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Apr

24

Recovering from the testosterone overload

April 24, 2006

After spending five hours in a car getting to Eugene, I then spent all of Saturday jiggling Riley in my lap making small talk with the female relatives while the menfolk built their fence. At the end of the day JB looked at me and with total apologetic sincerity said “Gosh, this must have been boring for you.”

It was one of those moments of dichotomy where I wanted to leap up and do the end zone dance because OF COURSE IT WAS and I TOLD YOU SO and yet what would be the point, I was already there.

Next time Mr. Sawyer tries to sell me on another fence-related weekend involving a road trip, however, I’m going to tell him to rub it, spit on it, and cram it in sideways.

I didn’t help with the fence assembly since the NO GURLZ ALOWD sign, while not technically visible, was definitely there (men build fences! women put out lunch materials and hover in the background urging men to have more deviled eggs!), but I did take vicarious pleasure in JB’s toolbelt, which he sported as proudly as a caveman wearing the pelt of a saber-tooth tiger.

Also, this business about stranger anxiety (where babies start becoming fearful of new faces) apparently does not apply one whit to young Riley, who practically purred like a cat over all the activity and people. He was so engaged and happy I started feeling vaguely guilty about our own comparatively quiet household environment. How the combination of JB and I produced a potential extrovert, I’ll never know.

Best moment from the weekend: JB’s brother was holding a tired, starting-to-get-crabby Riley in his lap, and as the boy started winding into a full-fledged crying fit, began patting his back gently and saying in a smooth, sympathetic tone, “I’m so sorry for your loss”.

(JB’s brother is a funeral director.)