I’m doubting myself a lot. I’m wondering how I’m going to swing the childcare part of it all when the adoption comes through. I wonder how I will do all this as a single mother — will I share the curse of my father, who loved us ferociously but struggled with his very big needs for autonomy and freedom during the Me Generation (and all the generations that followed)? Will I be like my mom, with all the ideas and best wishes for us in the world, with no way to make any of it come true? Will I subject the kid to the same irritations as I do my dog — make her wait and wait for her walk as I finish some rather unimportant thing on the computer, or wipe the counter down one more time?
This weekend I had Eirik and Bjorn, my cousin’s children. They are the kids I know the best, the ones who convinced me that procreation is a good thing, and I would take them as my own in a heartbeat if I ever needed to. We swam in a friend’s pool and played volleyball on the beach. We watched “Up” at the $3 movie theater in Pasadena and “Paper Moon” at home. I couldn’t figure out Eirik’s iPod Touch after loading 1,000 songs onto it, and Bjorn had a meltdown on the court.
After the beach and the frozen yogurt I flopped on the bed and went into a trancy nap this afternoon, and came to when Bjorn called my name from the bedroom door, and handed me this.