Friday, May 19, 2006

Season Finale (The Human Narcissist)

Could the most challenging part of parenting be that life still gets to the point where you have to wonder if
it's all worth it, only now you look at this little mug staring back at you and you are forced to face the answer as a strong, solid
"YES"? What about my sadness, my self doubt? The things that I once thought made me human now seem only narcissistic. I drag my consciousness back to reality, kicking and screaming from the adulthood I have assumed with Dan as my co-pilot. Narcissism is human.

The frustration and sadness that can come with this phase of parenting for a young family is undeniable
in that you can't let anyone try to deny you of your true feelings. It's not always great. It does feel like a trap sometimes. Not because of our beautiful daughter, she's the best thing we have found since each other, but because of what it takes to make a life for a family. How different everything becomes in a flash. I can't bother trying to describe it because it's different for everyone. It's a,
"you'll know it when you see it, and not a second sooner" kind of thing.

Having Cohen now I would never dare say that this is what gives my life value over another person that has no children. I can see clearly that it is a choice. Cohen has given my life more value though, just like Dan did. I needed them.

I also need to be myself sometimes. I need to write a shitty poem about my sadness. I need to go into an independent record store and talk about what's new in underground hip hop. I can have both. I can be my same old self with these two new family members, and I think that all we're going through now is just working out the kinks of this new reality. I know enough of my women friends have had a hard time finding a man with which they could be themselves, more than less a whole family within which you can maintain who you once were.

In Zia's Records yesterday I felt like a human again, a real narcissist, talking about music, listening to a few cd's,
and the only difference was that I was carrying a baby in her car seat around the store with me. I used to carry a pretty big purse, so all in all, I was feeling pretty normal. And I spend a lot of time in my house so it's a big deal when I get to get out and do something

Then, in the middle of discussing the warbly snares on the second half of Sage Francis√É¢ first album and the wonderful works of Pigeon John with the super cool indie rap guy it occurs to me that my breasts may be leaking. Mind you that my breasts are now so huge that even if they were leaking I might not see it. What if they were leaking from beneath the breast? What if only one was leaking? Would he mention it? Should I ask? Is there any inconspicuous way to reach up and feel your breasts in the middle of a conversation that isn't taking place within the confines of a lap dance?

The answer, there is no way to check. I just let it be and sure enough I hadn't been leaking. I bought a cd, drove through a burger joint, and pulled into a shady parking spot in a lumber yard to eat my burger and fries while my daughter slept. My day was redeemed. That night Dan and I had tortellini in pesto sauce for dinner, split a Fat Tire, watched the part of the Will & Grace season finale where Grace tells Leo she's pregnant and then I took pictures while Dan gave Cohen a bath in the kitchen sink. As it is, my photography seems better than my poetry.

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