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recovery

Recovery time, at least, for me – I’ve been in a stupor all day in 30 + degree heat, getting over the stress and exhaustion of the 24 hours before. So I can hardly imagine what it’s like to be Anna, on much less sleep, with her body recuperating and her throat still burning, dealing with a tiny newborn, a bouncy 3-year old who doesn’t want to let her out of his sight, many friends, her household, and other complicating factors. Plus a heat wave.

She had a bit of a meltdown this morning, in fact, understandably, but by afternoon was fine. Very cheerful, in fact. She said she’d tell her friends that when the time comes to bring forth their babies, they will not want their husband in the delivery room, but their mother. 
And I said, wait a minute, it depends on the mother. For example, I would not have wanted my own mother in the delivery room. Oh my god, no. Afterwards, yes – when I got home with Anna, she was waiting in our apartment with freshly made scones and a bouquet of sweetheart roses. Wonderful. Not earlier. But I am glad I was useful to my daughter. C’est mon job. 
Can’t believe how little I accomplished today – it felt like I was swimming underwater. Got my hair cut. Did a lot of emailing, letting people know about the baby. Talked and texted to the family across town. Got myself all worked up. Got myself calmed down. Sat. Should have tried harder to look at pictures of Pluto. Just watched a ridiculous Masterpiece Mystery featuring Hercule Poirot and bits of two Ryan Gosling movies. He is so adorably Canadian. 
My hairdresser, who’s a dear friend, told me that several of her clients are Harper supporters. Terrifying. Thank you, John Kenneth Galbraith, one of my heroes, for nailing the issue for once and for all.

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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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