Motherhood nourishes. It does. I’ve finally come into that state of opinion about it—after five years. While watching the Kentucky Derby home stretch, my daughter and her friend were screaming for California Chrome which they felt was in pink silks. (Dumb Ass Partners' colors were purple and green for record). “Go Pinky, go Pinky” they inaccurately cheered while I cheered on any other horses to catch that darn Chrome. So fast (not really, just out for a romp but the looks of him!) Turns out I picked the next two that would cross the wire, just in reverse order: Commanding Curve and Danza.
At this age, she wants to get into what I’m into and it’s nice to have a friend who wants to do stuff with you. She’s even saying she loves horses now—another sudden change of attitude. I’ve yet to see her brave enough to touch. I must still be cool in my kid’s loving eyes. It’s a sweet age and as she gets near five, she still seems to love us and want us around. It’s nice to be needed in this way. It compensates for feeling like a wasted, useless dishrag of a human -the way I felt about 3 months after having a kid (postpartum hooha).
The other thing I’m into that she is too is…ZZ Ward. She loves (loves!) the song Blue Eyes Blind. I’ll get to music later in the month because I’d be fucking dead without it. Music is the great nourisher and surrogate expression channel we use to temper life’s daily lacerations on our spirits.