I recall walking into the kitchen yesterday, making my way toward the coffee maker en route to getting the next day's coffee ready. I stopped and looked around the room. It was quiet. The night surrounded our home and faint lights shone from night-lights strategically placed around the house. I felt it. A rush. A wave. A thrust through my body. It felt good.
I haven't felt that way in such a long time. As quickly as it came it left. My body felt heavy again. My mind cluttered. I lumbered to the coffee machine and prepared it for the next day.
My mind is filled with decisions that need to be made, realities that need to be faced, and blank stares that need to be broken. The two worlds that Lindsay spoke of in an earlier blog are indeed beginning to mesh...it a process that is messy, unbalanced, and deliberate.
My emotions sometimes become dry. There is no anger. There is no sadness. There is no fear. It seems like they have dislocated themselves from me. Then they barge in through my psyche bringing with them their entourage of realities. There are times, such as the walk in the kitchen yesterday, that the emotions are filled with glory, happiness, and relief. There are times when they harbor such negativity; as if a thick fog of despair is choking my inner self. In between these two extremes I find moments of pleasure, pain, and indifference. The part that I am not used to is the frequency, severity, and quickness in which they present themselves...it's draining to say the least.
So I sit here. Listening to my kids in their beds through the monitors. They are chatting with one another, singing, and playing some kind of bedtime game. It's all very innocent and doesn't require my intervention. It speaks of a normalcy that seems to have eluded our household.
I can hear the sleepy-time music I put on to help them relax...it reminds me of a simpler time in our lives. A time when we were new parents and our sights were set on a future that never came. Life is what happens to you while you're planning it.
The music has stopped and the chatter subsided. I can hear the rhythmic breathing of my three beautiful children as they tumble slowly into slumber. Their lives, intermingled with mine, has become a greater responsibility than I had ever imagined possible. Ava & Henry move in their beds, finding the most comfortable spot for themselves--something they'll do for the rest of their lives--find the most comfortable spot for themselves. Ella, on the other hand, lies still. She remains in the same basic position I left her in an hour ago. Lindsay and I will, throughout the night, re-position her, stroke her head, hold her close, and do whatever it takes to keep her comfortable throughout the night; throughout her life.
I suppose I should make my way upstairs, crawl into bed, let my wife know that I love her more than she'll ever know, and try to get some rest.
I haven't felt that way in such a long time. As quickly as it came it left. My body felt heavy again. My mind cluttered. I lumbered to the coffee machine and prepared it for the next day.
My mind is filled with decisions that need to be made, realities that need to be faced, and blank stares that need to be broken. The two worlds that Lindsay spoke of in an earlier blog are indeed beginning to mesh...it a process that is messy, unbalanced, and deliberate.
My emotions sometimes become dry. There is no anger. There is no sadness. There is no fear. It seems like they have dislocated themselves from me. Then they barge in through my psyche bringing with them their entourage of realities. There are times, such as the walk in the kitchen yesterday, that the emotions are filled with glory, happiness, and relief. There are times when they harbor such negativity; as if a thick fog of despair is choking my inner self. In between these two extremes I find moments of pleasure, pain, and indifference. The part that I am not used to is the frequency, severity, and quickness in which they present themselves...it's draining to say the least.
So I sit here. Listening to my kids in their beds through the monitors. They are chatting with one another, singing, and playing some kind of bedtime game. It's all very innocent and doesn't require my intervention. It speaks of a normalcy that seems to have eluded our household.
I can hear the sleepy-time music I put on to help them relax...it reminds me of a simpler time in our lives. A time when we were new parents and our sights were set on a future that never came. Life is what happens to you while you're planning it.
The music has stopped and the chatter subsided. I can hear the rhythmic breathing of my three beautiful children as they tumble slowly into slumber. Their lives, intermingled with mine, has become a greater responsibility than I had ever imagined possible. Ava & Henry move in their beds, finding the most comfortable spot for themselves--something they'll do for the rest of their lives--find the most comfortable spot for themselves. Ella, on the other hand, lies still. She remains in the same basic position I left her in an hour ago. Lindsay and I will, throughout the night, re-position her, stroke her head, hold her close, and do whatever it takes to keep her comfortable throughout the night; throughout her life.
I suppose I should make my way upstairs, crawl into bed, let my wife know that I love her more than she'll ever know, and try to get some rest.
