In reading my last post, it's hilarious to note that my son very recently turned 2.
More hilarious is that by the time I decided that I was done nursing him (in his 7th month of life), I'd finished every one of those novels, either during many hours with the Medela in the "Mother's Room" at work, or while reading them aloud to my newborn son while he cooed on the floor, all blurry-eyed in his newly-born daze.
Well, all safe Infinite. I'm one-half way in. It is still fantastic. I am convinced I will finish it one day.
At times, I wondered if regaling him tales of Sci-Fi dweebs, drug addicts, homosexuals dying of AIDS and Horse-Tooth Jackasses was possibly not the best fodder for early-life cognitive development; but in the end, I just ran with it. There's only so much you can do with a spitting, suckling, shitting little bag of life that a human is at that stage.
So I read. And still do; only now, more age-appropriate titles, since he's spitting back every last word he can wrap his little tongue around these days. We must be cautious.
Happy 2nd birthday, my little man.
Stay Tuned for more adventures of the pop-cultural kind. Yes, I am keeping this old blog; I refuse to start anew, apologize for ghastly delays, or make any commitment of consistency of any kind, as always.
Don't call it a comeback ...