There is a phenomenon in Film Theory that is called The Suspension of Disbelief. It’s what you, as the viewer, bring to the table when you watch a movie. It’s a simple, tacit agreement that you will, for the duration of the film, surrender your tendencies to say, “Oh, that’s ridiculous!” Movies – and your ability to enjoy them – heavily depend on your willingness as the audience member to set aside the facts {like that the guy with the machine gun could probably land a single shot without Indiana Jones and his lone revolver taking him out}.
It’s your unspoken contract that, for the length of the movie, you are willing to let yourself be wonder-struck once more.
That’s how I felt this weekend when I hung out with Kristin and Jonas. {Ryan, too, of course – if you’re lucky enough to know Ryan you know how wonderstruck-capable he is, what with his dry humor and his way-too-tall-ness. 
} James made a joke on the way home that my mother’s hair style changes each time he sees her. {He didn’t say it in a mean way; he said it in a “I didn’t realize mothers could do that, as my mother has had the same hair for as long as I can remember,” sort of way.} It made me smile because… well, he’s right. My mother is one of those exceptionally lucky women who is beautiful no matter if she’s blonde or brunette or red-head. She can wear her hair short or she can wear it long, with loose curls or a tight perm, and it always looks quite lovely on her. {She will tell you that none of this is true, especially because of All The Weight She’s Gained, but it needs to be said – my mother is a dirty liar when it comes to stuff like that. I am telling you the truth. I promise.}
I took it for granted that my mother changes her look so often. I assumed all mothers were so lucky and fortunate. Mothers have superpowers, right? Chameleon-ity seemed like a standard trait for a woman expected to handle so much all at once without sucking any of the limelight from her kids. As we get older, I told myself, it’s just what we do. We change. And it’s OK.
But I found myself completely wonderstuck when I saw Kristin, who is now around 6 months pregnant. I kept staring at her little belly {which sits in a neat little bump on her little waist} and apologizing. “I’ve never seen you this pregnant before,” I finally told her.
She laughed, because to her, it feels like she’s been in one of the stages of pregnancy {trying, succeeding, vomiting, growing, laboring, nursing} for the past decade. But when she was pregnant with Jonas, I found out Christmas Eve (6-8 weeks along), saw her once in early March (2ish? months along) and then wasn’t able to come home again until after the little man had joined us. I have a cardboard cutout of her at 5 months pregnant, in a leopard print dress doing a flamenco pose… and it’s life-size… but that doesn’t count.
I kept staring, because there it was before my very eyes… My best friend is changed.
There are a lot of things you feel strangely out of touch with if time and distance separate you from people you love dearly. You miss the little things in each others’ lives, even if you e-mail between 7-24 times a day, like Kristin and I do. Jonas has turned into a full-blown rough-and-tumble but sweet-and-giggly little boy! Kristin is a real, live Mommy, complete with phrases like, “Please don’t put that in your mouth!” and “No, you go get your sippy cup.” and “Oop! Oop!… You’re OK.” if somebody takes a tumble.
It’s easy, if you’re far away and not in the same stage of your life, like me, to ignore these things. When I hear those phrases on the phone, I know she’s talking to Jonas, but she could just as easily be sippy-cup-training the cats. Or Ryan. But yesterday I sat in her living room, snapping photos of her and her son, and the disbelief that I have felt since she told me she was going to have her first baby two Christmases ago – the disbelief that this is it, that we are, full-blown, adults and in this new and exciting and terrifying stage of our lives – that feeling just washed away.
And in its place slipped Wonderstruck, the feeling that I knew I’d find sooner or later. Like it had been waiting in the wings all along, simply biding its time while I worked through all the resisting and the heel-digging and the “I’m not ready for this yet!”-ing.
We’re here. And this is really happening. And it’s so much better than anyone promised us it would be, in a completely different way than we expected. See? See my friend and her beautiful little boy?
Suspend your disbelief. Just let the wonderment of it all wash over you. Hold close to your heart the words Kristin tells me every time I call her with a new 20-something crisis: “We’re all in this together, and not in the scary way.” And soak it all in.
{For this one, please note the drool hanging from his chin. Apparently, babies do this until they get all their teeth. ALL. THEIR. TEETH. Don’t we get our last teeth around age 12?}
-MM.
Regardless, know that she’s happy and they’re stable as a couple and she’s in good shape as a baby-carrying-device.
