My brain is in so many places at once, I’m pretty sure I deserve a gold medal for the mental acrobatics I’m constantly performing. I have never attempted more fervently to pay attention, make eye contact, concentrate on the words being spoken to me. In the midst of extreme focus she’ll kick and, to be specific, it feels like she’s somehow memorized the moves from the Kriss Kross Jump video. And just like that I’m suddenly wondering what happened to wearing whitewashed jeans backwards and the sweet neon innocence of 90s hip hop and … What was I saying? What month is it? October?
When she’s not breakdancing I’m compiling mental lists of why she might be feeling mellow. Did I eat something I shouldn’t have? I’m probably juggling work and a side conversation but I’m also thinking of pregnancy week one, when I ate both Caesar salad and béarnaise sauce in one meal. I spent the following week and a half feeling more remorseful and guilty than that time I crashed the family Volvo into the garage (sorry Mom). And then my phone rings and I’m back in the present where I realize, oh hell, we’ll have a daughter crashing into our garage soon. If I’m looking at you like you’re lime green, this is why.
I feel the need to write lengthy apology notes to all the poor souls duped into conversation with me, I am miles away with no intention of mapping my way back. The slightest trigger and I’m transported back to college, an olive green kitchen where I sat on the counter with Socrates and a glass of wine and repeatedly made a mockery of pasta alfredo. Tapping my toes to Mushaboom I remember the exact moment I considered the future I live today. Back then it seemed like a dreamy little fairy tale, married, settling down, and starting a family, that’s crazy I thought. I got the crazy part right, but it’s been much dreamier than I could have possibly imagined.