Dear Daughter – One Month
One month ago today, I walked into Memorial Hermann hospital having no idea what was about to happen to my life. (And, if we’re being totally honest here, I’m still not entirely sure.) I walked out of that building roughly 48 hours later, carrying you in a car seat and carrying my heart in my throat as I drove my new family home the first time.
Yes, that’s a disc golf “driver” on the floor. Don’t judge your father.
And our house hasn’t been the same.
Since that day, it’s been a steady barrage of your cries and our responses (thankfully there’s been more of the latter than the former), punctuated by naps, diaper changes, and the occasional playtime in your Joovy Yahd. Although you’ve been entirely indifferent to all the rattles, rings, feathered birds and fuzzy unicorns that dangle off of the activity mat, and instead seem to be utterly spellbound by one Mr. Ceiling Fan.
For our first month together you’ve been an exceptionally good baby. I think. I mean, you could be flinging poo, calling me “honkey papa” and tagging “BINKIEZ 4 LYFE” on the living room wall and I wouldn’t have the experience to classify you as a “good baby” or otherwise. But you’ve been relatively easy to please up to this point, and there’s been very little fussiness without cause. (Which, by the way, is a new and interesting word that’s entered your dad’s lexicon. I had never considered all the implications and varying degrees of “fuss,” and how important each level of “fussiness” is. At least, not as much as I have over these past 30 days.) Although I’m told you were inconsolable today while I was at work, and it finally took a pacifier to settle you down…which is a first.
The détente this brought was apparently very short…
And, in other firsts, I honestly never knew how beautiful something so simple as a smile could be. But then you looked up from your Soothe Baby yesterday, recognition crossed your face, and you grinned at me. It was like being hit in the chest. I froze in place, completely dazzled. And if you continue to have this effect on boys, your father is going to skip his plans for a game room and build an armory instead.
Here’s what I’m thinking for the den.
Your mother has been there with you for nearly all of your life so far, and she’s been unsinkable throughout your every cry and need. And as every new day passes I’m continually amazed with her reservoirs of strength and kindness, both of which stand defiant against the sleeplessness and stress that came with your arrival. Someday, many years from now, you might understand all she’s done to ensure you had everything you needed during this time. And if, on that day, you could do your father a serious solid and tell her, “thank you” that would be awesome…for everyone involved.
I’m a happy mess of tears right now! Love you.
This is so special! Daphne will treasure this someday!
You are an extraordinary Dad and Son! I love you and am very proud of you!
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