This time, I had no less than three people stop me and tell me that they thought it was brilliant. One woman wanted to know where I had gotten it, as she wanted to go out and get one for her own child. Yet another difference between child rearing in theory and child rearing in action.
When I was twenty or twenty-one, an old boyfriend called me up one day and said that he was going to be kicked out of his apartment unless he got rid of the kitten he had just gotten. It was a little black ball of fluff, no bigger than my hand. I hate cats, but I promised him that I would make sure that the cat was well looked after for the rest of its life. I renamed the cat G. Gordon Liddy (Liddy for short) and he moved back to Phoenix with me. After about six years, my mother called me one day and asked me if I still hated my cat because she wanted to get a cat, and thought if I didn't like mine, she could just take him.
Within seconds, I was at her house with the cat and all his stuff (considering I didn't like him, he had a remarkable amount of stuff). He's lived there ever since, just him and my mother. He's slept on her bed, gone with her to work (she works less than half a block from home) and been her buddy for a long time.
For the last several years, he's had diabetes, necessitating several-timess-daily insulin shots. My mother has spent a fortune boarding him at a vet while she's gone out of town and in general has gone above and beyond making sure he was happy in his last years.
My mom's a great mom, and Liddy had a great life. I know she misses him, and it really makes me sad. I'm considering shipping Oswald off to her next. He's all broken in now.
I'm realizing that I possibly made a huge mistake in becoming a parent and getting married ever. Like, a really big mistake.
When I had my girls, I was trying very hard to be something I wasn't. I was trying to be the extrovert that likes to be in the midst of things and can spend all of her life being at the center of everything and love it.
I'm not that. And when you're married to someone for whom "uxorious" describes the first five minutes of the day and it only gets more intense from there, and two children who don't just want to be like Mommy, they want to be with Mommy, touching Mommy 24/7.
It's possible that my personality makes it that way. No, it's not that I'm such a bloody joy to be with that they can't resist. It's that I have such a need for privacy and time alone that they perceive time with me as a precious commodity that becomes more valuable because of its perceived scarcity. Although I'm pretty fun, too.
I've just spent a lot of frustrating time realizing that because of choices I made while trying to be something I'm not, I've limited my life in a lot of ways that drive me crazy. I can't just abandon my family. While I'm struggling to create literature that's substantial and lasting, I've already created humanity that's substantial and lasting, and that can't be ignored.
A hundred years from now, this will have evaporated. Yeah, it's just not a thing.