the people in your neighborhood

Yesterday was a strangely perfect day.

No nap in the morning, even though the boy was tired, rubbed his eyes, yawned, etc. I tried, people. You know I did. But no dice.

I called a mom friend who’s been having a rough time with her not-sleeping 3 month old — at all ever; well, maybe for two hours at a time. She and her husband trade off half the nights each staying up with the baby trying to soothe him or keep him company. Stopped by her house and just took the walk with her to her yoga class. So we could talk, hug, have company. Have I mentioned how easy it is to isolate and get lonely in this momming business?

Then Jonah and I went to the pediatrician’s office for her monthly bag lunch Q&A to ask her all our questions. Yes, Jonah’s army crawl is perfectly normal. No, she doesn’t think he’s ready to give up the morning nap. Try heavier curtains to darken the room. Yes, he’ll probably grow out of his incredible skin sensitivity to EVERYTHING.

There was an aquarium in the waiting room where the gathering was taking place. Jonah stood on a chair (with me guarding of course) so as to be eye level with the fish, and yelled at them: GAH GAH GAH GAH GAH! His voice ragged with excitement. I’m wondering if maybe the g-sound is for “goldfish” since many of those appear in his various books.

I left there at 1:30, charging home to get the boy to the crib and a-nappin’. He was clearly showing the signs (oh, those signs). But then I saw Laura and Flann on a street corner and I had to stop because A) Laura doesn’t live anywhere near me or this particular corner and she doesn’t drive, so what the heck was she doing there? and B) She usually works on Thursdays. Doubly intriguing and what a happy accidental meeting. I pull over and find out that she’s running Flann back and forth to doctor’s appointments. So I get Jonah out of the carseat, back into the stroller, and walk with her to her destination (after we stop at Bakesale Betty’s for Lemon Ices first).

Jonah falls asleep in the stroller and I decide that transferring him to the car and driving home and transferring him up the stairs would severely be pushing my luck. So I stay on foot, park us at a cafe, which I then realize is around the corner from another friend’s house. One of my pre-baby non-kid-ed friends. I call her but she’s at work but she hasn’t had lunch so she comes and meets me and has a BLT and we catch up for over an hour and then I see Laura and Flann again — across the street.

So for the second time that day, I shout out to her. And she comes to where I’m sitting and my other friend goes back to work, and socializing with L and F resumes.

Then Laura has to go, and I’m alone again. The cell phone rings. Friend number four of the day. Her new beau has flaked on their evening plans due to sudden arising of unfortunate work-related events and she’s left with a spare ticket for a live theater show. She doesn’t tell me the name or what it’s about, only the name of the director. But he’s good. Very good.

I call Scott to ask for permission for a girls night out and he says yes.

Get home, feed the boy, start preparing dinner. Scott gets home, takes over bedtime routine while I slip the marinating-since-yesterday tri-tip into the oven. Boy is in bed by 6:30, and we’re eating an exquisite meal.

At 7-ish, I sprint across the bridge into San Francisco, find street parking not too far away from the venue, but far enough that I get blisters on my feet from my fancy suede platform clogs that I never get to wear (chastise self for forsaking trusty quotidian running shoes). Locate building. Can’t find door. Notice blue-haired and pierced types walking in opposite direction from me. Turn around and follow. Destination reached.

It turns out to even be good theater. (So rare.) Really good — tear up three times from the truths told and stand in ovation at the end good.

Thank friend’s boyfriend over cell phone afterward for staying home and giving me my first real night out in a year and a half. He laughs and says something about schadenfreude.  Ooops! I didn’t mean… Oh well.

And then I’m home by 10, and the boy sleeps through till 6:45 this morning.