Before he came I merely dreamed of writing daily. Sometimes I would scratch in a notebook or type a couple of paragraphs that are now trapped on a recycled computer’s hard drive. I spent the hours after work (and oh, what fruitless work it was) smoking cigarettes creating various personae with makeup and outfits in my closet. I watched lots of house hunters and I may have looked at inappropriate websites a little. When my boyfriend/husband came home from work we smoked some more cigarettes and drank coffee and kvetched and went out to coffee shops to smoke cigarettes and drink coffee and kvetch with our friends. I wrote, a little.
I have legions of notebooks resting in hat boxes that go backwards in time from now to twenty-odd years ago. They’re filled with words of love and valor and self-absorbed bullshit. It wasn’t until I felt the earth quake and shake in giving over myself to the care of someone else that I realized my true love and potential in my writing. Whereas before I merely dabbled, today I am impassioned. With everything. With birds and sunrises and flowers and babies and Russia and glaciers and Iceland and design and fashion and learning and books and photography and alchemy and everything everything everything. The little bit of time I have for myself is focused. Compartmentalized for optimum performance. The rest of my time is mainly wrapped up in hanging out with my now six year old son, whose birth was the impetus for my current path. He is amazing.
Even as a baby, he was always mindful, thoughtful, kind. Mainly calm but with bursts of fervor. As he developed into toddlerhood, he became to self-evaluate and express his various emotions with a passionate cadence: A slump in the shoulders for defeat, for sadness, for disappointment. A euphoric, all-body leap and lung stretching shout for joy, for surprise, for excitement. We’re always impressed by his ability to understand the world around him. By his humor. By how big his heart is.
When I was pregnant with him we opted to have one of those 3D ultrasounds done, where you’re able to make out mushy features of your baby before it’s born (I’ve heard they now have 4D ultrasounds? What’s next? Innerspace-esque trips inside our own wombs to high-five the fetus?). He was away from us, so all we were able to see was the curve of his cheek, the slight folds of his ear, one curled arm. Sometimes when I look at him I still see the tiny ear and cheek as we viewed it at the doctor’s office. Sometimes I catch tiny glimpses of the older child he’s growing into.
Today is his sixth birthday. We had lunch at his school with his little class and are taking him out for his favorite food (Japanese) tonight. I have placed brand new Star Wars sheets and blankets on his bed and some presents are perched on the mantle. Sunday his friends will come over to our small townhome and eat cake, play games, run.
We are blessed beyond measure.