Operating Instructions

Beautiful friend Lucy sent me a treasure box full of books about Motherhood this week. I love Lucy because she is a passionate scribe who gives gifts of inspiration. She reminds me of those Irish monks who saved civilization.

First out of the box was "Operating Instructions" by Anne Lamott. I generally don't have a moment to read through more than ten pages of anything in a given week, but I am more than halfway through this memoir. It is a journal of Ms. Lamott's first year with her son. I love it completely. Here are some excerpts:


"I felt very sorry for myself today until Peg called and reminded me of Renata Adler's wonderful line about how self-pity is maybe just sorrow in the pejorative."

"In the middle of the colic death marches, I end up looking at the baby with those hooded eyes that were in the old ads for 'The Boston Strangler'."

"His hands are like little stars."

"I have spent so much of my life with secret Swiss-cheese insides, but I tell you-- right now, Mama, my soul is full."


I have a bit of a sore throat today and don't want to breathe on Alice much less indulge in my usual habit of kissing every inch of her little face while she tries to grab my nose. Instead I have let Alice practice scooting around on her tummy while Mommy reads her book and occasionally promises a nursing break. Alice seems to know that I am feeling poorly because she is asserting her (almost) three month old independence. After a sudden loss of pacifier my little girl was able to scoot over and work that baby back into her mouth without parental assistance. I guess she's ready for her own apartment. Tony and I might as well take a vacation to Hawaii.