Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:

http://www.hanser-literaturverlage.de/verlage/hanser-box

Our baby distinguishes between the two of us (you, me) — what seems perfectly natural to us, astonishes us now all the more. Did we (we!) think it would be any different? Just as we always speak of our baby, we (you, I) seem to think of ourselves as two sides of the same person. For sure, we knew and know how we differ, but when the baby came, we coalesced and very nearly (or completely) lost sight of ourselves in each other. This is how we think it is: our baby brought us together, in a way we had not imagined two people could be brought together (nor could we anticipate it, it was beyond our horizon), and since yesterday, since today, he has started to distinguish between us in a way we had not imagined two people could be distinguished. (It happened when we were putting him to bed. You and the baby or I and the baby, these are two very different things, our baby wants to fall asleep differently with you than he wants to fall asleep with me. It is our baby’s will to distinguish between us so that we can learn to distinguish ourselves, we believe, and today we distinguish ourselves differently from each other than we did a year ago. This difference makes us ultimately dizzy, more and more dizzy, and all the while we cannot stop crying out, asking, lamenting: the difference, the difference, the difference?)