Sunday, August 4, 2002.
My boy is: 2
1/2 months old.
Playing: Mechwarrior online lately. As you can tell
in this entry.
Check out this SLUT. Because you deserve it. ;-)
"I knew our baby would be beautiful. But I didn't know he'd be THIS beautiful."-- Amy says that and laughs every time.
LOVE AND ROCKET LAUNCHERS
"I didn't know it would be like this," my baby's mommy (i.e. Amy) said putting my baby in his crib.
"What do you mean?" my baby's daddy said. (I am "my baby's daddy." I just like saying that.)
"I knew I would love him, but I didn't know it would be so much," Amy sighed, not a happy sigh though.
"But you're my baby's mommy. Of course you love him," I said.
"I thought I'd love him like how I love you, but it's different than that," she explained.
Women talk about love differently than men, it seems. Women hold it as close to their hearts as possible, like a jeweled dagger stuck in between the third and fourth ribs. That way they can marvel at it and feel the depths of its pain and vulnerability at the same time.
For me, love is a happy thing. The only time it is not happy is when it seems to be lacking in some ways. Sure, I can see how having something so good can be scary when you think about losing it, but why worry about losing it. Instead, you do what you can to prevent losing it. Essentially I am fairly optimistic about love (now that I have it, that is, which makes all the difference).
Amy's not so optimistic. She fears that something will happen to Sun Su at any moment she is away from him. That no one will be able to read the nuances of his crying or alertness like she does. There's no real relaxation when she isn't near him. She can't stand to be separated from our baby. After seeing the movie "Signs" today, Amy's first comment was "I don't want to see any more movies with little children in them." And she fears this may never end. Maybe she's right.
Yep, my baby's mommy has baby separation anxiety.
I wanted to ask exactly how she loves me in comparison, because it's certainly nothing like that. I wanted parameters and specifics and stats, like a listing of armaments in a Mechwarrior game. Is it short range or long range? Are we talking a shotgun effect, missile locks, or laser precision? Recharge rate? Will it make either of us overheat and shutdown? And why did her love for me sound casual as opposed to the 100-ton giant robot burden of love she has for our baby. Watch out for that self-destruct button.
But I'm not complaining. I have the love of my beautiful Amy and Sun Su. I shouldn't try to examine the differences so closely. I'm just curious. And optimistic.
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PENDANT
"I like your pendant," Amy told the makeup sales lady. She wore a small white stone on a string around her neck. It had the word "KINDNESS" written on it.
"Oh thank you. We are giving them away with our new line next month," the saleslady pitched.
Outside, Amy said to me, "I wouldn't get one with KINDNESS on it. I'd get … CRRRRAZY! Hahaha!" She waved her arms around like she was a crazy lady.
I'm glad she's joking around more. She's finally relaxing a little without worrying about the baby all the time.
"How about SEXY?" I suggested.
"No way! I wouldn't want Dr. Freaky and Dr. Pervy seeing that. They'd look at me even more," Amy replied.
"Hmm. Yeah, freaks."
Amy is slowly getting used to the idea of going back to work -- next Friday! She's had the past three months off. She really wants to go back to work. She says its fun. She misses her friends in the office. Misses running around and making order out of chaos. But she doesn't know how she'll be able to be away from the baby for more than an hour. She wonders if she's not being a good mom. I assure her she is. Baby will only be happy if mommy is happy. And making mommy happy makes daddy happy.
"KILLER! That's what I'd get. Hahaha!" Amy exclaims.
"I like that one. A lot," I smiled. For a moment that mischievous tiger spirit arises in my Amy again.
We walked to the car. Amy was happy to be out. Just like our "free" days when we'd go out to eat whenever, or wander around at the mall. Me stopping in the game store first as always, and she would go check out … whatever she checks out when I'm looking in the game store. But those were the days when we had nothing more important in our lives.
"I know what I'd really get on my pendant now," she brought up again.
"What?"
"Mom."
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THE OTHER CUP
Just a minor note from last week.
One of my patients actually had a friend bring The Stanley Cup to his room last week. The Detroit Red Wings recently won it this year and they actually pass the Cup to various Detroit people for a day. And one of those people was a cafe-owner who was good friends with my stroke patient.
Other patients were being wheeled (pushed) away. Camera crews were there. News teams. Security. Doctors, family members, even other patients were lining up (or hobbling sometimes) to take a picture with the Cup. I could have had my picture taken with it, touched it, even drink from it. Heck, I was the guy's doctor. I was the only person who had any real business being in his room at that hour.
But I didn't. Even though Detroit calls itself "Hockeytown" (or is it "Hokey-town"), I am probably the last person in the hospital who would care about seeing The Stanley Cup, aside from the post-op neurosurgical patients in the recovery room ... maybe. (I'll bet this Amy is banging her head against her monitor about now. :-)
Now if it had been any one of the singers from K-pop group Baby V.O.X, that would have been a different story. I'd be drawing pints of my own blood out for them. I'd be lining up to take pictures with any player from the Corean soccer team even.
But no. I get the Stanley Cup dropped in my lap.
Next week it'll probably be Josh Hartnett or a preserved alien lifeform from Area 51 or something. Whatever.
(My annotated version of Baby V.O.X.)
