Like the originator, I will make a half-assed attempt to make this a weekly event. No! I will make a Sincere and True attempt … but it likely will end up half-assed. It will not be lack of desire that prevents me. It will not even be lack of happy events. It will be lack of memory.
“Maternal amnesia”, a common effect of pregnancy, is, so I was assured by authorities who could be presumed to know this stuff, a temporary thing. It lasts for pregnancy, and maybe a few weeks beyond, as the hormones settle.
When mine didn’t go away immediately, I attributed that to sleep-deprivation. When the child was sleeping through a few months later, it was still happening … but by then I’d forgotten it was supposed to go away.
My first baby is 22 years old now.
Pre-publication update: I just found this in my draft file, whipped it out and finished it off, even though it’s really supposed to be published on a Friday. I’d, ahem, forgotten about it…
Monday: I woke to the sound of rain, rain, rain, rain. I would not ordinarily be woken by mere raindrops, but it’s clear that there’s a tin can RIGHT UNDER a rather large drip. So it’s not a sweet pitter-patter of rain, but a sleep-vanishing CLANG! CLANG! CLANGCLANGCLANG! THWAK!!!
This does not make me smile. What makes me smile is that a) I was woken when I should be getting up anyway, so no sleep lost and b) last night before going to bed, the air smelled damp, so despite the cloudless and sunny skies we’d had ALL DAY LONG, I pulled in my daughter’s laundry off the line in the back yard. Ah, the satisfaction of a crisis averted. Joy 1.
My daughter was delighted. She came downstairs this morning with an anxious scowl, saw her laundry basket sitting on the dining table, and thanked me very prettily. Unsolicited gratitude, from a fifteen-year-old. Lovely child. She’s very gratifying that way. Joy 2.
Tuesday: My kitchen has moved from a drab pinkish-beige to a lovely crisp pale blue, with bright-white trim. I smile every time I see it.
Wednesday: The bathroom wall also makes me smile every time I see it. It’s too much colour for such a small room, particularly a small room that is overbearingly ROBIN’S EGG BLUE (hellooooo, 1960′s), but the wall treatment itself? I smell wafts of salt air from the breezes off the Mediterranean every time I see it. (Makes peeing a veritable virtual holiday. Six, eight, ten times a day!) Joy, joy, joy.
Thursday: A lively table of teens and twenty-somethings. My son (in college, living at home), his girlfriend (same college, living in residence), another friend (university, in his own apartment), my youngest (high school), all sitting in the dining room, scarfing down chicken pot pie, beans, and salad, and talking, teasing, laughing — joyful. I loved it. Maybe I’ll make this a weekly event. “Feed a starving student.”
Friday: The advice given by the nice fellow in the pet food store is working! 24 hours into a white-rice-and-turkey diet, the dog’s diarrhea is gone. Yes, this DOES bring me joy, and anyone who lives in a poop-and-scoop city can understand the bliss.
Saturday, Sunday: Long, long walks with my sweetie. (And the dog, also a sweetie.) Chiller on the patio of the coffee shop one day, while sitting on the monument commemorating the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights (drafted by a Canadian) the next. Enobling sentiments. Long, gentle, summer days. Lots of sun. Blissful blue sky. Footpaths by the canal. Congenial people. Conversation. Lifts my spirits. Joy.