Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Dear Eddy, Month 17 (but who's counting?)

Dear Eddy,

A friend recently asked me what we do all day. I told her that we do anything all day. Or nothing. Or just find something. Most days, we don't really have a plan. Sounds super lazy but something could be a trip to the grocery store - where the first thing you ask for is a carrot ("ckkh") - or a spontaneous splash. I've been to the grocery store a few times without you and I gotta say it's just not as fun. People look at me like I'm crazy when I talk out loud about whether this cantaloupe smells ripe enough. We're buds, you and me. We can have fun doing absolutely nothing.

I've recently turned your car seat around to face forward - a bit sooner than originally planned but you are enormous and it was getting to the point of needing a shoehorn to wedge you out facing backwards - and now it very much feels like we are cruising together. We took a road trip, just the two of us, a few weeks ago and you were unsurprisingly the perfect road companion.

I had my iPhone plugged in and we were listening to music on shuffle. It feels like bragging to say that you have impeccable taste but I'll go ahead and brag. You find your groove in anything from The Clash to Stevie Wonder.

Somewhere between Galveston and New Braunfels, New Slang by The Shins came on and I told you that this was a song I played for you on the day you were born.

Having total anxiety about what to play while I was in labor, I scratched that idea and instead made a playlist to start after you were born. I had some idea of what our house would feel like at that time and I knew I wanted certain sounds hitting your ears from the start. I didn't realize at the time that I was building a playlist that consisted of songs that would forever transport me immediately to that day.

Marvin Gaye promised me that together would feel good, Diana Ross knew that I would hear a symphony, Robert Smith knew how it felt to wait so long for something exciting, and of course The Beatles.

When I told you in the car that I had played this song for you on the day you were born, I fantasized about you telling someone else that in the future. Before that time comes, I'm sure I'll slip up and tell teenage-you in front of a friend and totally embarrass you, but I think you'll come around. And in that fantasy, the person you're riding with says, "Wow, your mom has really good taste in music."

Duh. Where did you think that groove of yours came from?

Rock on, Little Dude. I love ya.


I love it when we're cruising together.

1 comment:

  1. That last photo is so precious. I feel ya on the playlist. We had one going during our daughter's birth and every single time I open it up or hear one of those songs I am immediately reliving those moments. And the talking to yourself in the store? Totally. So weird not to have our buds along.


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You look really pretty today.

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