A journalist observes life in the far north.
I still can’t believe I have two kids. And I made them with my body. It was really kind of gross and messy, this business of making two people. Not the conception part but the other stuff.
And maybe if they didn’t need to be fed and cleaned and held close almost all the time, I would have more time to reflect on the experience.
I don’t fully understand what drove me to want to make these people. Probably some biological urge that helps sustain the human race. But I wanted these people who I made. Badly. For years.
Some people say the meaning of life is love. For me, there is no stronger love than my love for these people who I made.
I hope I don’t fuck them up too badly. Love will only get you so far. Parenting also takes brains. And patience. Lots of patience. More patience than I knew I had. And it’s still not enough.