I got an email from Ruth. It’s a short one, but a sweet one; she says that she was completely wrecked this weekend, and in fact all week, and that she’s glad I was able to anticipate that and that the visit was cancelled. She sounds a bit frazzled, which is what I’d expect if I stopped to think about it. Here’s the thing about me: I think I’m pretty good about being able to give someone space or meet a particular need or overlook something if that’s appropriate, but I need the heads up if I’m going to do that without being at all resentful. Feeling like you just can’t talk to me this month? Cool, just tell me that before you vanish. Need me to stop asking whether you want something to eat when I see you? I will totally do that if you let me know. So now I am not only not annoyed at all about being left hanging before the scheduled visit, I feel guilty about having been annoyed before. (sighs) Well, this is probably a better place to spend time, emotionally.
I told Mr. Book that I asked people what Cricket will likely want to play with when his family visits here in May.
“What did they say?”
“Balls and trucks, mostly.”
“That sounds about right—I think that’s what I was into at that point.”
That transitioned into a conversation about possible birthday presents for the sprout, which it is of course ridiculously early to be planning, but I wanted his input. We both worry a bit about what it will look like if we give traditionally masculine toys to the kid while his moms provide him with baby dolls and a purse, but I am comforted in the knowledge that I have the support of ladies like Andy and Thorn. I’m not trying to make sure that Cricket grows up to be a man’s man or anything like—but when I was little, I liked trucks; when Mr. Book was little, he liked trucks—we’re just playing to our strengths, here. If by age three or four he’s asking for ballerina outfits, heck, we’ll get him a tutu and a copy of Angelina Ballerina. But if I’m perfectly honest with myself, that’s not what I expect; I expect that we’ll be asked for dinosaur stuff, or other “boyish” accoutrements. That said, I would love to get him wooden kitchen stuff if he’s interested later. I always loved that stuff as a child.
Assuming for a minute that I’m not going to experience secondary infertility and that we’ll get pregnant within a couple of years, in some ways, the fact that I’m getting baby and kid stuff without any idea of whether futurekid will be a girl or a boy feels like a gift. I’ve got pink stuff and blue stuff, and soon there will be both kitchen stuff and trucks—I am charmed by the idea that our kidlet will be able to rampage around and make relatively free choices about what to like, at least until he or she starts school. (Peer pressure, woo!) Dawn’s description of Noah breastfeeding his trucks is wonderful—hopefully our futurekid can nurse trucks, bake trucks, and ram stuffed animals with trucks when the time comes.