I say “taunting” because the idea was not really an idea at all. It was not even a proper sentence. It was just a couple of words: two kids.
The magazine professional in your life will be reading this and shaking their head. In our business, you’re supposed to have a new take. You’re supposed to be able to make the room see the proposed story with a few well-turned phrases and a detailed plan.
You’re not supposed to simply point to your two young progeny and say: There they are, isn’t this crazy? I did intend to get around to the actual take at some point. Ideally, before arriving at the second paragraph of this thing.
But having two kids does stuff to you. An idea lodges in your brain, but the thought never finishes. It is borne away in a flood of tears, a chronic bad back, a kitchen so radically destroyed it takes an hour and 15 minutes to restore.
When my wife (whom I will try to mention sparingly here, as per a long-standing agreement between us) was pregnant with Cy, our second, I began to receive the clichés from other parents, like a ritual hazing. You’re going from zone defense to man-to-man. Or a throw-pillow-style one that I actually liked: You think you can’t love the second one as much as you love the first, but then your heart just expands.
My actual experience was a little different. When Cy arrived, shouldering his way into the world, it felt like coming home and finding the furniture rearranged. Same house, but also not.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
