From top to bottom, this day is gray. The weather is as dense and unyielding as concrete. The air is a brick feather. I can hardly stand it. Last night a squid made of snot attached itself to my head, worked its tentacles into my nasal cavities, and began to drip and pulsate there.
It was Valentine’s Day. G told me he doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day. I reminded him that I heard that speech last year. He’s new to being with women for more than a month or two, so we’ll forgive him that. I told him I didn’t care that he didn’t care. Perhaps I was even convincing. He continued that he didn’t believe you should only do romantic things because it’s one particular day.
I asked when he believed he should do romantic things.
He laughed. And I laughed. And then we watched Mad Men, and I tried to pass out in spite of the crackling of lead expanding between my eyes and mouth.
Valentine’s Day. Who knows. Maybe I don’t care. Maybe I do. I can’t always tell what I care about and what’s just a bad mood with good timing.
Edda, you are finally building onto your days with words. Stringing two together for makeshift sentences. Ecco shoe! Oh no Bubba! One, two! Mamma sock!
The experts say you understand more than you can communicate. Join the club. I wonder if you also believe more than you understand. Miss things you don’t want. Mourn for things that haven’t gone away.
You climb into bed with us every night from your adjacent sleeper. Then you spend the remainder of the night, variously, performing horizontal cartwheels and kicking me in the face. Sometimes you scream or talk in your sleep. Your namesake Ruth did that as well. Night terrors, maybe not. Night tantrums, definitely.
I always thought, when parents would say that their kids were the best thing that happened to them. “oh, well, they have to say that.” Alas, it is true. You can kick my face all you like and I’ll still be happy if I wake and you are there. Like some woman with a bad boyfriend habit. Except you don’t have any tattoos or tell me nasty things about myself. Sometimes you grab onto my nose, but I’m trying not to take it that way.
But really, you are the most joy I have ever felt. Even with some illness unleashed from the labs of HR Geiger chewing up the inside of my face, I still manage to delight in you.


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