Monday, December 31, 2007

Welcome To My Herb Farm

It's come to my attention that sifting through the letters I've sent your way, you two might be under the impression that I'm not anxiously awaiting your arrival. That because I don't find pink socks particularly exciting I don't care about your tiny feet. That because I harbor fears that my own life will soon be over that I'm not excited for yours to begin. That because I didn't particularly want kids, I don't want the two of you. Allow me to clear this up.

Based on the evidence I've seen, meaning the books, the surveys, and my own exposure to families, I don't think I'm really cut out for kids. I do not dream of picket fences or soccer games, packing lunches or playdates. When people reference these things I often fail to show the proper level of enthusiasm. When people used to ask me if I wanted kids, I would think of my friend's children, all of whom were wonderful people, but none of whom I really wanted to take home with me, and I would say no, not really.

I didn't really think I was cut out for marriage either. I spent several years trying to convince your mother that we should live in a commune, grow herbs, and rechristen ourselves with the names of wildflowers. Bluebonnet, I would say, why do we have to do what everyone else does? Why can't we just raise oregano and free ourselves from the little boxes that 'the man' is always trying to force us into? And then your mother would tell me not to call her Bluebonnet and the discussion would end.

The point is, I have a horrible fear of waking up one day and feeling like my life came from page 32 of some catalog. Oh, you got the one with the two kids and the Honda? My brother and my neighbor have that one. How's it working out? It's like driving through a suburban development where every fourth house is the same. I mean, your name's on the title, but if it's just like everyone else's, how can it really be yours? So when I think of marriage and kids in the abstract, that's what I think of, a house like 16 others on the block, and little terrors who try to pull it down when you put them to bed.

But I didn't marry an abstract concept, and to the best of my knowledge there's nothing theoretical about either of you. I married your mom, not because I was suddenly into the idea of doing what everyone else had done, but because I was madly, deeply, and ridiculously in love with her. And all my fears that simply going through with a ceremony would somehow make us like all those who had been through it before, were unfounded. I'm as stupid and she's as beautiful as we were the day we met.

So no, I don't want kids because I'm suddenly fired up about little socks and pink outfits, and when you ask me about those things I'm as likely to groan as I ever was. But when it comes to you two, the feet that kick my hand, the ears that have already suffered through my songs, the faces in soupy black and white, there's nothing I'm looking forward to more than shaking your hands and asking about the trip. After that I can't guarantee that I'll do a damn thing right, or that I won't occasionally panic about turning into everyone else and ask you to move to my herb farm, but that won't be because I don't care. It will be because I want you to be more mine, not less. Sometimes when you really want something to feel like it belongs to you, your biggest fear is that it will get mixed up with everyone else's.

Novel - 9 days until update
Dunking - I have several more pounds to move vertically
French - Bon nuit

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