Thoughts on One

So it happened today.  

Just in the middle of a meeting to discuss mannequins and looks and costs, etc. 

Chanced upon it on bberry...

Subject: "It's been a year..."

...wanted to let you know that we're going to have another baby this summer... 

initial thoughts: Oh My Fucking God.  

then: should people my age have this reaction?

then: How can we off-set additional costs with sales? 

then: was jason wu's dress really that unflattering? because I truly want to like it. 

Synapses collapsed and thoughts paused for a moment.  Was completely unable to multitask.  Even fumbled over my response to some question i can't even begin to recall. 

Also - at that moment - step-sister's labor induced.  She's two years my senior. 

That's when it kind of sinked in.  

And it wasn't so much the proliferation of babies or the clatter of friends having babies - although that had a good deal to do with it - it more was another married friend's reaction - it was exactly the reaction that someone my age is supposed to have: blissful happiness with a tinge of geez i wish i were there... 

I haven't a split-second desire to settle down and crop out a litter.  Honestly: who wants to introduce innocent children into the mess we've caused?  It may be a bit radical but shouldn't we employ this bit of solitary psychology? 

Sure - people may think me a bit selfish because I'm not the slightest bit emotionally prepared for any of the responsibilities linked to parenting - fuck, I wouldn't even know how to participate in a even-tempered, fully reciprocating relationship... so how would I even begin to approach that shining, ultimate goal?  But isn't choosing  not to procreate a gift to future days?Aren't I doing the world a favor?   

You really should nod your head in approval.  Just agree that it's an entirely selfless act that should be commended by the highest of the high. ... verging on sainthood!  Yes - I am a martyr for my generation.  

Whatevs.  I just don't want to get the stretch marks.  Or that awful bit spent in the hospital.  Vomit and diapers are pretty gross, too.  Ew.  

But what does that leave me to face?  A mailbox filled with catalogs and business journals addressed to Mr. Surname.  Two animals who devotedly follow my every waking step.  Now isn't that rewarding.  

But the One's becoming the problem.  And it's not that I don't enjoy personal freedom (because who doesn't love only being accountable to self?) - it's that the cold and the quiet make my unaccompanied journey seem all the more silent.  There isn't even a shadow to fall back upon.  It's just me.  And - at times - nothing sounds more enticing than grocery shopping with someone else.  Or folding lavender-smelling sheets with ease.  See?  It's all entirely indulgent of me.  My desire for another only sates that which is self-promoting.  

Sometimes I'm alone for so long that my voice breaks, mid-sentence.  The truth shuttles in quickly: I've forgotten how to speak.  So, in a vain attempt to seem normal, I'll just smile and awkwardly cough.  Can't let them know my inevitable fate of being snacked on by cat.  That would just make the neighbors cringe. 

And yes: I do think of that.  What would happen if I were to slip & fall in the shower?  Who would find me?  It's not like I have a day-to-day dog-walker...   I suddenly think of my previous next-door neighbor who festered for four days until the super checked on him.  Would that be me?  I gasp at the thought.  My vanity won't permit any mental image.  It's just too ghastly.   

So I suppose the fact is this: I cherish my independence.  I relish the afternoons spent without conversation and awkward comments followed by pregnant pauses.  But - solitude grows moldy; it's too quick to prevent, too large to confront in a fell swoop.  Too much to grasp in a sitting.  Instead, it's something to ponder - to take home with me and sit with.  Yes, I understand that sounds funny.  But isn't that the beauty of this conundrum?  

I'll need quiet in order to digest my solitude...