Brunch, Beaches, & Baby Carriers…

Brunch has always been a long standing hobby of mine. I mean, really, what’s better than mid-morning cocktails and over easy eggs? Before I knew the simple joys of motherhood, not a lot was higher on my list of weekly habits.

I finally had my first postpartum brunch experience, and it was quite delightful, as my pre-mommy self would’ve naturally expected. But that’s odd, isn’t it? To have a delightful experience, after my son died. It seems odd to me. Good moments always do. That’s when my little friend guilt comes out to say hello in a very loud and pressing voice. Honestly, how on earth can I have a positive or good moment when my son is still dead? What kind of mother does that make me? It’s all so confusing. Part of me knows that Kam wouldn’t want me to suffer for the rest of my life, and he’s probably happy when I’m able to have a good moment or good day. But the other part of me, my human ego part, feels like I’m doing a disservice to him by being okay, in the middle of my mourning. Because let’s be honest here, even in a good moment or an okay day, I’m still very much mourning. I’m pretty sure it’ll be a lifelong mourning, of everything my son never got to experience, like brunch. I was more than excited to dress him in his little H&M jeans with suspenders and his baby Sperrys, and show him off Sunday morning at the Oxford Exchange, over white tea infusions and kale hashes. But as it stands, that’s something neither one of us will ever to experience.

But, thanks to my lovely best friend for flying in from Chicago Saturday night, I was able to once again experience some form of a much sought after Sunday brunch.

We also made time to take Lola to the dog beach before shuffling back to the airport for his return flight home. Lola was understandably elated, and so was I, for a moment anyways.

The second I unleashed Lola and let her bounce around the beach with the other dogs, my eyes immediately went to the nearest picnic table. An infant carrier positioned in the middle, away from a jumping dogs reach. Luckily the carrier and baby were covered by a draped blanket, so I couldn’t actually see him or her. That obviously didn’t stop be from staring like a crazy person. If anyone really noticed what I was looking at I’m sure they would’ve been afraid I was one of those people just  waiting to snatch someone’s baby. I’m not. One of those people. I promise.

Thankfully that family didn’t stay long after we got there. Part of me wonders why they would even bring an infant to the dog beach, but another part of me doesn’t. After all, I know I would’ve brought Kamren at some point. Probably when he was a little bit older, and I would’ve worn him instead of using his car seat. I mean, who really wants sand in their car seat. But I understand it. Yesterday was a perfect 73 degrees and sunny. It was an ideal day to let your fur babies get their energy out.

Obviously Lola had no concern for me at this point, which was good. She senses when I’m upset and she tenses up and becomes sad in return. I hate that my energy shifts to her. But it does. She loves every second at the dog beach or any dog parks. She’s a dog’s dog. She’s not much for humans, specifically males.

There was a handicapped dog there yesterday, with a little wheel chair carrying it’s back legs. At first I felt an incredible sadness for her. Until I realized that she clearly didn’t feel that for herself. She ran and played and did everything else the other dogs were doing, even going into the bay. She didn’t seem to notice she was handicapped, so why should I? I actually found this little handicapped pug to be inspiring. If she can overcome being paralyzed and still live a full, happy life, then so can I. Our paralizations may be different, and they are, but if she can do it, so can I damnit.

Dogs are truly resilient, and have the best hearts imaginable. Imagine what the world would be like if humans were like dogs. We probably wouldn’t be so fucked. Except if you’re like Lola. She’s an asshole. But she’s the sweetest dog I know, and she’s my asshole. She just doesn’t realize she is one, so she means well. I was so nervous when she discovered this handicapped dog. I just sat there thinking, please don’t be the asshole that knocks over this dog’s wheelchair. Because that’s Lola. All gas, no breaks. But she did really well. And she played with her accordingly. I was a proud Mama in that moment.

  My lovely brunch date and best friend of 15+ years 

  My little asshole Lola, chasing the wheelchair. Smh 

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