Saturday, April 28, 2012

a reel, and what's real.

my fat baby is asleep in his swing. i'm sitting at the kitchen table, taking pictures of myself with my laptop. i'm bored. and i want to see if my newly cut bangs are too harsh for the rest of my soft, lazy ringlets, and if my dark circles are as dark as usual — they aren't...or maybe it's the lighting? good lighting is important when it comes to photos. i don't like that. i don't appreciate that light can make me look either bad or good. the former feels disappointing; the latter feels fake. just now i took a few pictures of myself making funny faces. bc it's funny. i deleted all of them. that's the good thing about modern cameras. you only keep what you want. i guess life is that way,too. or it can be if you're up to the challenge.

it's 7:58 pm and i've been home an hour already from my saturday evening adventure. two thirty-something moms, both in need of a getaway from the clouds (real and figurative). the furthest we could manage to escape was the 3:55 showing at the malco. i rushed into the theater lobby at ten after four, hoping i wasn't too late to buy popcorn. she was already in line at the snack bar. good girl. i like being friends with people who have their priorities straight. i suggested we share a bag, but she said she wanted her own. good call. i didn't know i wanted my own bag, too...until about 20 minutes into the movie, when my fleshy finger-ends were bumping the bottom of the bag for those last few niblets drenched in faux butter (the self-serve dispenser labeled "butter flavoring" did not escape my attention, but this was my night out and i forgave myself for indulging in chemically altered oil-as-butter). the movie was raunchy-funny, and i laughed a lot — the real, out-loud kind, not the lol of the internet and texting. people lol even when things aren't laugh-out-loud funny; they're devaluing the real thing. it feels fake, like good lighting in pictures. 

my fat baby is nursing as i now peck at the keys with one finger. his eyes are closed in either bliss or concentration. my fat boy was born mostly bald, and he's still mostly bald...although i notice some effort forming near his crown — a patch of short hairs standing at attention. if his hair were dark, that patch would be more visible, and funny looking. eventually his hair will turn from brown sugar to black peppercorn... sweet to spicy as he grows and gathers bits of the world around him. 

i missed my fat baby while i was at the movies. it wasn't him i wanted to escape, anyhow, and i would've brought him if i thought he could sit still that long. it was dark in the theater, but even in the absence of good lighting, my mind's pictures of him were better than good. 

on the way out, i asked my friend what time she had to pick up her kids, and she asked me if i needed to get home to feed the baby. as we parted ways in the parking lot, that brief exchange struck me: i'm a mom. it's still an oddity. and i thought, in the past, after a night out, i used to hurry home to eat toast. with real butter. on this night out, i hurried home just for a hug. the real-est. 

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