Poop-Pee-Eat-Belch-Cuddle-Sleep-Cry

I write to you from a local, cafe, and as it so happens, while I work on one of the swells of an endless ocean of paperwork, the place has been invaded by several mothers with small, crying children in tow.

I have a different relationships with wailing toddlers now. My first thought after the onslaught was: Damn.  My next thought was, Oh, this doesn't bother me as much as it used to. My third thought, as i watched a wide-eyed little girl half-toddling, half-falling across the room was, That is so fucking cute.  My fourth thought was this: I can't wait for Zinnia to get to a slightly more interactive age.

To be honest, I find babies on the boring side, newborns more than most. By way of explanation, as well as offering a helpful parenting tip, my brother put it this way: "Their needs are pretty basic at this age." Right. Eat-sleep-poop-belch-cry-repeat. Put Zinnia in a Packer jersey and prop her up in front of a large screen TV on football Sunday, and that pretty much describes a third of American males over the age of 30.   

If I were to should myself in this moment, I would say, I should look on this time as one of the most special periods of my life; that someday I will reflect back on 2011 and long for the innocence of what it was like when Zinnia was a tiny newborn, as opposed to, say, thirteen years hence when she's a hormonally-fueled teenager with the temper of a honey badger and an eye roll that can drop a parent at fifty yards.

The night my daughter was born, within the very hour of her birth, as matter of fact, I had a great pang of fear, a death throe of doubt that led me to agonize over my decision to become a dad at this late stage in life.  I slept (to use a term from English literature) "fitfully" for three hours, while waking to the periodic wailings of a complete stranger in our bed.  Oh, my God, I said to myself, what have I gotten myself into?

I awoke a little after dawn to a shower of sunlight, fed the cats and birds, watered the garden, and made a phone call or two. When I was done, I tiptoed into the bedroom and leaned over the bed.  Jenn was fast asleep and with new baby Zinnia curled up under her chin.

In that moment, I felt my heart crack open a little, and it has been cracking open and shut ever since. 

Yesterday, my daughter and I had one of those moments. Jenn handed her to me ("Here--feed this"), and just like that, Zinnia was in my arms. She looked up at me as if trying to decide whether to cry or not before letting out a couple of halfhearted whoops and settling into my arms. She sucked on the bottle with her eyes shut and gently fell asleep. Periodically I tried to remove the nipple from her mouth, which set her lips to moving like a Plecostomus sucking algae from an aquarium wall. When Zinnia coughed the bottle, I plucked it from her mouth without her waking, and she melted into my lap.

There we were.

Jenn entered the room, stood over us and beamed. She lives for these moments and, frankly, so do I.
I have been open with Jenn about my struggles with new parenthood. To her credit, she has not panicked or gotten angry. She knows how big my heart is and understands that beneath my meanderings about whether Zinnia might stay her current size for the rest of her life (thus becoming the worlds tiniest Buddhist nun) or grow into a giantess by the age of 12 (and earning us millions of dollars on the talk show circuit), I do love her, deeply, and my love will only continue to grow, as will my connection to her.

For the time being, however--poop-pee-eat-belch-cuddle-sleep-cry.