Book launch and a short string of random readings in Seattle are done, ahhhh. Now I'm on hiatus from all things book-related, and hot DAMN, it feels good to be just chilling and breathing for a while. It's been fun, standing up there and talking about stillbirth, miscarriage, and boners (among other things) in the same five-minute time span.
The public speaking element isn't hard for me; I've never had a problem making a fool of myself on stage. The much more nervewracking part is the act of reading something so personal and dear to me, carved up from the darkest part of my life and spewed out into words (even while my heart is really now fixated on the present and future), while attempting to do so in a way that doesn't leave audiences feeling awkward. What's to keep people (especially people who don't know me) from writhing uncomfortably in their seats at the mere notion of such heartrending subject matter as dead babies? It's not exactly a popular conversation starter. Then again, isn't that one of the things that literature is all about? To bring a (potentially widely misunderstood and/or shitty) experience to a greater mainstream audience, making it accessible to them, something they can connect with even having not gone through it themselves? I believe so. Hope so, anyway.
Nothing book-related is scheduled in the foreseeable future, which gives me some much needed time to kick back and marvel at living-son Sean Murf's ever-changing face and mannerisms as he approaches his eight-week birthday. Each day, I love him more fiercely, more than I ever thought possible. Confession: he fuses with Zachary sometimes, and they become like one boy inside my mind, a reincarnation of each other. Somebody would probably tell me that's due to unresolved grief-issues from past losses, but anyway. Sean surprises and delights me in ways that nobody else's child can. There isn't any feeling like putting my face close to his, saying some random word like "banana!" and seeing a smile spread across his face. I resist the urge to talk about such moments to my non-kid-having friends, because I know it would only bore them after about five minutes. That's okay; I'm cool with just keeping such intimate little baby moments to myself, babbling about them to Kevin as we experience it together, wishing I could just suck on those moments forever like never-dissolving candy. I've been told that Sean won't be a baby forever, and that's hard to fathom.
Anyway. I could go on and on about him, but I won't.
One last thing - if you're coming here as a new or new-ish reader, note that this blog isn't really a blog anymore (although...is what I'm doing right now considered blogging??? gah!). Actually, I'll probably post occasional thoughts as they hit me, but I reserve the right to be totally sporadic and random about that. I needed to stop my KuKd-related musings once Sean was born, out of fairness to him if nothing else. Really, what this space is now is a holding place for my past two-some-odd-years of postings about my lost son Zachary, male fetus before him, and "blighted ovum" after him - as well as occasional updates and information about my new memoir: Knocked Up, Knocked Down.
...Until later! -m