Deep breaths March 29, 2009

I was on the bus on Thursday, and there was a woman with her son on the bus, too. He was maybe like 8 or 9 (or something. I have no idea how you tell these things). And it was rush hour, and it was crowded, and he was looking out the window and asking her about things, and she would respond, and I had a total mini panic attack. I realized Oh My God — someday, I will have to have REAL CONVERSATIONS with my son. I will have to answer questions. I will have to TALK to him. Now, it’s so easy — there is soooper cute incoherent babbling, and I pretend it something profound, and I respond. However, someday, I will have to really converse with him — and I don’t mean the 1,000 question phase of ages 3-5 or so, where you have to answer “why is the sky blue” (Thank you, Adler Planetarium, for preparing me with the answer!), and a million other “whys” after that, where I will probably eventually become more religious than I usually am and say “Because God said so.” And give him a cookie to distract him. I mean the part later, where he’s like a real person and I have to talk to him like a real person. Not just the hard questions like “What’s that guy doing with a sleeping bag and a bottle near the bus stop?” but just the day to day banter and chatter. OK, friends, I am now in training. Consider yourself warned. When next you see me, I will be all up in there with the chatter conversation-keeping-upping, instead of my usual grunts and glazed expression. Look out!