We have returned to our beloved city! This is still the place we call “home”, even after spending the majority of the past 4 years in an alternate place. We are changed: not by the long absence. We have become parents. We were already expecting parents last year when we left LA. Now, we brought our daughter, Luca, to be in the place where it all began for her. She was 3 months old when we arrived; she’s now 4 months old, when we are getting ready to return home. One more week, and then the summer dream ends. One more week, and we head back to Columbia, in Missouri, to prepare for the next adventure.
Life as new parents is, of course, very different from life as a simple couple. We had to adjust to the new normal. Except “normal” is different from day to day. Especially what was normal for a 3 month old is not so for a 4 month old. So, our lives are in a constant flow of adjustment. We came back to LA to enjoy the weather — you can’t spend time outside of an air-conditioned room in CoMo during the summer — the food — fruit doesn’t really grow in CoMo — and art — the closest museums to CoMo are 2 h away (both St. Louis and Kansas City have great museums!) We did check all of these boxes, but in unexpected ways. We spent whole days at the museums, we coordinated our visits to the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market with Luca’s naps, and we walked in the Palisades park (where you could see the ocean) and around Century City, for a breath of fresh Californian air.
What is this post about, then? It will not record only the rosiness of spending a month and a half in a rented Angeleno life. This blog’s theme is art criticism: I am officially extending it to be art and life criticism. So, here it goes: life with a baby is difficult. Sure, it’s hard to be responsible for a whole different person 24/7, but that’s not what I mean. The difficulty comes from the expectation that life happens behind closed-doors. Yes, we do have a car seat and we went on drives with Luca. And yes, this was the first time when we understood that LA distances and traffic are beasts one has to view in a whole new dimension. Luca is being exclusively breast-fed and that means that our lives are very unpredictable: she eats on demand. And she could demand to have breakfast all day. No problem with me: I am happy to provide and happy that my body cooperates. However, this is a problem when driving: one needs to exit the freeway, find parking, take baby out of the car seat and give her food. Sometimes, in a 100 F heat. TG for air-conditioned cars!
So, we spent more days at home than on trips. The advantage was that we were lucky enough to rent a huge house with an inner courtyard: a true Mediterranean villa. The sound of the water fountain is soothing away the minutes spent without Luca. The nanny is walking her, so I could work for a while. Instead, I’m writing on my blog. One must consume culture to produce culture, and one must produce different kinds of culture to keep going. Or so I think… I am writing a new paper for my regular job. While ironing some kinks, I am reviving this blog, as well.
Since most of our summer LA experience has been about eating vast quantities of fruits, visiting museums, and working on research (since we don’t teach during the summer, we can dedicate most of our time to research and we can live wherever we want), nothing much has changed. To work, we had to hire a nanny: we were lucky that the family who takes care of the house we’re renting have also been taking care of other people’s children for the past 30 years or so. In some sense, this summer offered us a more complete picture of life in SoCal: big house with a maid, who’s also a nanny, whose spouse takes care of the garden… So, we are not only inhabiting a new aspect of our lives (we are new parents, have I said this already?!), we are also inhabiting someone else’s life! We won’t have a maid, gardener, or a nanny when we get back to CoMo. Although we’ll certainly try to find someone to care for Luca.
Not much else was different: kilograms of fruits were consumed and museums were visitited. The experience of museum-going, however, was infinitely more varied and complex: it has taken a more pronounced performative character. Is Luca happy to walk the galleries in her stroller? If yes, that’s good, but one of us must go around often, to look at the baby and keep baby being happy in the stroller. She doesn’t like to be all “alone”; she needs to know we are there and for that she needs to see us. Look at the art, run around the stroller, look at the baby; try to keep baby entertained! Oh, look, there’s a pretty Rothko on the wall!
Is Luca unhappy to be in the stroller, so we are baby-wearing instead? To provide the requisite amount of comfort, we point out the art, telling her what’s what. She can see at a distance now, and it’s good for her to be spoken to. Or so we are told. Or, she might want a snack, in which case it’s better to find a bench to sit down and feed her. While looking at the art… and paying attention to her, smiling and cooing and feeling my heart swell when she smiles back… Breastfeeding in public spaces: no problem for me. After all, I’m European. Problem for others? Not my problem!
Or, and this is where the performative aspect comes into focus, is Luca upset and crying, despite being in a baby-carrier? I could often be seen trying to comfort an over-tired baby — Luca doesn’t like to sleep: she’s taking after her mommy — by rocking her in my arms, swaying in the rhythm of the lullaby I’m singing. The only lullaby I know is in Romanian: I learned it after having Luca. I remembered some really cute words from a song long-forgotten, sung by Maria Tanase. Her voice is unequalled; but Luca prefers my singing to Maria’s. She’ll probably grow out of it, and I’ll miss it. If I’m lucky, she will do what I do: call my mom on my birthday to have her sing a song about snowdrops budding in February. It doesn’t feel like my birthday if my mom doesn’t sing the song. If she forgets, I remind her, and then all is well with the world.
Luca falls asleep often when I sing to her that I’ll protect her from all sorts of creatures of the night. Sometimes, however it takes more than a song to take her to her sweet dreamland. My repertoire is not extended: I’m not a singer, after all. If I’d known that Luca will like singing so much (all babies do, I’m sure!) I would have taken singing classes beforehand. As it is, I had Peter, Paul, and Mary come to the rescue. Luca knows all about Puff the Magic Dragon and his lifelong friend Jackie Paper. She is wondering often: Where Have All the Flowers Gone? And she has learned what it’s like to be Leaving on a Jetplane.
We took the plane when we came here this summer. In a few days, we’ll take it back to Columbia, MO.
