Melanie Gideon - Wife 22

No disagreement there either.

Don’t stop.

Don’t stop what, Wife 22?

Crossing my line.

67.To want the people you love to be happy. To look homeless people in the eye. To not want what you don’t have. What you can’t have. What you shouldn’t have. To not text while driving. To control your appetite. To want to be where you are.

68.Once I got past the morning sickness with Zoe, I loved being pregnant. It changed the dynamics between William and me utterly. I let myself be vulnerable and he let himself be the protector, and every day this stunned, primal, bumper-stickerish voice inside of me whispered this is the way it should be . This is how you were meant to live. This is what your whole life has been for. William was gallant. He opened doors and jars of spaghetti sauce. He heated up the car before I got in and held my elbow as we navigated rainy sidewalks. We were whole, the three of us, a trinity way before Zoe was born-I could have happily stayed pregnant for years.

And then Zoe arrived, a colicky, drooling, aggressively unhappy baby. William fled to the sanity of the office each day. I stayed home on maternity leave and divided hours into fifteen-minute increments: breastfeed, burp, lie on couch with screaming baby, attempt to sing screaming baby to sleep.

This was when I felt the loss of my mother most acutely. She never would have let me go through those disorienting early months alone. She would have moved right in and taught me the things a mother teaches her daughter: how to give a baby a bath, how to get rid of cradle cap, how long you should stay mad at your husband when he straps your baby into the swing haphazardly and she slides out.

And most importantly, my mother would have filled me in about time. She would have said, “Honey, it’s a paradox. For the first half of your life each minute feels like a year, but for the second half, each year feels like a minute.” She would have assured me this was normal and it would do no good to fight it. That’s the price we pay for the privilege of growing old.

My mother never got that privilege.

Eleven months later, I woke one morning and the disorientation was gone. I picked my baby up out of her crib, she made the sweetest dolphin squeal, and I fell instantly in love.

69.Dear Zoe,

Here is the story of the beginning of your life. It can be summed up in one sentence. I loved you and then I got really scared and then I loved you more than I ever thought it was possible for one person to love another. I think we are not so dissimilar, although I’m sure it feels like we are right now.

Things you may not know or remember:

1. You have always been a trendsetter. When you were two, you stood up on Santa’s lap and belted out “Do, a Deer” to the hundred irritated people who had been standing in line for an hour. Everybody started singing with you. You were flash-mobbing before anybody even knew what flash-mobbing was.

2. The first vacation your father and I took without you kids was to Costa Rica. You know how some girls go through a horse stage? Well, you were going through a primate stage. You convinced yourself I’d agreed to bring you home a white-faced capuchin. When we returned and I gave you your gift, a stuffed chimp named Milo, you said thank you very much, then went into your room, opened your window, and threw it into the branches of the redwood tree in the backyard, where to this day it still lives. Occasionally, when there’s a big storm, and the tree sways from side to side, I get a glimpse of Milo’s face, his faded red mouth smiling sadly at me.

3. Often I wish I were more like you.

Zoe, my baby-I am in the still-in-your-camp-even-though-you-can-barely-stand-to-look-at-me-most-of-the-time-right-now stage. It’s difficult, but I’m muddling through. Soy venti lattes help the time pass, as does watching Gone with the Wind .

Your loving Mama

John Yossarian changed his profile picture

Do you like walking in circles, Researcher 101?

Sometimes walking in circles can be very helpful.

I suppose-as long as the circle walking is intentional.

I’ve been imagining what you look like, Wife 22.

I can’t divulge that information; however, I can tell you I’m not a Hutterite.

You have chestnut-colored hair.

I do?

Yes, but you would likely describe it as mouse brown because you tend to underestimate yourself, but you have the kind of hair women envy.

That’s why I always get such dirty looks.

Eyes, brown as well. Possibly hazel.

Or possibly blue. Or possibly green.

You’re pretty, and I mean this as a compliment. Pretty is what lies between beautiful and plain, and in my experience pretty is the best place to be.

I think I’d rather be beautiful.

Beautiful makes evolving into any sort of a person with morals and character very difficult.

I think I’d rather be plain.

Plain-what can I say about that? So much of life is a lottery.

So you think of me when we’re not chatting online?

Yes.

In your regular life? Your civilian life?

Frequently I’ll find myself in the middle of doing something mundane, emptying the dishwasher or listening to the radio, and something you said will pop into my head and I’ll get this amused look on my face and my wife will ask me what’s so funny.

What do you tell her?

That I met this woman online.

You do not.

No, but soon I may have to.

Kelly Cho

Loves being in charge.

5 minutes ago

Caroline Kilborn

Is full.

32 minutes ago

Phil Archer

Cleaning house.

52 minutes ago

William Buckle

Gimme Shelter

3 hours ago

“Could you please stop checking Facebook, Alice? For one bloody minute?” asks Nedra.

I set my phone on vibrate and slip it into my purse.

“So, as I was just saying but will repeat for your benefit-I have some big news. I’m going to ask Kate to marry me.”

Nedra and I are browsing in a jewelry store on College Ave.

“And what’s your opinion on moonstones?” she adds.

“Oh, dear,” I say.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“I heard.”

“And all you have to say is ‘Oh, dear’? May I see that one, please,” says Nedra, pointing to an oval moonstone set in eighteen-karat gold.

The saleswoman hands it to her and she slips it on her finger.

“Let me see,” I say, grabbing her arm. “I don’t get it. Is there something about moonstones and lesbians? Some Sapphic thing that I’m missing?”

“For God’s sake,” says Nedra. “Why am I asking you? You have no taste in jewelry. In fact, you never wear jewelry and you really should, darling. It would perk you up a bit.” She studies my face worriedly. “Still having insomnia?”

“I’m going for the French no-makeup look.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, but the French no-makeup look only works in France. The light is different there. Kinder. American light is so crude.”