Day 22: Earl Turns 10

July 13, 2005, changed me in a lot of ways—physically, mentally, emotionally, socially. Childbirth is one of those weird life events where it’s not only your own identity that gets redefined, but everyone else’s idea of your identity. Sometimes it’s for the better, sometimes it’s for the worse, but in all instances it is, to shamelessly quote Wicked, “for good.”

In a way, motherhood turns you from a single sole—floundering around—able to dip into your own waters away from life’s floe into a fish trapped in a tank. You can’t make a move in that tank without causing a ripple that will effect the current around your spawn.

Which makes Earl’s choice for her birthday destination most fitting.

Motherhood and I haven’t always been the most perfect fit. My patience runs short. I’m selfish. Some days, I don’t want to be touched by anything or anyone. I like my Me Time. I can be downright crabby.

But I love my Earl more than sense, so that makes up for a lot, I reckon. (Although it will never make up for my love of puns. I shall stop now. They’re getting fishy anyway.)

Only by the grace of God Himself did my cold finally abate. I began to feel human just in the nick of time to celebrate my and El Jefe’s little human amongst the wonders of the Vancouver Aquarium.

Ribbit.

Aquariums, like zoos, give me an iota of pause. There are facilities that don’t treat their animals well, that trap and breed for profit or that purport to be research facilities when really they’re just money making machines. But there are decent aquariums—operations that truly focus on rehabilitation and wellness. I want to believe Vancouver is one of them.

Still, it’s never a perfect system. You get wondrous creatures in tanks far smaller than what they really need, out of their natural habitat and performing for food.

There’s motherhood again. Before kids, you’re out there on your own, all the space in the world, going with the flow or against it or whatever floats your boat. Then you have a child, you’re trapped in the house a lot more, controlled by someone else’s wants and needs and sleep and wake and music preferences, and running around like a chicken with your head cut off doing whatever the small person barks at you so maybe, just maybe, you can grab two bites of the cold dinner leftovers that didn’t end up on her head or the floor. Of course, on really good days, you might get two bites of your own food—the stuff that hasn’t gone through the food processor until it slides down with no effort at all, the stuff that requires actual chewing.

Yikes. I got carried away. Sorry.

(If you’re considering having kids, don’t believe a word I just said. I have a tendency to be melodramatic. It was never that bad. Except when it was.)

Here. Have some captive Belugas performing for food and loud, clappy audiences.

Here’s the youngun (a 20yo female) swimming in a circle in her tank, poor girl, while Earl watches, hypnotized.

And here’s Vancouver Aquarium’s newest addition, Chester, a false killer whale who was rescued as a pup. The staff had to physically help him float for the first few while, he was so close to gone. Now he’s a year old and gaining strength but still deemed “unreleasable” at this time. He’s just started training in earnest, which is why all you can see of him in the below photo is his little head poking out of the water in the lower left corner. The beauty way up in the air is Helen, his new tank mate and total show off.

But back to my own show-off. The belugas and dolphins amazed her, as do most of the animals she’s ever encountered. Even jellyfish.

It was with a good deal of trepidation that Earl accepted the volunteer’s offer for her to hold a sea urchin. Oh, the wonder in her eyes as it tickled at her palm and sucked at her skin.

After a long afternoon of surveying every fish and penguin and invertebrate in the place, it was off to find dinner in the trendy little Vancouver neighborhood of Gastown. There’s a steam-powered clock that keeps time at Gastown’s center, and every fifteen minutes, four pipes atop the clock blow steam and whistle like a musical train.

Then, quicker than you could say “It’s time for birthday cake!”, it was, well, time for, um, birthday cake.

And it was DE-CA-DENT.

Ten years ago, this creature came into my life and fundamentally changed everything. Now, we’re trekking cross-country, side-by-side in the front seat singing songs and playing the tambourine, palling around, and she’s helping me lug luggage and navigate.

I couldn’t be more proud.