One day

Only a little part of me is going to miss those days, and I'm sure that on some rainy afternoons I'll stare out the window and recall them fondly. "But these three cubic feet of blood and bone and meat are all I love and know."



Let's communicate right now through the vehicle of music.



But wait, none of these songs are about babies? Are you merely mourning the loss of some idyllic youth that you never had? That's an unfair question. A better answer would be that I'm moody and sometimes that mood is sad. Sad, of course, like most words, doesn't exactly communicate what I'm feeling. And I wish that you could sit here next to me and we could slide through the thin skins we've stretched over so much bone. And I look forward to holding a little girl who demands nothing from me, except all my attention, who won't wander away at the wrong moment, but will just be rocked slowly in my arms while the music plays soft and low and the moment becomes something more than ephemeral.




Okay, enough time has passed. It's time for the show to get on the road. Is that the saying? I'm not sure. I think I'll probably know when I'm finally a dad. We're roughly two hours away from it finally being okay to have this baby. Note: a number of folks have been treating me as though the due date is the actual date our baby will be born, and while we'd like that to be the case only five percent of women, according to S, who has read like thirty books about pregnancy, actually give birth on their due date. Ie: We could be talking about zeros tomorrow night people.

I'm through being excited. I'm just tired of S hogging the baby all to herself for the past nine months. Unquestionably, it is time to share!