Paint the Scene

It's Thanksgiving morning. I'm happily up and cooking, list in hand. TH is working on the living room, making it beautiful for our Thanksgiving table. He comes into the kitchen to help me, and I happen to look out our kitchen window (which is STILL lacking blinds or curtains). I see part of a wooden cut out...it appears to be a hat of some sort...

Mother effer. The neighbor had her baby (yay). There is a giant effing wooden stork on our front lawn.

We live in an NYC condo complex, but it's not a skyscraper that you would imagine. The building is only two floors high, and it spans the length of a a city block. It forms a cut out similar to that of a zipper, where the indentations have a shared lawn space perfect for small summer parties...and mother effing wooden storks.

I began to panic. I began to feel that old, familiar feeling of empty uterus pain that we all know so well. I started to cry. But then, the panic really hits. Sobbing in TH's shirt (again), feet stomping, trembling, hair inhaling fun. I have to walk by this bitch for the next week(?) EVERY TIME I COME HOME. Home is my sacred space. It's the one place in which I am safe from all things child. No such luck. Shattered.

The stork is just to the left (4 ft?) of the walkway to our apartment. I cannot avoid this bitch. It's over 6 ft tall, as well. It's hideous (even if I wasn't an IFer, I would still think that.) It's overbearing. It's not mine.

I will find out the results of this cycle while that chit sits in my front lawn. And, don't forget that we have guests. TH tried to cheer me up and tell me that maybe it will make the stork finally find our house. (Valiant effort, TH, but FAIL.) And still, I cried. But, I must say, I didn't cry nearly as hard as one might have thought. I'm not sure what to make of that. Perhaps I am all cried out? Very likely.

Alas, the fun did not end here. I saw the neighbor's car pull up, and thus the frustration continued. The baby was home, and because of our uncurtained windows (why can't I effing find some I like?!) and my need to cook Thanksgiving dinner, I was going to be privy to it all.

Resume panic. I tried to stay in the kitchen, but then I decided to give up the fight and be kind to myself. (Hello, entering our HOME for the next week is going to be difficult enough. Maybe I should just stay inside?) I went to the back of our apartment and laid on the bed with Jones. She's not a super cuddler unless she wants to, but girlfriend absorbed my tears.

And then the cooing started. From the downstairs neighbors. From the next door neighbors. Apparently all the neighbors came out to see the new baby. I started shrieking to TH to put some music on, covering my ears, now swallowing Jones's hair instead of my own.

Mother effer. I worked so hard to avoid this meltdown. If I wanted this scene, I could have just gone to Michigan to meet my cousin's new baby!

The outdoor charade went on for at least 30 minutes. Apparently the baby got passed around to all the neighbors to hold. There was much oohing and ahhing. The music masked most of the merriment.

On our end, our beautiful home was tainted, if only briefly in the grand scheme of it's current and future life. Inside, it was simply the sad, empty uterus echo we all know so well.