Baby Blue

“Are you okay?”

It was only 6:00p.m. and I was standing there in my pajamas and snow boots making dinner.  After a long day, I had taken a hot bath and actually was feeling pretty good.  I wondered what the Professor was worried about.

“Lacrosse was cancelled.  Ice storm.”

“Did you go outside today?”

“Yes, I slid all over town, running errands and stocking up for the blizzard.” 

Because of the ice, even if you have snow tires and are driving slowly, your car fishtails when you try to stop.  I felt like I was swimming around in a big snow aquarium, looking for food.

“How are you feeling?”

I could see he was genuinely concerned.

“I’m fine.  Really.  I had a great day.  Met with Godsend, got a lot of work done, even had acupuncture.  I feel like a million bucks.”

“I think you have a touch of Seasonal Affective Disorder.  I’ve seen this in you before, with postpartum.”

I thought back to the weeks following each of my sons’ births.  I realize it’s not sane to come home from the hospital with a crotch full of stitches and cracked nipples and be such a control freak that you insist on organizing a dinner party for 50 yourself, but it’s what I did.  Twice.  Jewish families often celebrate the birth of a son with a Bris—a religious ceremony that is basically an at-home circumcision followed by a party.  Barbaric?  Maybe.  I was sort of bitchy those weeks, full of hormones, with engorged boobs and a houseful of guests.  I don’t think the sleep deprivation enhanced my mood either.  I wouldn’t attribute my behavior to a medical disorder.

“I am not depressed, nor was I depressed after the boys were born.”

He is afraid that the beach flower he took from the shore in southern California and carried all the way to the hills of upstate New York might be suffering. The truth is, the long winters and lack of sun do affect me.  I almost lost it last May when it was below 30°.   But it is hard to complain when the snow is beautiful, my boys are like bottled sunshine and we all are loving Cornell, the people and the energy of the town.

"I've watched you slow way down.  You can't tell me something isn't bothering you."

Point taken.  I wasn't on top of my game.  I think most of it is due to my fractured toes.  Did he forget? I should complain more about the pain.  Maybe I could get some sympathy Vicodin out of him.  He hoards his meds.  It was killing me to not work out and I missed my long walks with our dog.  Or maybe he was right.

“Okay, maybe I have a touch of it.”

“See, was it that hard to admit weakness?”

“I’m not weak.  I’m being held captive in Ithaca, New York.”