Muse

I've been thinking about the notion of a Muse this morning. I guess what got me started was reminiscing about one of my best friends recently giving birth again at age 45. We both married in our early twenties. We have 2 children about the same age (teenagers) and she has 2 more - later babies.
Gillian is a 9/11 baby. For those of you not from the NYC Metro Area, let me explain. Nine months after the attack on the twin-towers, we had a bit of a baby-boom around here. Nancy's husband was one of those "shudda, coulda, wodda but didn't" stories.

When he walked through the door that night, after being stuck in the city with no phone service and his wife at home ringing her hands wondering if he would EVER come home...well...you get the gist. They threw caution to the wind.

Now, Michael. As far as I know, he was a total surprise. I haven't met him yet. It’s a shame how you can think of someone almost daily and not speak to or visit in years. That’s the way it is with Nancy and me.

Okay, back to the original subject. I'm thinking for a man never married, say around our age, to get married and want to have a kid of his own he would really need a MUSE.
Women who have children at our age are either very surprised (weird things are starting to happen with our hormones again) or it’s a calculated procedure not withholding the help of fertility specialists. The wrap-up is, we have the mythical biological clock and not many women can successfully ignore its alarm.

Men don't seem to have the same sense of urgency about child-bearing. Most are open to the possibility when they are young. After a time, it seems the career takes hold, life becomes rote and those aspirations are simply of days gone by. I asked my husband when were considering marriage if he wanted another child of his own. "No. I'm too old" was his reply. He's 43.
But think about it. We'd be 60 when he/she graduated from high school. Retired when they graduated college. Who needs another mouth to feed at 65? Can anyone guarantee their kid isn't going to come home to roost after college..."to save money?" No way...not when I stop working.

Anyway, what I was thinking is a man would need a muse to convince him this is a good idea. She'd need to be a powerful nymph. Young enough to run after terrible two year olds and not averse to waking up several times a night...every night. The old man isn't gonna do it.
Patient enough to contend with PTA and Craft Night, Field Day and Christmas Plays. Uber-Moms, Soccer Moms and Brownie Moms. Ugh! I can't be bothered. These women are like vultures. Cut-throats ready to pounce if they don't get to be Class Mom this year.
I listen to them when we're out at the bus stop. I feel like I've landed on an alien plain.

Even now, with Genevieve I have much less patience or energy. She just joined Softball. She needs lots of practice. Back when my older girls were Gigi's age, I'd be out there for hours pitching and throwing. Batting so they could practice catching pop-flies. Actually running bases...and this was after working 8 hours a day.

You have to be young to successfully deal with the rigors of parenthood. Life as you know it...and are comfortable with is OVER.

So, you'd need a muse.

Isn't the idea of a muse wonderful? Could you imagine being young again and when that first bolt of inspiration hits you're jolted enough to be carried through on the ideas power alone?
Sure some people do it...and become famous. But what about the ordinary person. Don't we all have that child-like spark that has long since been extinguished? What if we were suddenly exposed to a muse (an inspiration) and it all became clear...the path...without the subsequent stumbling blocks and pot-holes that got in the way of our original dreams?

Sometimes I think about my husband. How very very different our lives have been and yet we've found each other in the end. He inspires me. He affords me the time, resources and freedom (from want) to peruse most any resurrected dream. What does this mean for me?