So within two weeks of one another, in January/February 2005, my two best male friends are
going to become fathers. When I got the news-- one via series of super pop-secret coded emails and the other via a posted
ultrasound photograph on his blog to shock the ever-procrastinating me
into calling him pronto-- extremely seismic squeals erupted from my mouth and the title of this whirlygirl post immediately flew
into my head. I was suddenly so excited for these two amazing individuals and their wives stepping so confidently into this
pool of absolutely terrifying responsibility coupled with endless, heartbreaking wonder. And that exploding feeling was
promptly followed by a whole lot of nothing.
Strange.
Actually, that's a bit untrue. It wasn't really a whole lot of nothing, but instead a whole lot of funk. That blue funk that
settles deep in your chest with no understandably pinpointed origin. I kind of felt lost in that weird way that B and I sometimes
say that we feel lost-- bouncing up and down wave after wave without a stitch of land in sight. I had that sinking feeling, like
maybe I'd left the iron on or forgotten to send a thank you note-- something-- just couldn't put my finger on it.
It lasted about a week. I would get up with B and we'd go through our morning routine. But when he left for work, after the
Doorway Kisses and the Walking Out to the Gate and the Retrieving of the Newspaper and the One More Kiss, I'd sometimes
walk back into the apartment and crawl back under our covers to sleep again for an hour. Maybe two. I got oddly day-dreamy
but craved anesthetic distraction. The week finally passed. I went back to the gym, tried some new recipes for dinner, saw
a few movies. Life marched on.
Then the other day on his blog, B mentioned putting down roots. Since the year began, we've been
toying with the whole real-estate-in-DC-thing paired with the possibilities of relocating. We talk about goals and plans and
next steps every single day, but until I read this phrase on his blog, I didn't realize that this same rootlessness was the
epicenter of my funk. Todd and Hayley are fixtures in a community with stability and tenure and friends and familiarity--
all of the things that ground us to our lives and provide a nest in which to begin a family. Michael and Jolene may be less
permanently settled in Manhattan, but they have reached a fluidity in their beliefs and a snugness in their relationship
on which to cement the foundation for a family. And if neither couple feels this inside, they should know that they radiate
it outwardly to the envy of all others.
I don't think I'm pushing to swallow up the obvious fairy tale next steps, because for the first time in my life those
next steps are palpable and, frankly, this tangibility grants me enormous comfort all on its own. But this week of nothing,
this week of funk, made me realize how much I, too, want to put down roots. Somewhere without all of the status anxiety
and the subterranean, match-girl living. Somewhere where we wake up to dreams every single day-- in a place that is
neither him nor me, but us. Somewhere with a sharp edge that signals a beginning-- with plenty of soil and clay and rock
to dig into with joy and magic and love.
Congratulations Todd and Hayley, Michael and Jolene on your respective tiny sparkly hearts and all the wonder
they will bring.
Oh-- and most importantly-- let the dueling father-to-be cameos begin! |
