At the pediatricians I glanced at an open file on the receptionists desk, a little girl named Emma was having seizures and they'd prescribed a range of medications. Eamonn disdains sleep and sings his arias in the middle of the night, but he's a solid package of ruddy good health. We're both suitably thankful even as we plead with him to abandon his dream of singing Wagner at the Bayreuth festival.
I go to work, clean house, cook, shop, do the dishes and get ready for the move- normal life stuff.
The wife meanwhile is at the beck and call of an inarticulate dictator who communicates via the fluctuating volume of his screams and who must be fed every few hours lest his displeasure end reality.
I've got the easy job.
When he came out everything about him was unexpected.
That hasn't changed, every day is a fresh amazement.
Babies have an unmatched purity of expression, fully embodying their emotions. Calm he looks like a small orange Buddha. Gazing at such depthless placidity is to forget the chaos of the storm, until he reminds you.
Given his heredity we shouldn't be surprised by his size, yet we are.
We've broached the cask on his 3-6 month wardrobe.
He doesn't seem fragile any more, he radiates. He's such a bundle of life it's like holding a forest fire in your arms.
The suff you worry about when they're pure potential doesn't signify once they incarnate. Things need doing, you do them. So far it all seems inevitable and right.
It's tremendously grueling, but that was in the brochure.
I am glad I put in all the work I did to prepare the ground and get comfortable with the idea of family. It would be a nightmare if you weren't 100% on board and dedicated.
I think about my parents and their shotgun wedding and shudder, but when I hold him and look in his eyes I can't see the path either of them chose.
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