It's my birthday. 34 years on old planet earth has thus far treated me well. Gracias! Gracias! Gracias! It's a bit odd to think that this birthday will be my last as a non-mother (at least the kind of mother that has yet to birth a child). There is a bit of anxiety in this thought. My identity and body are slowly shifting into the maternal and it feels a little like saying goodbye to someone I've been intimate with forever. I realize that this identity shift will blossom into something all-together different, wacky (in a good way) and potentially more inspiring, but it is scary nonetheless to see it move as the clock ticks and as my inner wee one kicks my guts with fervor.
I have not yet absorbed the many soon-to-be mother things there are to absorb. Instead of reading books on proper child-rearing, I'm reading books such as FEMINIST ART AND THE MATERNAL and more honest accounts of mothering from female authors and artists I trust like MOTHER READER and Mary Kelly's POST PARDUM DOCUMENT.
I want to make sure that there is more than part of me left for my daughter to see, learn from, play with. It's easy for parents to get caught up in the lives of their children and completely forget about who they are as individuals. Needy parents (there are exceptions here) can be irksome. Kids want there parents to buttress and love them, but also to make them proud. This is what I'm aiming for as a mother mammal.
That said, today I have taken the day off to spend with myself and my wife, Felicity. We will be playing a bit of music, wandering aimlessly, sipping tea, scribbling new ideas onto pads, twisting legs round arms, and sitting cozy style inside a jungle garden.
