Mo's post about leaving baby-making-hood is lovely, isn't it? I think Mo captures a sense of the impermanence I sometimes feel in this parenting gig.
I will 'always' be the father of these two kids. That is immutable. But I and they will not be the same we as today. We aren't the same now as we were at 6:30. I will slowly decay (or not slowly) as these kids develop rapidly into whoever and whatever they will be for a day, a moment, as they forge their own identities, and so on. Then I'll be dead but I will still be their dad. When they are feeding the worms, I will still have been their dad. When the space people the foilhat-wearers are telling you about come on down for the harvest none of that will have changed. It's really quite a tiresome subject, actually, but I've got tonnes of time to reflect on these weighty matters as I recline at home with a bag of frozen peas on my gonads.
Mo's post is rather timely from a practical perspective. I am off the hook. My phone has been disconnected. We cannot have any more kids together unless we use the frozen material which is, I suspect, on account of the miserable porn available at the clinic (Field & Stream... are you getting hard? I thought not) and in no way a reflection of my, um, material. I have reconciled with this new state of affairs.
The much-anticipated, ballyhooed event has at last taken place, hence the peas, the elevated feet, the increased rate of media consumption, and the application of frigid pulses to my genital area. I will say little about the procedure. Most disconcerting moment: smelling something burning and realizing it was me. Most enjoyable moment: oh, hahaha. At least mine wasn't like this guy's chop job. Local anaesthetic and a scalpel... nooo! I live in a secular nation where men are not punished for taking this anti-procreative step, I guess. In any event this task is much simpler to face than the whole gestation through to forcing a human out of your privates-thing which is, of course, what I am trying to avoid.
Mo has been lovely enough to give me some time to take off some weight. As a result I have had the opportunity to watch some movies, read some books, and read some blogs during the convalescing parts of my recuperation. I viewed the intensely lowbrow (Smokin' Aces) the pompously meaningful (Babel). I am reading two books. One is serviceable: (Devil in the White City) and the other amazing: (The Yiddish Policeman's Union). The capper: the zenith of tennis on tv. The downer: a former finalist engaged in tawdry "realistic" romance with cougars and cubs. (Oh, Mark... what the fuck?)
I read somewhere that Eddie Murphy fathered a child with "Mel B." My first thought: not another transvestite, say it isn't so! Perhaps I am a little out of touch.