How does London know how to do that? I wondered to myself. How on earth does she know?
There is another memory from that day, however, that is all mine.
It occurred on that first night in the hospital, long after our final visitors had left. Vivian was asleep and I was dozing in the rocking chair when I heard my daughter begin to fuss. Before that day, I’d never actually held a newborn, and scooping her into my arms, I pulled her close to my body. I thought I’d have to wake Vivian, but surprising me, London settled down. I inched back to the rocking chair and for the next twenty minutes, all I could do was marvel at the feelings she stirred within me. That I adored her, I already knew, but already, the thought of life without her struck me as inconceivable. I remember whispering to her that as her father, I would always be there for her, and as if knowing exactly what I was saying, she pooped and squirmed and then began to cry. In the end, I handed her back to Vivian.
CHAPTER 2
In the Beginning
“I told them today,” Vivian announced.
We were in the bedroom, Vivian had slipped into her pajamas and crawled into bed, the two of us finally alone. It was mid-December, and London had been asleep for less than an hour; at eight weeks, she was still only sleeping three to four hours at a stretch. Vivian hadn’t complained, but she was endlessly tired. Beautiful, but tired.
“Told who what?” I asked.
“Rob,” she answered, meaning her boss at the media company where she worked. “I officially let him know that after my maternity leave was up, I wouldn’t be coming back.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling the same pang of terror I’d felt when I’d seen the positive pregnancy result. Vivian earned nearly as much as I did and without her income, I wasn’t sure we could afford our lifestyle.
“He said the door was always open if I changed my mind,” she added. “But I told him that London wasn’t going to be raised by strangers. Otherwise, why have a child in the first place?”
“You don’t have to convince me,” I said, doing my best to hide my feelings. “I’m on your side.” Well, part of me was, anyway. “But you know that means we can’t go out to dinner as much and we’ll have to cut back on discretionary spending, right?”
“I know.”
“And you’re okay with not shopping as much?”
“You say it like I waste money. I never do that.”
The credit card bills sometimes seemed to indicate otherwise – as did her closet, which bulged with clothes and shoes and bags – but I could hear the annoyance in her tone, and the last thing I wanted to do was argue with her. Instead, I rolled toward her, pulling her close, something else on my mind. I nuzzled and kissed her neck.
“Now?” she asked.
“It’s been a long time.”
“And my poor baby feels like he’s about to blow up, doesn’t he?”
“Frankly, I don’t want to risk it.”
She laughed and as I began to unbutton her pajama top, a noise sounded on the baby monitor. In that instant, we both froze.
Nothing.
Still nothing.
And just when I thought the coast was clear and I let out a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding, the noise from the baby monitor began in full force. With a sigh, I rolled onto my back and Vivian slipped from the bed. By the time London finally calmed – which took a good half hour – Vivian wasn’t in the mood for a second attempt.
In the morning, Vivian and I had more luck. So much luck, in fact, that I cheerfully volunteered to take care of London when she woke so that Vivian could go back to sleep. London, however, must have been just as tired as Vivian; it wasn’t until I’d finished my second cup of coffee that I heard various noises but no cries, emanating from the baby monitor.
In her room, the mobile above the crib was rotating, and London was wiggly and full of energy, her legs shooting like pistons. I couldn’t help but smile and she suddenly smiled as well.
It wasn’t gas; it wasn’t a reflexive tic. I’d seen those, and I almost didn’t believe my eyes. This was a real smile, as true as the sunrise, and when she emitted an unexpected giggle, the already brilliant start to my day was suddenly made a thousand times better.
I’m not a wise man.
I’m not unintelligent, mind you. But wisdom means more than being intelligent, because it encompasses understanding, empathy, experience, inner peace, and intuition, and in retrospect, I obviously lack many of those traits.
Here’s what else I’ve learned: Age doesn’t guarantee wisdom, any more than age guarantees intelligence. I know that’s not a popular notion – don’t we frequently regard our elders as wise partially because they’re gray and wrinkled? – but lately I’ve come to believe that some people are born with the capacity to become wise while others aren’t, and in some people, wisdom seems to be evident even at a young age.
My sister Marge, for instance. She’s wise, and she’s only five years older than I am. Frankly, she’s been wise as long as I’ve known her. Liz, too. She’s younger than Marge and yet her comments are both thoughtful and empathetic. In the aftermath of a conversation with her, I often find myself contemplating the things she’d said. My mom and dad are also wise and I’ve been thinking about it a lot these days because it’s become clear to me that even though wisdom runs in the family, it bypassed me entirely.
If I were wise, after all, I would have listened to Marge back in the summer of 2007, when she drove me out to the cemetery where our grandparents were buried and asked me whether I was absolutely sure that I wanted to marry Vivian.