On the Advent of Children


One of my dearest friends in the world—and one to whom I owe much of my current happiness—is presently about to give birth.

She’d wanted me to be there when the moment finally came, but being a mother myself in my own fashion (to a 297 square meter space which I can’t leave for any reasonable stretch of time without tying myself up into logistical tangles), I have to settle for witnessing the event by remote.

Strangely enough, the one thing keeping me away from witnessing her becoming a mother is the same thing that allows me to understand how profoundly becoming a mom will change her life. To have the existence of something depend so utterly upon oneself is quite possibly the most defining characteristic of parenthood—to extinguish that dependence is its most arduous task.

(Obviously, I haven’t quite succeeded in that task just yet.)

So because I can’t be where she is right now, I’ll have to settle for sending her my love and prayers from where I am. So to P. and T., congratulations in advance, and to Baby R., welcome to the world!

I’ll see you all very soon.

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