Sunday July 22. 2001
babies (part 2)
My parents, sister and I went out to breakfast with Kate, Greg and JW this morning. We went to a little place in Mt. Gretna. Mt. Gretna is a small, tourist town that used to be big in the 1920s and 30s because of Gretna Lake, which is now too polluted for people to swim in. It's the site of the art show in late August and populated with little antique stores and big, friendly summer houses with large wraparound porches surrounded by ivy-covered trees.
We ate at a house coverted in a restaurant. The tables were large and the chairs gathered around them were mismatched. Coffee and pastries were self-serve from big display case in the front room. Each table had one red shoe placed in the middle of it, and red shoes of varying styles were placed around the room as decoration.
I love being around Kate and Greg and JW. JW is the sweetest baby, I love watching his many expressions and his attempts to crawl. Everytime I see him he's changed. Being around him has gotten me thinking, strangely enough, about...babies. Like, having them. As we were driving home in the car, I put my hand on my stomach and tried to imagine something alive in there. Truth be told, it still scares the living hell out me, but it's rather intriguing, too.
One thing before I go on. Mom and Dad and anyone else who I have repeatedly and emphatically expressed my desire to remain childless: please do not email me or call me and say anything to the effect of "I told you so, you're going to have kids!" I don't need that, please. These feelings are throwing me for a loop as it is.
Last week when I was up visiting John. At one point I wrapped my arms around him and said, "Wouldn't it be nice to have someone that was both of us, a little bit of you and me, a physical manifestation of how much we love each other?" To which John replied something to the effect of, "It's a nice notion but I'm not sure if I want to deal with the reality." I agreed and laughed it off, but the question continued to nag in the back of my mind.
I never, ever considered having kids until I met John. Even though we both agreed early on that neither of us were interested in being parents, some part of it always rang false for me. As more and more loudly I said, "I don't want to have kids!" a smaller but very insistent voice in my head said, "But maybe you do."
Let's not even get into the logistics of John and I having a kid. Say I have a child at 25. By the time that child would graduate from high school, John would be 68. I don't want to do that, to me or to him or to a child.
I'm not even sure why I'm debating these things right now. Taking stock, people...I am twenty years old. I don't know where this sudden urge to plan out my entire future came from. It puzzles me as much as it is probably puzzling you, gentle readers. Maybe it's because I finally have someone I want to be with forever. But who knows? I have it all planned out my head right now, but things could happen. John and I might go our seperate ways someday. I might decide that I want to focus on my art and myself and not have kids. I might go to Nepal and live on a top of a mountain, shave my head and contemplate the meaning of life.
Who knows. I think I need to concentrate on next week, not the next ten years. Just ignore this whole diatribe. It never happened.
One Year Ago:
"I pulled open the dark stained wooden door. The brass handle was slightly sticky. The small lobby was permeated with the scent of bathroom. The architecture was all clean lines, stainless steel, mint green and white."