Over the last 10 days, I've traveled approximately 2,500 miles, and put in over 100 hours of work. Today alone, I've been awake for 19 hours. Using my own personal history as a guide, I should either be passed out on my couch from exhaustion or staying awake only because of a periodic dunking of my head into a cooler filled with ice (don't ask).
Nevertheless, I'm awake and typing; fueled by nothing more than the thoughts in my head. Thoughts focused on one person. One tiny person.
After being beyond the northern border of our nation when my niece entered the world, I finally - after three whole days (it seemed like a long time) - had a chance to meet the little lady. I was wholeheartedly looking forward to the meeting, but I have to admit, there was a bit of anxiety. I hardly trust my ability to drink coffee without some dribbling out of the cup; could I really be trusted to hold an infant that was living the womb life just last week?
Apparently the cure for anxiety is your niece's head on your shoulder*. Once she was in place, all was well. Her tiny fingers gripped at my shirt, and an occasional wriggle or readjustment were the only disturbances to her slumber. Later in the evening, I read a quote saying something like, "The closest thing to perfection is a sleeping baby." After tonight, I'll have a hard time finding fault in those words.
*Please note, the author has a patent pending on this cure for anxiety.
Perhaps it's a sign of getting old when you spend time sharing the enjoyment of holding a newborn. If that's the case, save me a spot in line for arthritis meds.
Nevertheless, I'm awake and typing; fueled by nothing more than the thoughts in my head. Thoughts focused on one person. One tiny person.
After being beyond the northern border of our nation when my niece entered the world, I finally - after three whole days (it seemed like a long time) - had a chance to meet the little lady. I was wholeheartedly looking forward to the meeting, but I have to admit, there was a bit of anxiety. I hardly trust my ability to drink coffee without some dribbling out of the cup; could I really be trusted to hold an infant that was living the womb life just last week?
Apparently the cure for anxiety is your niece's head on your shoulder*. Once she was in place, all was well. Her tiny fingers gripped at my shirt, and an occasional wriggle or readjustment were the only disturbances to her slumber. Later in the evening, I read a quote saying something like, "The closest thing to perfection is a sleeping baby." After tonight, I'll have a hard time finding fault in those words.
*Please note, the author has a patent pending on this cure for anxiety.
Perhaps it's a sign of getting old when you spend time sharing the enjoyment of holding a newborn. If that's the case, save me a spot in line for arthritis meds.
1 comment:
I think I am in love with your blog.
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