There was a time in my life when I realized I might never have children. And as my grief started to subside (or perhaps in order to kill it) I became intoxicated on the easy indolence of childlessness and on the redemption of graduate school and on all the hedonistic pleasure I could muster. I set aside two hours of every day to sit on my front porch and relish good beer. I gloried in the roughhoused messiness of this neighborhood and on the freedom offered by a little bit of money in a good economy and the opportunities I had to eat and drink on the long-fabled (and now sadly diminished if not entirely extinct) investment banker's expense account. And I made art. Not good art. But art nonetheless.
And then, I found out about Carrie. And everything changed. It has taken me some time to get back on my feet, so to speak, and to begin to make sense of my position as mother. Soon, B. will be here, too and I'll have to make some more adjustments not so much to who I am as to my perception of myself.
This is part of a much longer post, but for now, I remember who I was and accept who I am and relish the idea that the two are reconciled. At least for now.
Someday, I'll suit up again and pour some iron. But for now, there is Tom Waits. Who I hope to introduce to my babies. Here you go, babies.
