You will hear crying.
You will hear screaming and grunting.
You will hear the firm commands of a doctor, your own voice urging her on.
And when it is placed in your arms, you will hear a small snap; a barely audible pop that’s almost more of a tiny vibration than an actual noise.
That is the sound of your mind being cleaved in two.
That is the sound of you never being the same again.
The birth of a child seems like a routine event. After all, it is how every single person that has ever existed has ever existed. It happens thousands of times per day all over the world. But on an individual level, I think there is something that is impossible to grasp before it happens. When they actually put that pile of new cells into your arms, it dawns on you that you are holding a fresh soul, one that you created.
You now own for the only one of something. The only one that will ever exist. And you are entirely responsible for its health and success.
I think when confronted with these alarming cosmic truths, our typically material minds cannot handle the strain. The fissure is so severe that a psyche never goes back to its old ways. We never think our old thoughts again. Not seriously.
I’m not rallying against this. I’m not explaining how beautiful and meaningful it is. I’m only letting you all know that I’m aware of it. I’m going to be thinking about it the day I try and conceive a son.
The fact that this is the end. We’re never going back.
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