Wow. Two months since I've posted. That damn near qualifies as negligent father-to-be. Several random seeds of a new entry had percolated in my oh-so-busy head in that time period, but none of them stuck around long enough for me to get them recorded. And of course, sitting here twiddling my thumbs on an overnight gig, none of them are readily bubbling to the surface, but really I have no excuse not to write, so bear with me as I ramble something out.
One thing that's occasionally echoed through my mind is the pedantically chiding voice representing my late teens, early 20s, quoting my strident declaration that, oh, I'd never have kids 'cause why would I want to bring them into this world? Well, let's face it: fifteen years later, I can't say this world has really gotten much better, and certainly the argument can be made that it's much worse in a lot of ways. But I guess deep down there really are still a lot of good people doing wonderful things, and though elements of our world may be irrevocably damaged and/or damned to utter condemnation, we can still carve out a happy, loving, [mostly] satisfying existence. Hence (partially) the plan for an eventual exodus to the Green Mountain State. Nothing personal, you good people we know and love in New York, but Ray LaMontagne and James Murphy, among others, have written lyrics attesting to the city's unsustainability in terms of mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being.
And of course, as cliché as it may sound, the desire to have children increases umpteen-fold when you meet the right person, and a child (or children) is the natural result of the love created by that union. Awwwwwwww.
If I may be slightly immodest for a moment, I also feel somewhat like Amanda and I--as fairly/comparatively intelligent, moral, funny, loving, cultured, talented, hard-working representatives of humankind (she's got me beat by a long shot on pretty much all those counts)--owe it to the country/planet/humanity to contribute what I can only hope and assume (at this point) will be similarly faceted progeny. I mean, certainly at the very least we'd raise kids who would offer their seat on a subway to an obviously pregnant woman (oooooooh, don't get me started).
A closing thought--because I could probably ramble for a lot longer and shouldn't--it's comforting, even if only in a relatively small way: as my supervisor finally succumbs to utter sleep exhaustion on the couch behind me, I cover her with my coat when she says she's cold. And seeing that even in her fetal position it would not be enough to cover her exposed ankle, I grab my scarf to fill that role. She says, "You're gonna be a good dad." I say small comfort because, oh, if it were only that easy. I guess it's not a bad sign, though.
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