Super Bowl Sunday has arrived again. Last year, Bradley class was cancelled and I was curled up on the couch studying the cardiovascular system: the cardiac cycle, I think. E was safe inside and boom was likely to my left, my belly to big to share my lap. Now I sit and type, struggling to get in a post before e wakes and I go to comfort him.
What a sweet boy he is. I do everything in my power to raise him the best I can. I read endlessly: child psychology, child education, sociology, cultural studies, anthropology. Most importantly, I love him the best I possibly can and he helps me to grow in love each day. He reveals God.
e’s offered me a selflessness I did not realize was possible. Yet I find that I continue to abuse myself in entirely selfish ways when placed under stress. It was my prerogative to avoid stress, but with e and the new social constructs surrounding his arrival, such avoidance measures are no longer plausible. So I stuff my piehole when I’d rather scream and shout. Ah well, it’s time to finally sort out my problems rather than merely bury them, I suppose.