The Art of the Novella

Motherhood is lovely.  Most of the time.  Two days ago I had my six week post partum checkup and Jack tagged along.  We waited for two hours at the doctor's office ("I'm sorry to ask again, but when exactly will the doctor be able to see me?") and Jack fussed, cried, kicked and complained through the entire thing.  I found myself in the company of a room full of rather contempuous pregnant women whose narrowed eyes said things like, "breast feeding in public? how tacky."  And so after our rush-hour subway ride back downtown (I had spent that morning researching available elevators in the subway system), I was either going to cry or scream and instead handed the baby directly to Peter and ran out of the apartment for a mani pedi.

As I've discovered though, one bad day tends to open up into a heavenly one.  And so the next day Jack slept like a Prince and during the hours he was awake he grabbed for me, babbled and smiled.  Big, wide, toothless smiles.  Apparently its because he's starting to recognize me.  I melted. 

He slept so well that I was able both to nap and to crack open this fabulous, tiny little book - a novella titled The Diamond as Big as The Ritz by none other than F. Scott Fitzgerald.  Its a quick story about an absurdly rich boy - the richest in the world, he claims - told through the eyes of his admiring boarding school pal.  The luxuries are lunatic and the family is a bit mad itself.  And by the way - they do have a diamond as big as the Ritz.  I hadn't thought about a 'novella' since my college lit classes, but this was perfect new mommy material.  Small, easy to carry and a quick, quick read.

While Jack slept I also indulged in a cappucino and one of Lafayette's famous petits gateaux.

The afternoon was exquisite, though quickly dashed when Jack woke promptly at 5pm with a few desperate screams.  But if life can be this lovely just one hour of every other day, I'm cool with it.


The new apres-midi menu at Lafayette, served from 3:30 to 5pm