St. Francis and Loneliness

Ventured into the upper-crusty St. Francis Wood neighborhood this afternoon; other than the magnificent trees--huge Canary Island date palms and Monterey pines, for instance--it was a crushingly dull walk marred by too many gardeners wielding leaf-blowers and the desolate feeling of huge houses with no sign of life inside or around them, and no one walking down the wide streets. The one place that truly appealed to me was the playground--until I spotted a sign in front of it--"Private Property; Do Not Enter."

So I'll write instead about the fears that older new moms face. Perhaps a primary one is loneliness. Have I been lonely since giving birth to the little one? In truth, I haven't yet had much time or energy to ask myself this question. And perhaps that alone should give me pause. I can see how being a parent seems to make one's life shoot by with the roar and speed of a freight train. So maybe I'll look up after eighteen years of constant caregiving and think, what happened to my life?

I can't quite believe that, however. On some very deep level, this is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me, with the possible exception of meeting and getting to know my husband. Having a child cannot be separated from whatever this thing is called "my life."

For instance--giving a bath to the baby this evening, and afterward, I felt privileged just to have this remarkable little troublemaker in my life--and I know that I am, most definitely, privileged to do so. It enriches me in ways that I only dimly understand. Yes, it's remotely possible that when I'm sixty, I'll feel sad about having spent most of the last part of my middle years tending to another human being. It might even feel lonely. But I won't feel as if I haven't lived; of that I'm certain.