, water-pressure-drilling -through-the-back-of-my-head shower-type-shower. Ah, rapture. It occurs to me that I probably owe Mom & Dad beaucoup buckage for the all of water damage I have caused the bathroom ceiling and those painted walls over the years, as I never made a point of coming out from under that mini waterfall until the room was so clouded with steam that I must physically push it aside...until I am scalded white and red and every shade in between. Again, rapture. Absolute joy and rapture. Came downstairs to find Josh a snuggly and sleeping bulge on Mom’s shoulder…and Mom had the same look of joy and happiness on her face from holding Josh that I had in stepping into and out of the shower.

Both days began with hot cinnamon bread and sausage and coffee…and cats…Jasper was convinced that he had been elected guard cat to the Dauphin (or maybe he just liked the really fuzzy Care Bear blanket Josh slept on) -- and he resembled a Ra shi da -- or Foo Dog-lion from Chinese mythology as he curled around Josh‘s feet

…we spent most of the night downstairs, because Josh seemed upset in my old room -- I think it was just too odd a place for him…so Josh slept on the loveseat, and I crashed on the couch in the living room. Josh was guarded on one side by a chair that prevented him from wiggling off, and at his feet by Jasper, who took up where Fancy left off, and glared at me when Josh cried (because OBVIOUSLY it was my fault he was crying). Jasper was a hoot, he never comes near me…he never shows any interest in me, but when Josh is there, he hurls himself along side of me and stays as close to Josh as it is possible to be. I made several calls to Jon, who had decided to eat his entire pizza after ten p.m. The silly creature had then gotten violently ill and as a consequence didn’t sleep until five-thirty in the morning. He then didn’t wake up until ten in the morning. I left Mom’s house refreshed, and recouped, and all was good.

Josh had been all smiles and coos for everyone, so of course, they thought he was pretty darned amusing…and we began our long journey home…made longer by the fact that I thought I would hit the C- Wallyworld before I hit Z-. My intention was to breeze in and breeze out, but even in C-, Josh drew a crowd, and while the gauntlet was infinitely smaller than at my store, there were still enough people who remembered me and who had heard of Josh’s story to be fascinated and so our progress was delayed a bit.

Josh, though all of this, was a docile, interested little guy…but the hour and a half drive home now had an additional thirty minutes tacked on, and he had now been in the car seat for two hours. I came home to worn and shaky Jon, and within thirty minutes of our arrival, all of my recouping and refreshing got shot to hell. Josh had had enough. He uncrunched and stretched out and began to let out ear-bleeding screams that wouldn’t stop for another hour and a half. Changing didn’t work, bathing didn’t work…singing and playing soft music didn’t work. Both of us felt as though we’d been hit in the face with a heavy, flat rock. Finally, I resorted to the old standby…I wrapped Josh up, and began trudging around in the mud of our field. The mud squelched into my shoes, and around my ankles, as I had not stopped to put on socks, and Josh screamed and struggled and screamed. I was convinced that the relatives would think I was just torturing him, but as loud as he was, the walk was helping…me, at least. The screaming just wouldn’t stop, and it was a cold, clear night that echoed every sound. In all likelihood, Josh’s howls could be heard up and down the river. Usually, Josh is out and gone by the time I hit the far end of the field -- no such luck, this time. However, by the time I rounded the “bend” and began to make my way back to our house, he finally settled into that heaviness that signals deep sleep… As I stepped back onto the porch, my muscles untensing, my neck unknotting, and the ringing in my ears subsiding -- knowing that in fifteen minutes more, Josh would be so out that we could clogdance on his head without his making a whimper -- some weasel trucker came whipping around the curve (and that jerk was totally speeding) -- and not only did we suddenly have to deal with the noise and rattle of his rig, but he decided he needed to honk too. (Pastor Bob, are you absolutely certain there isn‘t a codicil to that “thou shalt not kill” routine…something about “unless you wake up the howling creature I JUST got to sleep?” Couldn‘t we just pencil it in somewhere? God might not approve, but I‘m sure Mary would totally side with us.) That was it. Joshua Chamberlain, Banshee-boy, awoke with even more determination, and somehow even more decibels. In moments, I was reduced to howling, whimpering goo myself. Jon, still looking and feeling as though he had been hit by a flat brick, tapped my shoulder and tagged me out. Somehow, Jon did it…not immediately, not quickly…but with more patience and calm than I would have credited to either of us. In the soft red glow of Josh’s lamp, he soothed and sang and burped and spoke…and Josh relaxed, and responded. After about fifteen minutes of deep breaths, and deep sighs of my own, I returned to Josh’s room to find a fascinating sight. Josh was looking up at Jon with utter fascination, and Jon was looking back…like the Dream Prince I knew, and the honest to God father he was becoming. Just he and Josh…he would talk, and Josh would coo back up to him. Josh was enraptured…and Jon, well, Jon was a little dog-eared and worn, but soothing and even smiling.. I’m getting all sniffly. All he ever wanted to do in life was love me and be loved by me …and he gets all gruff and difficult when anyone else gets involved in our life, or when talking about Josh...and yet …and yet…every once in a while, someone can get through those walls he puts up…and I think, spite of Jon’s natural contrariness and bluster…that Josh may have found a crack of sunlight...it will come, I think...it will come.


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Days later, Jon and I were cuddled up to each other…I was holding a not-quite-asleep Josh, and leaning into Jon’s arms. Some how the conversation turned to testing…and I told Jon that I was going to teach Josh how to love essay questions as much as I do -- that it was those nasty true and false deals that I hated. Jon responded that the true and false questions were the best, that he’d teach Josh that the world was simply black or white, good or bad. “No, love, it’s shades of gray…” I told him, and snuggled deeper into his shoulder. “Just like your hair.”