Lindsay looks down at me from her grip on the subway pole. “Babies sleep all the time anyway, don’t they?” she says. “I’m sure it will be easy enough to get writing done.” I turn away from her, full of dread but not wanting to explain myself. The time after the baby feels like an oblivion, like anything could happen. I don’t even know who I will be after him. Then the creeping revelation: If I let him, my son will be the reason I don’t do all sorts of things. I’m starting it already.
