Reaching 12

Becoming a parent is supposed to make you a better person, an amplified version of you. Or refined. Maybe refined is better.

Now that I'm pretty much feeling all better most of the time (unless I get... gasp... hungry) I think it's working magic on me already. Consider the following:

Last night we had our first rehearsal for Wisconsin Chamber Orchestra's Concert on the Square Number Three. Now, I love this orchestra more than any other in a 30-mile radius. The conductor is a great guy, it's a small group (=my kind of repertoire) and we have played some very good concerts in the last 2 years. (God bless the incredible pianist Valentina Lisitsa.)

But (isn't there one of those in any job ever?) there are some characters. Two of them are in the four-member viola section. Sometimes they make rehearsals tense. My stand partner (wonderful gal) says, "if you play loud enough that they can hear you from two feet away, you'll get the LOOK." Unfortunately, this bugged me all year and I was dismayed to find myself getting sucked into it all.

Last night, however, was entirely different. I know I'm a short-timer. I've got more incredible things happening in my life than any human ever has experienced (come on, it's my first pregnancy- I still think I must have invented the process). And I just sat there and played and didn't let stuff get in, and it was the funnest rehearsal e-ver. The guest conductor is hilarious- he's always saying wacky stuff in his british accent under his breath. "This is rather like sprinkling glitter here, trumpets- nice and light, please. (We ended up a little more like shrapnel that time through, didn't we.)" Hard to imitate- I'll listen more carefully tonight and see if I can't illuminate better tomorrow.

Anyway, I think... yes... I think I might be growing up. In another year with careful attention I'll reach the maturity level of... oh... a 12-year-old.