March 22, 2006
The men holding you here are your grandfather and great-grandfather. The three of us are smiling in this photo for several very good reasons.
One of which is that, as of this moment, the bar opened.
But that's beside the point. The point is that you can see clearly, in this photo, how proud we all are.
It's not an easy thing, to talk about how we, and more particularly I, feel about you. It's not that I don't have enough words in my head, it's just that sometimes it's difficult to fit words around the situation.
You see, your arrival in and of itself was a pretty astonishing event, and I will admit that there's a hefty emotional requirement on me to think that you're the greatest thing since sliced bread if it had a rotary mower and a hills hoist attached to it, but that doesn't explain, punkin, the overwhelming emotion that strikes me every time I look at you. Everytime you look at me and smile (and I know I've said this before and it's easy to say it again and I don't want this to descend into some gushfest about how much I love you but dammit it's my blog and I can do what I want with it), I get a feeling welling up in my chest that makes me want to hold you tight, to squeeze you like a toothpaste tube.
I can only imagine, punkin, that this feeling is to some extent echoed in others who have contact with you. There's not a day that goes by that someone doesn't tell us that you're a delight.
Your book that comes home from daycare everyday, telling us that you're a joy to look after, despite your sometimes having a seemingly pathological aversion to sleep.....