Inner Joy

I babysat Sadie for the evening last night. She had already been put to bed when I got there, but half an hour later I began to hear the plaintive wailing of "Mommeeeee!!" Shelley had given me permission to let her cry it out, but it was so darn pathetic I couldn’t stand it. I opened her door, she took one look at me and clammed up. I could see the confusion in her eyes... "Okay, when I got in bed, Mom was a confident blond. Now Mom is a hesitant brunette. Something has happened here."

We sat down to watch "Baby Week" on Discovery Health, where we learned all about in vitro fertilization and sperm washes. I fully expected her to just nod off (or start screaming. What child wants to watch a program about sperm washes?) but she seemed to be enjoying herself. Actually, Sadie almost always seems to be enjoying herself. She has, what Shelley has called, "inner joy." Most of the time, Sadie wanders about, grinning (sometimes sans clothing; see prior post), picking up objects and informing us of the name of the object in question. Apple. Keys. Sunglasses. Sharp Scissors ("Oh wait there, chickie, let’s just give those to Aunt Ellen.")

I think that I too would like to have inner joy.

In bed last night, as I began my nightly round of past worries, present worries and future worries, Jason stopped me and said, "Just enjoy yourself! Be happy!" "Who is happy?" I demanded. "Who are these happy people that you keep speaking of?" He pointed out himself, his father (but not his mother,) his brothers, my brother-in-law, my future brother-in-law...

"Those are all men," I pointed out.

"Hmmmmm," said Jason, "That’s interesting."

We thought and thought and thought and finally decided that my friend, Stephanie, is a fairly happy person (well, before her pregnancy and subsequent child temporarily turned her into a crying, mopey, uncomfortable individual.)

So what does this mean? That most women are incapable of being relaxed and happy? What kind of crap is this?

Jason said he might write a book on it.