After searching the unit for her I call my sister thinking she's got her out in the world for her birthday. Indeed, they've been out all day, to church, out for a walk and finally over at her apartment. My sister's been cooking and my mom's been sitting and snacking and obsessing over piles of paper strewn about the floor. Mom still likes order even in her scrambled state.
So I go and mom is there looking out the window and she sees me and my now visible baby bump, smiles and says my name. And she tells me I'm pregnant and she touches my belly and I tell her it's a boy and we'll call him Joe, named after her.
My mom has a plate of cubed beets that she's been slowly working on and I settle in near her. I eat a few beets from her plate and the sisters talk. Slowly, mom meticulously stabs three cubes on a fork and holds the plate to me. At first I refuse then I see her look of determination so I thank her and eat the beets. Another few minutes and mom has loaded up the fork again, holding the plate and admonishing me. I eat three more beets and smile at the birthday girl, glad that I'm pregnant so she could enjoy my belly too. She looks at it a lot and puts her gentle old hand on it, slowly moving it around waiting for an elusive kick or nudge that doesn't come. I think that Baby Joe sits a little more still in her presence, getting his first lessons in patience and compassion from the master herself.
Then it's time to go, mom ambles down the dark hallway, inches her way down a flight of steps and the two of us settle on a bench outside to wait for my sister to get her car from the garage. And it starts to rain hard and fast and straight down and we look at each other and smile pitiful smiles. She lifts her jacket up a bit in a symbolic gesture, looking at me and motioning me to duck in out of the rain. The shelter she's created with her jacket is enough to protect maybe a small child, not me. So I dash to my car and retrieve a blanket and as I trot back I see her silhouette hunched and patient in the rain and I feel incredibly sad that I can't really protect her from this. I throw the blanket over our heads and she says that's nice. Another couple minutes and her chariot has arrived. Mom inches down another set of steps in the rain, she's in the car and they're off. I drive home in the downpour, worrying that she'll get pneumonia again. I arrive home to a child unwilling to let his parents have a conversation about the day's events and the inevitable sadness that comes when I see mom so vulnerable.
And I realize that I'm a vulnerable adult, too, magnified by the surging hormones. I'm more sensitive and raw these days and I consider it a byproduct of the pregnancy. My child throws a toy, a rock, a truck at me. K and I systematically take toys away from him for his behavior and he screams, settles down and throws another object at me. K removes him for a couple time-outs, more toy removal, more tantrums and yet we, the parents, hold it together for an hour or so, trying to stay patient, knowing that he's four and selfish and is just trying to control his universe. A common trait for humans. I finally just start to cook dinner, never really finishing our conversation. Then I get very hungry, lay on the couch and start to cry. Dinner is nowhere near completion. The boys go out to get me a slice of cheese pizza while I sit in a quiet house and wonder when mom will get sick again, when my boy will learn compassion, whether Baby Joe will get to meet his namesake.
