Moments
by shell
Sitting at the airport, on my way to watching South Pacific in Atlanta with Chris and Bugg. Watching the cloud cover roll in over a field of army hummers across the runway and the toddling efforts of a nine month old girl running around with her mom in tow. Her bitty voice pierces the air and reminds me of an earlier time, filled with baby toes and little, shrill, wraspy voices of baby iz and sol.
A few nights ago, a friend had asked me “what would you do if you had a boy?” This question took me aback in a more than a few ways. I’m sure it was evident by the deer-in-headlights look I shot back before stammering through an answer and quickly changing the subject.
Truth is, I gave up on whatever notions I had of growing my family when I walked away from d. As I became engrossed in my career it didn’t matter as much. And then, as all of these little moments came back to me: the freedom to sit at a park, the freedom to go out to eat, the freedom to drink a chard if I wanted to. These are all little moments that I didn’t have when they were filled with equally breath taking little moments like little coos and little fingers and little toes.
For now, these are my moments: an anxiety attack at security when I stepped barefoot on the mat, sitting quietly at the airport.
Maybe when I’m thirty the idea of procreating can be readdressed, but until then…
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