Following the third year of a holiday letter comprised
of my (increasingly complex) life via a (increasingly complex) year-in-photographs, I
wondered what it would be like to join the great experiment of 365 days of photographs.
I'm not a photographer,
I'm a writer. I'm a visual thinker, and if ever there was proof that a photo is worth a
thousand words, it would be the story a photo tells me, or in this case, about me.
Follow me on this adventure, where I
learn about photography, my ability to record my life, my dedication to something (I've
never been known for doing anything everyday) in my posts. I've also discovered I'm
learning about time, the history of it, and the odd practice of recording it, measuring it,
turning it into something tangible, and I'll record these explorations in the sidebar.
As always, feel free
to say anything. My experiment is not a spectator sport.

July 12, 2009

July 12 2009 The opposite of infinity

There are certain things that I know will and will not happen before I'm done living. One of these things is something that I have found to be difficult to predict in which category it belongs.

I have two children, twenty toes that by this time have walked miles. Earlier this evening I saw two children, the fifth and sixth of a friend of mine, which she didn't plan on having. These two children are barely a week old, and their twenty toes are in that fragile, finite stage of having never been used to walk--soles yet untrodden.

I discovered today something about a friend of mine that I had not noticed: she has a daughter. This daughter does not live with her and this is an event with a story I have never heard, nor is it necessary that I ever hear it, but it changes things. Being a mother changes things. A lot of things.

I visited a friend a few months ago to deliver a gift for her newborn. I went home destitute that I did not have this overwhelming urge to have another kid. I spent this evening with two babies and I cared more for their mother and her well-being. These children were these women's gifts, and I didn't want another one.

I knew before I got pregnant the second time that I wanted and was ready for number two. I recall missing the quickening, the movement, the experience of being pregnant. Not four months later I discovered I had a tot incubating.

Four and a half years after the end of that pregnancy, I am done. I have said that I am not ready to be done, but I think I know. I think I am truly done.

The monsters I have now, my twenty toes, they are a lot of work. They are amazing, and all the things a mother feels towards her children, these kids are. They are mine and I need them. I have my work cut out for me, because these are the two children I get. These make me mom.

Willing and impatient models, giggling. Flash and auto, because they're in a box. The cell phone attempts (because the camera was missing) earlier did not get enough light.

Tomorrow's word: chart

1 comment:

Robert said...

* applauds *

I think I spelled that right. Good use of words.