The Remainder

At some point we're going to have to go the mountains.

I don't see why we can't just have them brought to us.

Do mean a poster or something?

I was thinking of a painting.

When we were in Quebec City I felt the first little push of my baby girl's foot against her mother's uterus. Anytime you use the word uterus, the tenderness of the moment is kind of just sucked out of the experience. Anyhow, it was very exciting. So exciting that I suggested punishing the child, maybe giving her a little taste of her own medicine, but I was told that babies, in general, are not noted for their in utero comprehension levels.

I didn't mow the lawn for weeks. The strange thing about grass is, unless you're watching it in time lapse photography, it doesn't seem to grow at all. Thus, I turned off the camera and thought I could put the mower away for the rest of the summer. However, after a few weeks went by the grass was at knee height anyway. I felt betrayed by the camera and the grass both, so I just started drinking wine.

S said that I am passing up all sorts of fodder on this whole parenthood thing and that I shouldn't quit blogging.

Here's what I know about being a father

1) Constantly monitoring the thermostat and taking full advantage of cross ventilation opportunities.

2) Dads have mustaches.

Okay, I've sort of exhausted my list. Apparently they have written like nine thousand books for men about how it's going to feel to be a parent, and what it's like to go through the pregnancy experience, but guess what? I have that experience coming up first hand. I don't need to read a book. I can just sit on my couch and type on the computer and know exactly what it's like to be an expectant parent, and I've already saved myself like ten hours. I'm a natural at this.

3) Dads don't read books about what it's like to be a dad. Unless it's that John Eldridge book "Wild at Heart" about teaching your good little Christian kids to pop other kids in the face.

I also know that babies have been born for thousands of years without people reading ten books about the process, and they'll probably continue to be born long after we become a post literate society after that asteroid hits in 2182. It's really a matter of how you want to spend your time.

When I was walking through the library I noticed how all the bulletin boards and walls, and display cases, and little sheets of paper, and stairs, were all different variations on squares and rectangles. I was relieved to reach the top floor and see a sign cut into the shape of a circle. It brought me peace. There is a strange and terrifying beauty in all those angles endlessly reproduced.

4) I know that dads are no longer able to smoke cigars and drink cognac while the baby is being born that they aren't allowed to celebrate with some good friends in the waiting room. I know that now they have to stand at the bottom of the bed and practice yogic breathing techniques that they've been practicing together for weeks. And they have to be there so that the women can yell "You did this too me," really loud, but don't sorry, soon after she yells this the baby will be born and look about six weeks old. Oh movies.

The cicadas make noise that reminds me of the city. When the noise begins to recede and build, it reminds me of an old sprinkler turning in an endless circle. By mid-week I can never get enough sleep, and by eight o'clock I'm just sitting on the couch waiting for time to march on, hoping to slip through it like liquid and fall into the steady rhythm of artificial light.