Monthly archive for June 2012

A funny story

My friend Bethany tells really great stories. So great, in fact, that sometimes they end with “And that’s how I accidentally dated a Venezuelan exchange student.” She always introduces each story by saying “Here’s a funny story!” or “This is a sad story!” which is very helpful so you’re prepared to brace for hilarity or gird your loins in the face of looming tragedy. Anyway, in Bethany’s honour, here is a funny story. (more…)

Ice cream

Around this time last year, when Ellie was not very old at all, I made the mistake of deciding to take her on a little road trip to a neighbouring town to visit my friend Bethany and eat ice cream in the park. Our friend Pam, who was coming with us, ran quite late for some reason or another, so by the time we got on the road at least half an hour of my how-long-until-Ellie-needs-to-eat-again window was gone, and that fact combined with the 30-minute drive to the park we were meeting at meant that I was only halfway through my delicious, delicious ice cream (and had just discovered a rich deposit of peanut butter tucked into the depths of the waffle cone) when Ellie started up with that newborn cry that cuts right through the brain of a new parent and is probably barely noticed by anyone else in the vicinity, except maybe for inspiring brief flashes of pity for whoever is stuck at the park with a crying baby. Ellie was not the sort of baby you could just nurse discreetly while also eating something yourself, so I did what I had to do — or what I felt I had to do — and walked over to the garbage can, threw my half-eaten cone in the trash, and fed her instead. When I relayed all of this to my mom after the fact, she gently suggested that maybe I had tried to take on too much, what with the road trip and having to manage the schedule of two other people as well as mine and the baby’s. I think it was a very good example of the weirdness and wonderfulness of those first few months at home with a baby; you have a great couple of days watching Gilmore Girls on the couch, and you get cocky and end up almost in tears, uncomfortably nursing a thrashing baby in the park under a cartoon-style raincloud of resentment, the memory — right down to the flavour of ice cream — branded deep onto your brain with a level of permanence that is perhaps disproportionate to the event itself. (more…)