We're at that point when what's known as the Quickening (I can't help but think of that word in ominous tones. I keep thinking of the character of Frau Blucher in "Young Frankenstein"; every time someone spoke her name lightening would flash and there would be, distantly, the sound of horses whinnying) which is when the baby starts to move in the womb. Trouble is that the kid hasn't moved yet, which I am told, by much nervous research, is completely normal. But of course that doesn't matter one jot to me. I'm still worried sick...or maybe I'm just anxious for the kid to provide further evidence of his/her/its existence, as if I was in (still) some strange state of disbelief. It's not that I don't want a child but rather the thought that I have been blessed with one that strikes me as so awesome. I've never felt worthy of my wife's love and I surely don't feel worthy of this. Will I be equal to the task?
God, that's a terrible way to put it! It makes it sound like having a child is like painting a room or fixing a light. It's not something you accomplish like climbing a mountain or an end you can ever achieve; you are instilling a being into time with no other telos than to survive. And even that can not adequately describe it. I suppose it is a new awareness on my part, though I think it has always been a part of my mindset, to the infinite possibilities of life. But it is also a newly profound sense of responsibility to and for those possibilities, maybe a new sense of the Other, which of course leads me to ask myself if I really have been just a selfish bastard all my life. I know what my wife would say...
But seriously, you have to have a sense of self, a strong sense in this day and age I would argue, in having any sort of relationship with any sort of other. With out any sense of boundary, there is no other possible, no? See, this is what happens if I read Derrida too early in the day...
Posted by Famous P at July 2, 2004 10:44 AM | TrackBack