2004-07-02
I took today off from work just for the hell of it. Clay is at daycare and B is at his new office (he's been working from home for years but he and his partners finally decided to lease some office space). This means I have the whole day to myself at home, something that hasn't happened in so long I can't remember the last time.
I'm outside in what Clay calls the big room--the ten-by-ten screened room B built for me a couple months ago. I'm sitting on the glider, feet up, a fan oscillating nearby. The end table holds ice water, iced coffee, a telephone. I'm wearing a black jogging bra and a pair of extremely soft khakis I cut off at the knee right before coming out here.
My plan is to write here then work on the book for a while. Then I'm going to go inside and try to get a handle on some of the massive amount of clutter for which I'm responsible--mostly clothes, books, cds, papers, and baby items Clay has outgrown. I'll be sorting: trash, keep, sell/lend/give away. I rented the video Love Actually to watch during the decluttering.
I haven't worked on the book in maybe six weeks. I'm halfway through this editing pass and don't think it should take too long to complete. I'm feeling relatively sanguine about fiction these days, having read a couple of contemporary novels I didn't hate. One was Little Children by Tom Perotta, another The Unprofessionals by Julie Hecht. (I should add that neither did I love them.)
I certainly don't know what the future holds for me as a writer. Or as anything else, for that matter. In nine days I will turn 41. I don't know whether I have some unrealistic sense of my own physical invincibility, but as far as having another kid, I don't feel particular pressure to do it now or never. I mean, within the next year or two, but not this instant, which is good considering I'm really uncertain. I'm beginning to realize that the idea of a larger gap--say four years between kids--appeals to me. Then, it seems to me, it's almost as though the second child is something you do with the first, versus something you do to the first. That's surely naive, but Clay is becoming such a person, his language and thought so much clearer and more understandable. This will no doubt continue, and would, I think, make it much easier for him to cope with the assault a new baby would pose. The question remains how well B and I would cope with that assault, of course.
We have turned a corner just this week with Clay. We set up a train set in his room and he was immediately besotted. Suddenly, he will go to his room and play. This is huge. Only last week, if he was awake, one of us pretty much needed to be on full-time Clay duty. (This might not have been the case had we permitted him to watch TV.) Again, I assume his ability to entertain himself will only increase. It's not as though we never want to interact with him--he's getting increasingly fun to hang out with--but it's nice to feel it's a choice.
It does seem a little nutty to consider starting all over again with another, and maybe we'll decide not to. Then again, it's only two or three years, and I do plan to live a long time. People who give advice on making these decisions say you should have another child only if your family doesn't feel complete. As if that's in any way helpful. I don't know whether ours does or not.
But you know what? I'm not worrying about it. I have this--I was going to say "this odd faith" but maybe it's just faith, and the only thing odd about it is that I'm the one who has it. Let's say I have this unfamiliar faith that things will be good regardless of which way we go on this question.
How fortunate I feel lately! Blessed, as the believers I know put it. I know some of it is due to external circumstances--Clay's growing up is enormous, and I love summer--but some is also surely due to a change in attitude. I tend to be a glass-is-half-empty person to the extreme. In my father's memoirs, he wrote about a relative who shared this trait: "We always joked that if she were walking down the street and found five hundred dollars wrapped in a red rubber band, she'd say 'You know, I've never liked red rubber bands.'" I chuckle with recognition as I type this. That's me! Only lately, by the grace of God or whomever, it isn't. Lately, I say "Five hundred dollars!!"
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