Magnifying Glass
Apr. 15th, 2013 05:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
talonkarrdeOur lives — mine and yours (and in a way, his) are delineated by two sharp lines, two lines which cut neatly across the line of memories that I have.
I think it's the same for you, isn't it?
At first, there's only the one line, and it segments our lives into Before and After.
In a clinical sense, an objective sense, the psychologist in me notes how neat it is in the way that everything falls neatly to one side or the other. Before, we were two normal yuppies, in love, with a small house and good careers and all of the other things that a newly married couple at the ripe old age of twenty-eight can lay claim to.
I remember those times, occasionally, and wonder at how different we are now. The nights out, the clubs, the diners, the drinks, the music, the madness, the moments of freedom and of exploration. We were young and we really were living life beautifully, wonderfully.
There was that period in between, where we knew, but it's all so different on this side, isn't it?
Because even though we knew, it wasn't the After.
After came with him, and it came with diapers and screaming and milk and oh my god he's still sleeping right why is he so silent. After was also about freedom and exploration — but it was about his freedom, about his exploration of this bright shining world, where we are only observers.
It's worse than that, actually, because we couldn't stop him from getting hurt — not really — but we feel that hurt as keenly as he does, feel the pain as much as he does with his screams and cries. Every nick and gash and scraped knee is something that tears at me, even though I know he'll — we'll — get better.
I'm sure you feel it too.
I think the main difference between then and now was that we lived for ourselves Before, and life was one where we were beholden to each other, but nothing else. There was no future to think of, no activity that was truly too dangerous to consider.
But After, we were beholden to him, and all of those decisions we made suddenly had a new input. A crying, wailing, sobbing, smiling, laughing, bundle of sadness and hurt and and joy and happiness that overrode everything else we did.
And it changed us, and so suddenly, didn't it? We went from being at least somewhat irresponsible (more than somewhat, in my case) to wondering why no one else could be on time, from being those people that were up for every meeting of the friends to those who made apologies that we only sort of meant, because, well, the baby.
It focused us on what was important, I think. Not that our friends weren't important, but they didn't have the same experience yet.
Some of them do now — Jerry and Michelle as of last month — but we've gone beyond that now, haven't we? We were always first — first to marriage, first to After, and now first to...
It would be funny, almost, if it weren't so sad.
No, no, you're right, it won't ever be funny. I don't ever want them to follow in these footsteps. No parent should ever have to...
Now there's Before, After, and...
I don't even know what to call it.
After-After?
It's such a shitty name. It fits, if only because it's so wrong. It's the After that should never happen. The After that comes with the lack of focus, that comes with silently going through the day, wondering why you go through the day. It's the motions, and the dullness, and the grey.
It's the tears, sometimes, in the middle of the night, and in the middle of the day at my desk.
You know, in my mind's eye, I still see the moment, so clear, too clear, when the bus pulls out and—
Maybe it will be less clear, one day. Maybe it'll get duller.
Maybe.
I think it's the same for you, isn't it?
At first, there's only the one line, and it segments our lives into Before and After.
In a clinical sense, an objective sense, the psychologist in me notes how neat it is in the way that everything falls neatly to one side or the other. Before, we were two normal yuppies, in love, with a small house and good careers and all of the other things that a newly married couple at the ripe old age of twenty-eight can lay claim to.
I remember those times, occasionally, and wonder at how different we are now. The nights out, the clubs, the diners, the drinks, the music, the madness, the moments of freedom and of exploration. We were young and we really were living life beautifully, wonderfully.
There was that period in between, where we knew, but it's all so different on this side, isn't it?
Because even though we knew, it wasn't the After.
After came with him, and it came with diapers and screaming and milk and oh my god he's still sleeping right why is he so silent. After was also about freedom and exploration — but it was about his freedom, about his exploration of this bright shining world, where we are only observers.
It's worse than that, actually, because we couldn't stop him from getting hurt — not really — but we feel that hurt as keenly as he does, feel the pain as much as he does with his screams and cries. Every nick and gash and scraped knee is something that tears at me, even though I know he'll — we'll — get better.
I'm sure you feel it too.
I think the main difference between then and now was that we lived for ourselves Before, and life was one where we were beholden to each other, but nothing else. There was no future to think of, no activity that was truly too dangerous to consider.
But After, we were beholden to him, and all of those decisions we made suddenly had a new input. A crying, wailing, sobbing, smiling, laughing, bundle of sadness and hurt and and joy and happiness that overrode everything else we did.
And it changed us, and so suddenly, didn't it? We went from being at least somewhat irresponsible (more than somewhat, in my case) to wondering why no one else could be on time, from being those people that were up for every meeting of the friends to those who made apologies that we only sort of meant, because, well, the baby.
It focused us on what was important, I think. Not that our friends weren't important, but they didn't have the same experience yet.
Some of them do now — Jerry and Michelle as of last month — but we've gone beyond that now, haven't we? We were always first — first to marriage, first to After, and now first to...
It would be funny, almost, if it weren't so sad.
No, no, you're right, it won't ever be funny. I don't ever want them to follow in these footsteps. No parent should ever have to...
Now there's Before, After, and...
I don't even know what to call it.
After-After?
It's such a shitty name. It fits, if only because it's so wrong. It's the After that should never happen. The After that comes with the lack of focus, that comes with silently going through the day, wondering why you go through the day. It's the motions, and the dullness, and the grey.
It's the tears, sometimes, in the middle of the night, and in the middle of the day at my desk.
You know, in my mind's eye, I still see the moment, so clear, too clear, when the bus pulls out and—
Maybe it will be less clear, one day. Maybe it'll get duller.
Maybe.
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Date: 2013-04-16 03:49 am (UTC)Well conveyed and I like the poeticness of your prose.
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Date: 2013-04-17 08:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-16 05:12 am (UTC)I don't ever plan on being a parent. I don't think I could live with that fear. Very well done, very well done.
You're extremely talented, and I'm proud to be among your ranks.
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Date: 2013-04-16 08:51 pm (UTC)But the second After is the one that breaks it all apart. You don't become "a couple without children" again, you become a devastated shell of a person, of a marriage, or of living.
This is the fear every parent knows, and it arrives as soon as you have the child. You've capture all of this incredibly well here, with beautiful, wistful language to boot.
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Date: 2013-04-17 08:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-17 01:11 pm (UTC)Look, it means I really like you if I'm cursing you out under my breath as I read your entry, okay? ;) I had to show this to my husband, I loved this entry so much. And I usually don't make him read Idol things.
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