An April Fool

Against my better judgment and all innate urges, I babysat this weekend. Well, it was more like assisting in babysitting. You know, smiling a lot and trying not to swear too much, not getting close enough to maim or otherwise injure the infant, and talking Final Four in the den with the dad while the real women reviewed the infant's routine.

The baby didn't even see his parents head out the door. I know he was aware that they were prepping to leave, but I saw the realization in his eyes when in an instant he looked up and they were gone. And although we were able to distract him momentarily with colorful plastic pieces and familiar characters, he panicked. No matter where we moved him in the house, he knew they had left him through that front door and he wanted to follow. We resorted to full bottles and tried and true nighttime stories. We enlisted the irresistible force of Elmo and repeated assurances that we loved him too and would not leave him. But no efforts could convince this little boy that the people he loved most dearly weren't gone forever. All the comfortable trimmings amounted to little because in his perception, what was most important to him was suddenly gone.

And as I heard him wail with desperation and loneliness and the weight of the world until he had nothing left in him, all I could think was, I understand.

So, in short, I'm finding myself in a similar situation, trying to stop the metaphorical staring at my own front door. There are a million details and feelings to share, but this is a relationship sacred to me and a man I cannot imagine not loving and not sharing my everyday and my life with, and so those will need to be recorded someplace else.

But this post is really to thank NBC's Bob Ryan for finally getting it right for two. whole. days. To the home owners on Constitution who had the foresight to plant my favorite purple hyacinths. To the chunky bumble bee who followed me for at least three blocks, the cashier who knew I needed that Clinique bonus gift even though my purchase didn't warrant it, the gardener who donned garden gloves trimmed with faux leopard fur. To catching the scent of my new perfume and the feeling of giant kick ass sunglasses on my tiny head. To the Weight Watchers leader who finally uttered that I'd reached the elusive ten-pound loss. To the sight of Bug waiting in the window like a concerned child after his mother got lost on South Capitol Street at three in the morning.

I very much needed all of this. And although experience dictates that the sadness will undoubtedly return, for this weekend life has been beautiful. I have been able to close the door on both unhappiness and self-doubt. At least for two days.