We have seen both ends of the spectrum recently. Last weekend we visited a large chunk of Garnette’s family and yesterday had our friends Bender and Shekira over for a visit.

Garnette’s dad turned 85 recently (way to go Floyd!). He and Nettie raised 8 kids of their own and as well had their hands in the raising of countless others. Watching them, and my parents, with Max is humbling, not only for their comfort and ease but for their utter enthusiasm simply to be near him.

At the other end of the spectrum are Bender and Shekira, who are just beginning to get comfortable with the idea of having a kid together. Listening to them reminds me of the many conversations we had trying to get some sense of the reality we would be entering if we had a baby. To them I say that my suspicions have so far been correct: there isn’t a thing you can do to be truly prepared. We spent a long time preparing ourselves, starting with discussing whether or not even to try to have a baby and going right up to Garnette going into labor. Even now we rely heavily on advice from people like G’s sister Kim and her husband Todd, who have talked us through countless freak-outs. But I realize now that although all the things we did to prepare were not and could not possibly have been enough, somehow just the act of preparing was enough.
In fact, I have come to know something that is probably painfully obvious to someone like Floyd or Nettie: that a baby isn’t merely a series of choices. It isn’t rationale or preparation or anything like that, although for us it was a deliberate sharp break from the comfortable existence we had known. To illustrate this I tried to explain to Bender and Shekira the bizarre realization that we have a bottle steamer now. Although this may seem benign, and in spite of the efficacy of such a handy appliance, that we have a bottle steamer at this point in our lives is alien and weird and, from my perspective, nothing short of astonishing. But then, so is having a baby. And yet, somehow, we wouldn’t turn things around if we could, or trade in this life for our old life, not for anything in the world, and I mean that in the strictest sense. You know how they say it just gets better? Turns out they were right.

So I have been taking account of where we are and how we got here. I have been thinking about Floyd and Nettie and my parents and other parents who have been through the fire and arrived in the light, thinking about their ease and wisdom, and more than that their absolute enthusiasm simply to hold Max, an enthusiasm which is too strong to be explained away as the possibility of handing him back if he's wet or crabby. After so many rough experiences with their children, and thinking about our own tribulations with Max and the many more to come, I began to wonder how you get here and stay wrapped up in the wonder of it all without going completely off the rails, because while it’s all happening it is intense and techincolor and exhausting and stressful. What is it that makes this little person more than an amazing experience or a biological wonder?

It isn’t the patience…you have patience some days and others you don’t. Hell, it changes by the hour, but overall you improve. Once you realize you don’t have a choice patience becomes easier. And it isn’t the sacrifice…you end up not minding giving stuff up that you thought was non-negotiable. I can’t really explain that, you just do it and it becomes normal pretty quick. It isn’t the difficulty of things you thought would be horrible, like perhaps diapers or maybe sleeplessness, although there is certainly horror in sleeplessness and sometimes in diapers too. It isn’t the uncertainty of what lies before you. Nine months of pregnancy, labor and birth, and the first three months thereafter will teach you everything you need to know about not spending too much time expecting anything in particular. You quickly learn that no matter what you are going through or just got through, there will be something more to come, some new dizzying high or staggering low to this rollercoaster, and soon. It isn’t even hope, although hope proves necessary to buoy oneself and is itself warm and comforting and lovely.

The thing, the lasting thing, it’s love. It really is that simple. No matter what explanation you’re comfortable with, whether biological, theological, or just logical, the sum of all the parts short circuits every bit of expectation, fear, and pain. Because when that little critter discovers something new, like singing or the cat or the ability to reliably get its thumb to its mouth, you reflect at that moment on all you’ve been through and all the things you and they have yet to see and feel and learn and you're at that instant and forever filled with nothing short of the divine breath of inspiration, a most beautific and indescribable love. And it is wonderful.

All that said, Max is on cold number two and not sleeping much. We’re tired and argue in the middle of the night but are nonetheless floored by happiness every time he smiles. Happy birthday Max, you're 17 weeks old today!