A few weeks ago I realized I was completely losing my mind, so I called up Grandma and asked if we could arrange a time each week when she could take the bun and I could go do something, anything, not bun related. Yesterday was the second such date we arranged. The first one didn't really count because I was so confused by the lack of baby that I wandered around a district I didn't even want to be in and had to force myself to stay away for the whole three hour period.
I planned better for yesterday, and arranged to use a gift certificate on an extremely bourgeois, totally decadent facial, which is pretty out of character for me. So I dropped off the bun at Grandma's house, and tootled on my merry way to have someone play with my face. She did, and it was excellent.*
But when I got out, I still had over an hour to kill. Shop? No, boring. Buy groceries? Practical but completely lame. Movie? Not enough time. So I was getting ready to go back and get the bun when I realized I could go have lunch with my husband.
It was a strange epiphany, but one that had immense possibility. I sped the car to the studio and raced in the door where he was sitting, munching on the first bite of a meatball sandwich. "I came to have lunch with you!" I said. He eyed his sandwich. He stood up, abandoning the new sub. "Screw it, let's go!" And so we had lunch.
It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and we sat outside eating little Cuban snacks. There was much merriment. There was conversation. There was no bun there. It was altogether peculiar. We were free and we had a lovely time.
And when I went to get the bun from Grandma's house, he was so excited to see me he pulled himself up to standing completely unassisted while trying to climb my leg.
It was perhaps the perfect day.
*Millions of new moms are probably susceptible to facial addiction. It's short enough that they can carve out the two hours needed to get one, and cheaper than a vacation. Plus, someone rubs smelly lotion on them and heats them with hot towels.
As my mom said, "It's just like the social grooming the apes do, except we pay for it."