A Pepper Dream

The night after I found out I’ll be having a girl, I dreamed Pepper came back.

Every now and then, less and less frequently, I dream she didn’t wander off into the woods to die after all, she went off into the woods because she needed to live on her own. In these dreams she sometimes comes back to make sure we’re alright and reassure us that she is living her best life. Pepper was a dog, by the way—or, according to dream-logic, she is a dog. She’d be about 40 now. The joy I feel to see her in these dreams—to realize she’s alive—is indescribable, as is the grief of knowing she won’t stay. In this dream I also knew that Jamie would one day need to go off and live in the woods. Pepper was coming back partly to introduce herself to him as his future guide. Devastating, and illuminating. Jamie’s a sensitive extrovert and has been having one of his tough times lately: demanding more attention than it’s possible to give, sticking his bare feet in people’s faces (he’s a big fan of beards). Part of why I’ve insisted we not move to another part of Brooklyn is that we’ve built such a nice community here of his friends and their parents. But he doesn’t know any of the kids in his new class, even though a lot of his friends are in other classes in his enormous school building, and the community—even the people we’ve felt we had enduring bonds with—seems to have vaporized in an instant. I shouldn’t be surprised, after every friendship ever went up in smoke during the pandemic. But this isn’t me—this is Jamie, Mr. Sunshine, Mr. Love.

It's been a very easy pregnancy, one characterized by hugging dogs while weeping (my true self coming out) and baking and devouring casseroles (!?!?!?), but I’ve felt myself being distanced—as if by a force outside my control—from Jamie. These days, deep down, I am his mother, not his friend. I’m not someone who experiences a lot of mom guilt—no one needs a perfect mom, and no one needs to be a perfect mom—that is, until I realize Jamie’s being affected. Still, there’s nothing I can do without twisting myself in knots. So I feel for him, and I’m grateful to have a boy who picks up on things. The day I had the miscarriage six months or so ago, he bit his friend. From experience, apologizing for a child’s bite—even a relatively bad one—is much easier than apologizing for a dog’s bite—even if your dog only nips.

Before I duck behind the paywall with more Pepper content, a reminder that I’ll be speaking at JCC mid-Westchester with my beloved Hadassa Goldvicht( <3 !) this Thursday night Sept 26th, at Lofty Pigeon Books this Friday night Sept 27 with a bunch of other cartoonist/mothers for Mutha Magazine, and on Sunday Sept 28 at the Brooklyn Book Festival with my beloved Roz Chast, moderated by beloved Tahneer Oksman(<3 ! and <3 !). It sounds like I throw around beloved indiscriminately, but I have very few friends, and also don’t give too many talks anymore. Things tend to clump.

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