I really don’t remember
Today Matt had his first softball game of the season. It was a double header, with them winning one of the two games. This is exciting, because last year his team won one game all season. Maybe two. No more than three, I swear. They were in the wrong league and now finally this year, they’ve been bumped down to the middle league – where they happily belong.
It was a great night. The kids played with my inlaws and another team member’s daughters. Claire made a friend with a little girl with a cute lisp and Luca pointed out every single plane he saw. I kept book for the team and my mother in law kept hold of Mae.
When I got home, I got all the kids ready for bed, washing their hands, feet and face. They were covered head to toe in dust, but I had already bathed them, so a spot wash was good enough in my eyes. After I tucked them all in and said our good nights, I sat down and checked my email.
One was from my Mom with a link to a Snapfish album she had made in August 2009. Luca was only a few months old. She sent it to me because, well, I don’t remember that time.
Sometimes I’ll talk loosely about it, almost jokingly, that I had amnesia of sorts. But it was real. It was really, really real. And that makes me so sad.
Sometimes when people have stories about when Luca was a baby, I’ll listen really close as if it’s the first time I’ve ever heard it. As if I wasn’t present at all. Like I was watching a movie of my life. It’s really pathetic when you think about it. Truly.
It was when I saw this photo that I really got angry:
There I was, sitting on my Mom’s front porch wearing my bachelorette shirt and favorite sweats. I remember Claire’s outfit well. Carly bought her the shirt from the Gap. I remember Luca had to wear bibs all the time because of the constant drool. My hair is wet because I showered, meaning I probably was going to stay the night, as I did from time to time when Matt would go out of town. Mom would take care of me, cooking me dinner, bathing the kids – and all because I wasn’t really me.
But looking at that picture now, even though I don’t really remember that day, I looked happy. Genuinely happy. Regardless if I was suffering from PPD or not, I looked happy. Sure, I wasn’t holding Luca, but he seemed OK. And even though I don’t remember much from that time, he’s OK now.
Today he pointed out every single airplane in the sky. He picked up all his “car-cars” and dinosaurs by himself. He helped me bake cookies and wash Maelie. He made me smile.
So even in August of 2009, when I didn’t really know what was going on or care enough to know what was going on, he still made me smile. He’s my little boy. And I’d be damned if I let PPD take that away from me.
I’ve loved the stuffing out of that kid since day one. That’s never going to change.