Dear Daphne – 9 Months

deardaphne

You are 9 months old today.  Which I suppose means you have become a true resident of this world, as you’ve been outside of the womb longer than you were in it.  (Okay, that might be a weird comparison.)

But enough about you.  Let’s talk about me.
Or, more to the point, what it is that you’ve done to me over these past 9 months.

I can say that I have an entirely new emotional side that I didn’t have before.  Which means I have to actively avoid otherwise ridiculous things like Kenny Chesney songs, or commercials for Dove Soap and Traveler’s Insurance, lest I devolve into a useless puddle of man-weep.

I have never been so sleep-deprived in my entire life.  And that’s actually saying something, as your dad has pulled more than a few all-nighters in his time.  Yet none of these prepared me for the marathon of exhaustion that started with your arrival.  I’m used to it now, though.  And it’s actually highlighted the importance of sleep in a way that I’d never considered before.  So thanks for that, I guess.

The fluids.  My God, the fluids…  I am routinely covered in vomit, urine, drool, poop, rice cereal, pureed fruit, and whatever it is that Similac is made of.
And I don’t mind.
Quite the contrary, I wear these stains like little badges of Armani armor.  Because they’re a constant reminder of the seismic shift in what’s become most important to me.  (Someday I’ll show you the wardrobe I put away when you arrived, and how it was your father used to dress.)

I have never felt so helpless in my entire life as when you’re crying.  I hold you close and hope that simply being held by your daddy is enough to soothe the pain of teething, of waking up too soon, of bumping your head on the changing table, etc.
It often is.
Although I know someday it won’t be.  And I already dread that day.

“Time to myself” actually includes you.  And there’s a certain…not guilt per se, because that’s a loaded word. But there’s definitely a quiet susurrus of shame in the rare moments when I decide to do something without you.  I can’t even take an hour-long tai chi class on Wednesday evenings without calling home to make sure everything is okay with you and your mom before doing so.
I guess what I’m saying here is that when I’m not spending time with you, I wish I were.

I’ve also committed myself to the overall narrative of being a daddy.  Which means I’m going to do some seriously ridiculous things throughout your life.  Some of these are because that’s just who I am.  (Luck of the draw.  You’ve been dealt a weird dad.  Sorry.)  Others will be done simply because they’ll make for fantastically entertaining stories when you’re older.  I will never tell you which ones are which.

My phone, my desks, my computers, my iPad, my office, all of these are covered in pictures of you.  If I printed them all out and flipped through them I’d probably be able to watch a time-lapse of your entire life thus far.  I still don’t have nearly enough.

What I’m saying here is that I’ve officially become a “daddy.”  Your daddy.  And happily so.

I love you more than you’ll ever know, my little girl.  And I’m proud, every single day, to be the guy who gets to be your daddy.

I just hope I’m good enough to be him.

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Love,

~Dad~

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