minalisms


    Posts Tagged ‘love’

    Lewis from St. Louis

    Thursday, April 8th, 2010

    Our cat Lewis has been hit with FLUTD — that is, feline lower urinary tract disease — and I’m totally bummed.

    Even though the diagnosis could be much, much worse, I became a wreck this evening over the thought of it indeed being much, much worse — as in a fatal condition that the doctor threw out as a possibility.

    So we have to monitor Lewis’ litter-box visits as best we can now, which I’m sure perplexes and annoys the heck out of him. But since returning from the vet this evening, I observed that he tried to empty his bladder 11 times within one hour, and only the first visit to a box was successful. He’s also keeping his distance from us and choosing to camp out under the dining table despite our coaxing.

    Just the other day I was telling Ben that we have the best cats in the world and that I hope they stay healthy and live long enough for our son to love and play with them too. So I found it incredibly unfair to find that so soon after that conversation we are faced with thoughts of those same sweet cats’ mortality.

    Get well soon, Lewis.

    Cramming

    Friday, February 19th, 2010

    Even though there is little, if any, evidence of baby preparation around my house, I’ve been working every day on preparing mentally for July 12 (aka Due Date) and thereafter.

    I make to-do lists. I read my pregnancy book. I pore over ratings on cribs, car seats and carriers. I think constantly about my diet and worry about nourishing the little man inside, wonder whether he’ll latch on to my boob when the time comes and if I’ll have the time and energy to make most of his baby food from scratch.

    My network of moms and dads have told me that one can never truly prepare for the arrival of a child. “You just learn as you go,” they say. And that makes sense, but, good God, that means I have to pay close attention. At all times. Even when I’m bored, or unmotivated, or sleep-deprived and crabby.

    Which brings me to the following conclusion: This kid — he’s going to be one charismatic dude, even more so than his father, who from Day 1 re-ignited my creativity, perseverance and optimism for a happy ending.

    Husbandry

    Wednesday, November 11th, 2009

    To mark Veterans Day, my husband’s company gave its employees the day off.

    I still had to go to work, even though my company has promised to grant me and other workerbees a floating holiday to use by year’s end. We’ll see about that.

    Anyway, this situation made for a very jealous Minal this morning, as I dragged ass to clothe and groom myself while Ben stayed in bed all cozy and warm.

    He did get up to help me pack my lunch — a very husbandly nicety.

    He was so husbandly, in fact, that as I pulled out of the garage and onto our street, still grouchy, Ben was standing outside our front door, with a paper or magazine in one hand and a coffee mug (empty, because he doesn’t drink coffee) in another. He looked at me, grinned and raised the mug à la Ward Cleaver.

    His hokeyness made me laugh so loud through my open window I worried the entire cul-de-sac heard.

    “He’s totally the man for me,” I thought.

    Dream state

    Wednesday, November 4th, 2009

    I had one of the more scarily bizarre dreams of my lifetime last night.

    I know, you don’t so much care to read about another’s dream. Because, if you’re anything like me, you’re curious about just how scary/bizarre it is but know better than to ask for a play-by-play about something that, inevitably, is wholly uninteresting and anticlimactic .

    But I dreamed last night that Ben and I had a baby; the most adorable little girl with dark hair and big brown eyes who looked more like an 8-month-old by the time we brought her home, which (surprise!), wasn’t our home at all.

    I was calling my baby by three different names — Brooke, Gus and Asha — and growing frustrated by those who called her by the wrong name. This detail, I believe, symbolizes my control issues.

    Anyway, I started nursing my baby for the first time, and somehow the act of breast-feeding was the easiest thing I could have done, which I’m sure is a statement my mom-friends who nursed their real-life kids would guffaw at.

    Once she was fed and burped, I placed Brooke-Gus-Asha into her bassinet and walked away. I don’t know how much time elapsed, but I thought I heard cooing sounds so I went to check on her. As I peered at her face, I discovered that she was very much not cooing but choking on milk she had spit up.

    And so I saved her.

    I quickly yet calmly picked up my dream-induced daughter and patted her back  to clear her throat. Her breathing steadied.

    I saved her. I saved her even though seeing her choke would’ve been the precise moment I’d shake myself awake from a nightmare — when all seems hopeless.

    Sacred Sunday

    Monday, November 2nd, 2009

    There’s something about Sunday that always has me pause and give thanks. I reflect on my healthy mind and body, thoughtful parents, a flourishing marriage, a support system from here to halfway around the world, shelter, sustenance and my four-legged furries that nap all day long.

    I know there’s a reason I feel this way every Sunday; and I think you know, too.

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