Having the internet, cable television, and a 13 week old baby as my only companions, all day every day, is getting the better of me. Not only do I possess more information about Fran Drescher than anyone person was meant to encounter (more than less retain) but I have taken to participating in my own myspace slapping matches. It started small, in group forums, escalated to emails and today my frustration manifested in a private parking lot outside my old office.
I was sitting in my car breastfeeding Cohen before going into my office to pick up a check for some consultant work when a woman in her late 40's pulled her car in front of mine and wagged her finger at me, pointed to my car and mouthed the word "NO!" as if I were not a grown woman sitting in my car, rather a puppy pissing on her rug. Half way through her craning that scrawny little neck of hers to make sure I could see her face while she said "NO!" she realized I was breastfeeding and her face flushed with disgust. That was it for her. Not only had I dared to take her covered parking space (who knew?) but I was breastfeeding in it! Ack. By the time I have put my breast away and taken down the shade I was using to shield my horrid act from passers by she is walking toward my window. I roll it down and she says, "You're in my parking space. This is mine!" No problem, I said, I will just move. On my way back out of the office I grabbed a candy bar, unwrapped it, and stuck the chocolate under the windshield wiper of her Lexus, licked the already melting chocolate off of my fingers, put Cohen in her car seat and drove off. I wouldn't have had to do that if it weren't for the nasty face made at the realization that I was breastfeeding.
It is hard enough living in this house with nothing but and infant and appliances from 9-5 everyday, which leaves me vying for Dan's attention along side the dog, as soon as he walks in the door, and even then we hardly get to talk. I have to work up the courage to feed my baby in public, to feed her what she is meant to be eating, the way she is meant to be fed. It is pathetic that I even have to worry about this part of motherhood, so I try not to. I am discreet, polite, and always aware of my surroundings, to ask for anything more is to ask for an assault on something you hold dear.
That being said... late last week Dan brought up the idea of having a gun in the house again. I agreed to think about it, taking my paranoia into thorough consideration. The out come was a tearful conversation with my husband in a coffee shop on our date night while his mother watched the baby, wherein I confided that we can't have a gun in the house right now because I can't be trusted. Many times in the past I have been convinced the only reason I made it through to morning was because no weapon was available with which to take my life. I haven't felt this much since the arrival of Dan and then Cohen, but my paranoia is such that me having a gun isn't the best idea. I am still locking the bedroom door at night, making the dog stay by my side as I walk from room to room if I am up at night alone, and periodically diving for cover if I hear a noise. I mentioned maybe seeing shrink, if I could find one that wasn't Christian. By that night I felt lighter, like just in revealing how bad it has gotten it wasn't so bad.
Still, I am writing back to the nut jobs on myspace, provoking them, and acting out in public. What's worse, is I am not so sure that I don't like some of these attributes more than meek traits I used to posses. Fuck it. I'm just bored.
The dead of summer is the dead of winter here. I cannot take Cohen outside for walks or just to get fresh air. Even driving from one air condition store to the next entails letting the car cool off so that I don't bake the baby's brain between errands. By now I have learned that this period of paranoia is no worse than the rash was, the crying jags, the pelvic cramps and the morning sickness. It is all just part of a package, paper torn from the gift floating about the room before it hits the ground. Winter will come. We will travel out of state. My baby grows and is cuddled and hugged and kissed to pieces in my air conditioned home.
She laughed yesterday. She laughed and Dan and I have inhaled and exhaled to a different beat ever since. My brain may be a spilled box of Skittles scattering on an open floor, but my heart is warm and beating and growing beyond what I could have ever imagined.