I’ve been reading all these fashion blogs.
Not blogs so much, really, more collections of photographs. There’s one, The Sartorialist, that fascinates me. The blogger/photographer captures all these men and women on the street.
These men and women, dressed so confidently, so luxuriously (because can anyone but the truly wealthy ever look that careless?), so louche, staring into the camera.
I marvel at them. Who are these people? What do they do? How do they feel? What is it like to be so privileged? And this, coming from someone who knows that she is, without question, privileged.
I wonder what it feels like to be them. Is it possible that in some other life that’s me? Maybe if I’d taken a left instead of a right, zigged when I should have zagged.
I can’t stop looking at them, these pictures, these snippets of some other life.
***
My baby gave up his bottle tonight.
I know that makes me a bad parent. He is nearly 4 years old. But it was his comfort, the one thing that soothed him in his worst, most upset and scared moments.
I didn’t want to take that away from him. Tonight he broke my heart a little, a tiny fissure that appeared when he jumped, alone, into 12-foot-deep diving tank of the pool. His instructor stood on the deck watching as he plunged under water and paddled to the side.
Rainbow arms, she called to him. Rainbow arms!
He was a snowflake in the school play today, and his big sister had the leading role of Frosty the Snowman. She fell asleep reading “Harry Potter: Goblet of Fire” and the boy, my baby, pressed his back against my stomach in his twin bed and tumbled into slumber murmuring.
Mom, Mama, can we call Meema? Meema has bottles at her house. Maybe I could have a bottle from Meema. Mom? Mama…
One more step away from me, both of them. It’s hard to let go.
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So I checked out The Satorialist and it IS fascinating. Maybe because they are photos of Europeans? They are all so much more beautiful over there and their clothes are tailored. I think they are more free-spirited too and not as hampered by Puritanical roots.
Anyway, don’t know why I am babbling about something I know nothing about.
LOVED this per usual. Something about the baby going through these milestones is heartbreaking. When Gus stopped nursing (at 2.5) it broke my heart. He’s still holding onto diapers (he is over 3 now) and I know I’ll be so sad when that is over too (but part of me will also be happy). That image of him pressing his back into your stomach KILLED me. The snowflake.