Post 12: Three Months and 9/11

Zygote is three months old today. It seems weird to celebrate on a date that will always be associated with something bad. More on that in a bit.

First, Zygote is fabulous. She has grown into an engaging little person that I enjoy spending time with. She has crazy big eyes that follow you around a room, and even though I know it's not possible, I imagine that we are communicating when we stare at each other -- that we GET each other. She likes grabbing at things, especially her purple dinosaur, and everything goes immediately into her mouth. I suspect that my laissez faire attitude about germ prevention is going to have to change soon or else she's going to end up with Ebola or some other insane disease. We still go for walks every day and have a routine where we walk down to Harvard Square, browse the bookstores, get a cupcake and then have a feed on Cambridge Common. I'm sad that this will change once the weather gets colder and I have to go back to work. We've traveled quite a bit with her and she mainly sleeps in the car, but will kick her feet a bit when the music plays. The Beatles are a favorite, along with Fiona Apple and Cat Power. She screams when she's tired and hungry, and well, so do I. Or I wish I could. Basically, I love her to pieces and can't imagine her changing, but I'm looking forward to those changes too.

Second, her three month anniversary marks the 8 year anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. It's hard to imagine that my child will have no understanding of a pre 9/11 world. YG said the other night, "I hate the post 9/11 world."

I was watching the coverage this morning and had to turn it off. It was always devastating, but now, having Zygote and imagining all those people who lost their children...it feels different. I couldn't quite handle it.

I'm back in Whippany again which is where I was on 9/11. I was living in Brooklyn at the time and had made it in to work to watch everything unfold on t.v. I couldn't get back to my apartment so I stayed in Whippany, waiting in the house by myself until my parents came home.

I tried to write a story about my experience of that day for one of my classes, but the feedback that I got was that I lost my voice -- that it wasn't funny and it wasn't me. I have a really hard time trying to figure out how you write a funny 9/11 story, but when the teacher asked me why I chose to wrote about 9/11, I told her that this dumb fuck that I work with was chastizing me for allowing the MG to ride the T because "you know, 9/11." I guess I was extremely animated in retelling the story and how I tore this woman a new one, and the teacher suggested I write about that or at least my animosity toward a certain breed of suburban woman who won't allow her child to play in the yard or take a dump by himself lest there be terrorists lurking around somewhere. I don't know. It still seems wrong. It seems wrong to even write about it here.

I do know that I will never forget, and maybe that's all that is important. I don't need to retell it.