Free Some Assembly Required by Anne Lamott, Sam Lamott

the top of her paper, and circled.
    We listened together for a while to his sounds, coos and peeps and snorfles. Listening to him is my single favorite thing about life these days, along with holding him in my arms while he sleeps. Not long ago, I told my friend Leo how bad my back has been lately, and he said he has a guy in Minneapolis who could help me, a master Chinese ortho pedic surgeon who now heals people by doing
tui na
, Chinese bodywork massage with acupuncture, while making what sound like soft bird and pig imitations. Leo said I would have to step out on my faith, though, because the man is brilliant but not board-certified; he hasn’t been able to take the boards in the United States because his
English
sounds like bird and pig imitations, too.
    Maybe
he
would know what Jax is trying to say.
October 30, Interview with Sam
    “How are you doing, darling?”
    “Bummed. Bad. I can’t find any balance now between school, and Amy and Jax. I can’t schedule any Sam time, not any at all, just to sit with myself. My classes are kicking my butt. The Core classes you have to pour yourself into, because if you do great models, it goes into your portfolio. The rest are stepping-stone classes, in the sense that they are prerequisites to the Core classes, but I think I need to take more of them because I can’t manage the extreme time pressure of the one Core class you are expected to take each term. Every teacherso far has been great, though, so I guess I just have to figure out a way to calm myself and be grateful, instead of being a jerk. But I’m not there yet. I’m disappointed with myself, not being able to do more. I’m barely hanging on. It’s going to take me five years to graduate instead of four, which is frustrating. It makes me feel like kind of a loser, because I want to get on with my life, and not be in school. I’d like to be working full-time, and take care of my son. Best case would be to work for myself. Worst case would be on a salary, because after you have a kid, money suddenly seems like such a stupid thing to work for all your life. But all of this is the price of having Jax. I’m kind of okay with it. I mean, what are my choices?”
    “Are things different between you and God, since you had Jax?”
    “Well, when I’m talking to God, it’s still Him and me, which I love, because with friends and family, it all ultimately ends up being about Jax. With God, I don’t feel pressured to talk about Jax. I guess with Jax, I feel more like a brother than a dad, because we’re so close in age. I feel kind of like a taxi driver trying to get God from place to place. I sure don’t feel like a TV dad. It’s more like being in God’s Secret Service: my job is to protect this kid and his destiny.
    “I feel desperate of him—maybe that’s not correct grammatically, but I feel
desperate
of him.
    “I had no idea how damaged I was until I had a kid—how totally powerless. I feel about him like you do when you hold a really young, vulnerable baby kitten that’s not quite at theage when you’re supposed to pick it up. Like, if he chooses not to smile at me, or is fixated on Amy, I feel just crushed. Or when we’re hanging out with Kenny Boo’s kid Amari, I totally realize how crazy I am, because Amari is two months older, and I know that, but I still compare him and Jax. Jax isn’t nearly as tough as Amari—he might even be
afraid
of Amari. Then I feel so self-conscious—of
Jax
. Because he’s so little and inept! He has all these tics, and spazzy moves, as if I have this shrimpy little Tourette’s person, but Amari is mellow and cool, like George Clooney. I know at five months old, which is how old Amari is, you get quieter because your nerves are better and you’re much more together. But still! I worry that Jax’s hands aren’t big enough—I mean, Amari’s are baseball mitts compared to his. God, can you even believe this? The cross we bear is self-consciousness. But Jax is really