Juliet tried to put out her birthday candle with her hand. It’s funny because she knows to blow on hot food, before she doesn’t eat it and throws it on the floor. Once the fire was out, and the monkey cake was cut, Juliet didn’t want any. She wouldn’t even lick the pink icing off the one-shaped candle. Which is funny, because she licks shoes.
She didn’t get excited opening her gifts. Usually, she loves ripping paper. Or making any kind of mess. But she was quiet, distant. Not even the baby doll and stroller got her to say, “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” That’s what she says when she is excited. Usually about the prospect of drinking water through a straw.
The birthday thing didn’t register for her. It did for me. I am old.
I have a one-year-old daughter. She likes cheese and keys. She wants whatever I am holding, including the remote control. She wants to use it to put on The Wiggles. I can’t understand why.
She likes her new shoes more than any other present. Melissa got her those, to go with her dress. Juliet won’t take them off. She’s wearing them now, asleep in her crib. Melissa said I have to wait fifteen minutes before I go in and take them off.
“If she wakes up, I’m going to kill you,” Melissa said.
“We could just let her sleep in them all night,” I said.
“Are you crazy?”
“Are you?”
Yep. I know when it happened. A year ago today. At 4:44 in the morning. Melissa and I were sitting in our hospital room alone. Juliet was being tested by the doctors in another room. The sun shined through our hospital room window, and we hadn’t even made the first call to let the world know that Juliet was here.
“What do we do now?” I said.
Crazy.
Now, she’s wearing Gigglemoon birthday dresses and Missoni ponchos. It’s only a matter of time before she asks to get her ears pierced.
“How old are you, Juliet?” I ask.
She holds up her pointer finger. I give her my wallet. She pulls out my credit card, my debit card and my license. She points to it.
“Dada.”
She loves me. The feeling is mutual. Happy first birthday, Jules. I love you.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
"Into the Woods"
Melissa and I like living in the city. Juliet likes it too. She waves to everyone. She blows kisses to the crazy homeless guys who sit in front of the dog park. They love her. We know it can’t last foreover. There’s the school situation. The flash mob situation. The thirteen-year old-girl-on-public-transportation situation. So, we decided to look. For the hell of it.
Off to Narberth. To Ardmore. To Suburban Square. We drove down streets lined with trees. We got lost despite our GPS and closely avoided hitting a deer. Juliet cried.
“Don’t do it,” she said.
There are cars in the driveways, one SUV and one sedan. At least. There are basketball hoops. There are yards with grass. The only man in town who is outside is mowing his, and looking pretty pissed off about it.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“The GPS says ‘no digital data available’,” Melissa said. “What does that even mean?”
“I feel old.”
“Hi Dada,” Juliet said. Seriously.
At Suburban Square, the teenage girls were drinking coffee and texting on iPhones. The teenage boys were wearing Hollister shirts, and texting, on iPhones. The ACLU was holding a clipboard and asking me whether I supported gay rights.
“Right this second, no,” I said. “But generally, yes.”
“If those girls get into a BMW, we are never moving here.” Melissa said.
“I didn’t think they had politically agendized beggars here. I thought that was a city thing.”
“Is this better for her?” Melissa asked.
I didn’t know.
“That’s what everybody says,” I said.
“Could everybody be wrong?”
“They usually are.”
We just want Juliet to be safe. And happy. In that order. We’re willing to give up feeling young to make that happen. The only thing we haven’t done yet that will turn us into our parents is move to the suburbs. In the city, we still feel young, even if we’re not. We are not.
We were relieved to get back to the city. Juliet, Melissa and I sat on the couch, reading. She can pay attention for a whole book now. Sometimes. We all got distracted by the bagpipes. I carried Juliet to the window. She pointed down to the street, at men in kilts, marching in perfect lockstep behind a man with a baton. Juliet looked at us and smiled her big smile, all three of her teeth showing.
“Can you believe this?” she said.
Juliet watched the city’s spontaneity and we watched her. I realized that this was a moment I’d remember. It’s funny which ones stick. Melissa puts her hand on my shoulder. We want to do what’s best for Juliet, and we want even more to know what that is.
Off to Narberth. To Ardmore. To Suburban Square. We drove down streets lined with trees. We got lost despite our GPS and closely avoided hitting a deer. Juliet cried.
“Don’t do it,” she said.
There are cars in the driveways, one SUV and one sedan. At least. There are basketball hoops. There are yards with grass. The only man in town who is outside is mowing his, and looking pretty pissed off about it.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“The GPS says ‘no digital data available’,” Melissa said. “What does that even mean?”
“I feel old.”
“Hi Dada,” Juliet said. Seriously.
At Suburban Square, the teenage girls were drinking coffee and texting on iPhones. The teenage boys were wearing Hollister shirts, and texting, on iPhones. The ACLU was holding a clipboard and asking me whether I supported gay rights.
“Right this second, no,” I said. “But generally, yes.”
“If those girls get into a BMW, we are never moving here.” Melissa said.
“I didn’t think they had politically agendized beggars here. I thought that was a city thing.”
“Is this better for her?” Melissa asked.
I didn’t know.
“That’s what everybody says,” I said.
“Could everybody be wrong?”
“They usually are.”
We just want Juliet to be safe. And happy. In that order. We’re willing to give up feeling young to make that happen. The only thing we haven’t done yet that will turn us into our parents is move to the suburbs. In the city, we still feel young, even if we’re not. We are not.
We were relieved to get back to the city. Juliet, Melissa and I sat on the couch, reading. She can pay attention for a whole book now. Sometimes. We all got distracted by the bagpipes. I carried Juliet to the window. She pointed down to the street, at men in kilts, marching in perfect lockstep behind a man with a baton. Juliet looked at us and smiled her big smile, all three of her teeth showing.
“Can you believe this?” she said.
Juliet watched the city’s spontaneity and we watched her. I realized that this was a moment I’d remember. It’s funny which ones stick. Melissa puts her hand on my shoulder. We want to do what’s best for Juliet, and we want even more to know what that is.
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