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In the movie Lost in Translation there is a scene in which Bill Murray's character explains that, upon having your first child, "your life as you know it is gone...never to return." The movie has been one of my favorites for years. I just wish that I had known he meant my life.

In early 2010, I gave birth to the world's most perfect child. (Is there a parent who doesn't think his/her child is the world's most perfect?) In addition to being beautiful, he is brilliant and sweet and funny and hands-down the best thing that will ever happen to me. This kid is my entire world. I had somehow suspected through most of my life that he would be, which is why I fought very hard to have him. But about the post-childbirth apocalypse, I had absolutely no clue.

To say things have changed would be misleading. EVERYTHING has changed. Most of it has been good--some not so great--but everything is without a doubt different. And now the world changes once again. My little family and I find ourselves journeying from the big city to beautiful, calm Montana. Will the change be for the better? As with anything, the answer is sometimes "yes," sometimes "no," and always sought with massive quantities of hope. Come with me as I navigate the roads from fast-paced, big-city lawyer to Montana Momhood. Is there a line that can be walked? We'll see. But I can guarantee, at a minimum, it will be an adventurous road trip....

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Happy St. Paddy's Day

I, and by extension my son, are Irish (as many in Chicago claim to be).  Like many, I can trace my lineage fairly easily--my Grandmother's mother and father were Scottish and Irish respectively.  On a side-note, my friend Jacque (who was born and raised in Ireland) calls the Scots "the Irish who couldn't swim."  Love that expression.  Anyway, the point is that my kid and I only look half-ridiculous when celebrating this fine day by wearing the obligatory green and the not-so-obligatory green flashing bunny ears.  Yes, I said "bunny"--just go with it.

It's funny, though, how little most of us know about our heritage.  I didn't really think much of it until my son was in the picture.  In some places (shockingly, Chicago being one of them) your genetic make-up is a topic of great interest.  I had employers, friends and people I just met all ask me some variation of "where is your family from?" starting the minute I stepped off the "boat" in Chicago.  I was shocked.  And, apart from a Grandmother who was herself "off the boat," I really didn't know much about my ancestors at all.  I knew bits and pieces (particularly the juicier ones) about ancient relatives and their westward progression, but if you ask me about my national heritage, there is relatively little I could tell you.

This makes me feel bad for my kid.  I can't tell him much of anything about his relatives.  And, worse in my mind, I can tell him even less about an entire half of his family.  I know relatively little about his dad's side.  It's a pity, really.  Perhaps what we need are more nation-based holidays so that we can figure out whether we are each allowed to properly celebrate.  Of course, a requirement for green beer would be helpful as well.  But my question to the universe is, how important is it to understand our pasts?

Too big a question to answer here, certainly.  So whether you are Irish or "Irish," celebrate this year by asking relatives what they know about your history.  And whether or not there are any from the Emerald Isle in your past, call yourself a leprechaun and celebrate.  Happy St. Patrick's Day, everyone!

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