Do you remember your past lives? It’s getting more difficult. There’s one that I recall, when I could go out for beers, and not concern myself with what kind of shape I was in when I finally crawled into bed.
I was able to call a buddy to swing by, and we could stay up late, playing guitars – the eight or so songs that we knew between us, then bbq burgers, and share whatever work gossip was current.
Andrea and I could just say, “Hey, let’s see if there’s any good movies playing,” then just take off, watching whatever happened to be playing, after a dinner out, and of course lingering around the book store for an hour. And we wouldn’t have to schedule our…intimacies.
I could sleep-in to a leisurely 7:30. Luxury. Now, I’m up at 5:30, almost every day. It’s not so bad, though. It takes about an hour to feed, and I used to see what was on TV, but at that time of day, it’s nothing but shite. Now, I’m more likely to catch-up on Podcasts, if she’s not flailing too much, and pulling my earphones out. Afterwards, Calli will snooze, her tummy full and her heart content, on my arm as I read Blogs. After a while of this, she’ll go in her chair, as I write. If, that is, I’m feeling particularly ambitious. But it’s a whole new life now, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything! If it’s a little harder to plan my days, then so be it.
Last night, Andrea & I were talking about this, and she made a good point – even when we think of our parents, it’s next to impossible to think of them as having had a life before we arrived. I mean, there are pictures, and some stories, but it’s more like an historical tale, than anything that happened to someone I know! I suppose that’s how Calli will view us; we are the Providers who came into being for their care & feeding. The Grand Fixers of Dinners, and the Keepers of the Secrets of the Bank Machines. When I talk about going to college, or playing bass in bands, I might as well be talking about John Lennon, or Mozart (my, I flatter myself, don’t I?) But somewhere, deep inside of us all, remains a memory – a spark – of the people we were before we became Responsible Adults. Hold it tight, my friends. Hold it tight.