Aging with Bruce: A Tale of Two Concerts
Warning: TMI
Back in 1992, I was a new mother of a bouncin' baby girl, and thought my rocking days were over, unless they involved rocking her to sleep. But a chance of seeing Bruce Springsteen got me out of the house for my first post-baby adventure. So there I was in the Meadowlands, shrieking and jumping up and down and singing along - until I found myself in the restroom, forced to express milk from my engorged breasts, which didn't know we were taking the night off. I remember thinking this was so wrong somehow . . .
But there I was last night, once again rocking with Bruce, whose hairline has receded and what's left has grey in it, but hey, he's holding up a lot better than I am. And on my left? The bouncing baby girl, now 17 and bouncing along with me. Best part? She had invited me to go. Something so right somehow.
I'm sure there's some profound message about life's passages, etc., in all this. I was too busy being thrilled and amazed and enjoying myself.
Thanks, Bruce!
Back in 1992, I was a new mother of a bouncin' baby girl, and thought my rocking days were over, unless they involved rocking her to sleep. But a chance of seeing Bruce Springsteen got me out of the house for my first post-baby adventure. So there I was in the Meadowlands, shrieking and jumping up and down and singing along - until I found myself in the restroom, forced to express milk from my engorged breasts, which didn't know we were taking the night off. I remember thinking this was so wrong somehow . . .
But there I was last night, once again rocking with Bruce, whose hairline has receded and what's left has grey in it, but hey, he's holding up a lot better than I am. And on my left? The bouncing baby girl, now 17 and bouncing along with me. Best part? She had invited me to go. Something so right somehow.
I'm sure there's some profound message about life's passages, etc., in all this. I was too busy being thrilled and amazed and enjoying myself.
Thanks, Bruce!