The thoughts swirling around my head about this subject are many and wondrous. Mostly I want to savor this feeling of ecstatic anticipation in which I abide these days. My beautiful wife, apple of my eye, gorgeous womanhead, fountain of creation, my best friend, my foil, my partner, my lover and my spouse is growing these two creatures who will soon fill my life with wonder, fear, joy, pain, work, shit, piss, vomit, crying, love, cuddles, milk, beauty, innocence, softness, loveliness, and pure joy.
The main thing that's going on is this; I can not wait to meet the kids! I know they will be amazing, eccentric, beautiful, sensitive, annoying, strong, weak, precious, complicated people. I just can't wait to meet them.
We know what their names are and we are not telling people. We also know, deep down, what they look like, what they smell like, what their voices sound like, how they walk, how they dance. We secretly want them to be left-handed, like us. We want them to love french cooking, to love art films and Vespas and Julia Child and funk and punk and heavy metal music, to love skiing and Armagnac and reggae music and earth tones and recycling and duck breast and stupid comedies and folk music and to be die-hard Democrats. We want them to hate littering and to be incredibly honest and to have a tolerance for pain and an unusual proclivity for helping people. We secretly know that they will love soccer and tennis and be Patriots fans and probably not be very good at math and will love to read and will love clever TV shows like Breaking Bad or whatever the equivalent will be in the year 2043. They will be die-hard recyclers, they will compost, they might even be short order cooks in vegetarian restaurants. We have no idea about any of these things, all we know is we love them.
And we want so much for them. We are pure expectation, unadulterated anticipation. Our children are coming. Our children. Our twins. Two of them (as is usually the case with twins). They will be born on the same day. Probably in the middle of February, in the year 2012. Little tiny human babies, very nearly blind, powerless, completely dependent on us, almost paralyzed, only able to eat, sleep, shit, cry, and be loved.
I'm a forty-one year-old has-been who has been given this incredible gift; I will have children. Why do I use the tern "has-been?" It implies that my best days are over, that my achievements are behind me. But really I will be, I am a "will-be" if you consider this achievement, this creative output. I am making people. I am putting out the most complicated double album of all time, more complex than a Magma or Beefheart album. (Or for that matter The Snow or Bad Reputation, my actual bands with which I am actually in the process of making albums which will also come out this year.)Hopefully these people will be really good people. They will make the world a better place in some way. They will bring light and happiness and laughter and good times to some little corner of this crumbling globe we spin on. We hope.
And I love my wife so much. She is a great big wobbly growth source, a fecund, fertile valley of creative output. She is the mountain, the alpha and omega, the rich fertile crescent, the grassy knoll. I am filled with admiration and wonder. Alons-y les enfants!
No comments:
Post a Comment