perfect

photo by nici

I love where I live. I know I say it again and again, but I really, really love where I live. This past weekend my friend's threw me a shower. Now put everything you've ever had in your mind about baby showers away and picture this:

My girlfriend's show up at my house with mugs of coffee, savory snacks and gusto to party. We pile in the car and follow the highway through the mountains. The day is sunny and clear, the weather crisp, snow still shines on the craggy mountains. We stop along the way at some teeny tiny bakery that my girlfriend says has amazing homemade pastries. I find myself a power necklace, made by a local artist. All smooth shells and wood shaped like the sun's rays. I throw down money with abandon, with complete certainty that I need this piece of jewelery. It feels so good to indulge myself.


After an hour or so driving along the pristine Flathead River, we pull up to Quinn's Hot Springs. We check into our cabins, all woodsy and perfect. After more savory snacks and the party girl's cracking into their beers, we head for the tubs. There are five different tubs here, all different temperatures -- perfect for pregos and non alike. I find my tub and settle in. We soak and chat and chat and soak. At various points more carloads of BFF's arrive, so we are finally ten in all. I sip lemon water while my girlfriend's order drinks from the bartender who takes poolside orders. After hours of splendorious, weightless, mineral bath basking, we head back to the cabins.


We congregate in the party cabin. We are ten girls, two infants, two pregos -- making 14 in all. Joellen busts out some special smelling salts and rubs and gets busy on my feet. Mary's on my hands. They go around the circle telling me why they love me. Why I'll be able to handle this new journey. What my gifts are. Casey sings a song she's written for me. Bri sings a song we used to sing together. Nici reads a poem. Gifts are open. Gifts just as much for me as for my little guy. Pedi and massage and hair straightener of my very own. They know me so well.


At eight it's time for our dinner reservation. Bottles of wine and tenderloins are ordered. More talking, more laughing, more decadence. After dinner we head into the bar where karaoke night's on fire, all sorts of hysterical Montanan's are tapping their toes and getting nasty on the dance floor. Joe busts some Janis Joplin and blows the rest of the folks out of the water. We're ready to keep shaking, keep singing, but the girl's with babes are asked to leave the bar. Mind you, their babes are asleep in matching slings. Not exactly causing much of a stir. But we head out like a band of tough, dissed mama's, ready to bring our fun to somewhere more accepting.

Back to headquarters for more talking, more chocolate. Eventually we head to our rooms. The two pregos and the two mama's with new babes sleep together. Solidarity in our sleeplessness even though those two delicious babes never cry. Like not once. The whole weekend. That's enough to make a girl feel optimistic about numero dos.

The morning was more perfection. Stumbling out to the hot springs, coffee cups in hand, we have a last, luxurious soak. Followed by a massive breakfast. I really couldn't ask for more. We head back to Missoula a little quieter than when we left. With less to bitch about. More to appreciate. Last quiet moments to savor. Time without anyone asking anything of us.

When I get home I am supremely relaxed. Eliana's still napping. I crawl into my beautiful bed and wait for her to wake. My husband has surprised me by tackling the huge project that is our basement. I am flooded with gratitude. So happy to see him. So appreciative. I am calm. I am so, so ready.