More Than Words

I have a family! If you’re reading this, then you already know that Tara and I had our first child in February. I feel like I’m disrespecting the universe by saying it in such a matter of fact way. The words just look too simple on the page.

“had our first child”

Those four words simply do not truly represent the unbelievable emotion that this process has evoked. I have a daughter. A beautiful, happy, healthy daughter. Over the last 5 months, I have experienced feelings and emotions that I would have never thought possible. You would think I’m talking about my daughter. You would be correct. Partially.

If you know us well, you know that Tara and I have always had an outstanding relationship. Of course, we’ve had difficult times. Everyone does. But I don’t think anyone could question that I worship the ground that she walks on. I always have, from the moment I saw her across the football field. She’s an incredible person, inside and out. The thing is, I actually love her more now than ever before. That’s not to say I didn’t love her before; clearly I always have. All the emotion I had was dedicated to loving her. Well now I have more to offer. Sharing the indescribable experience of bringing a perfect little innocent person into this world together has unlocked feelings that I could never have imagined. I’ve never felt closer to anyone.

But, I’m in love with two women. If you’re a father with a daughter and you’re reading this (given the blog readership, highly unlikely) you likely understand completely how I’m feeling. If you’re not, allow me to explain. Everything has changed because of Olivia. My spending habits, my work schedule, my thoughts and feelings. All good things. I can’t imagine my life without her. I’m not sure how I ever lived without her. Suffice to say, I’m smitten. One of Tara’s coworkers over drinks last year told me that she would absolutely own me. Truer words have not been spoken. Now at 5 months, we’re at the stage where things are changing daily, and I worry that I won’t remember each of the small milestones. I’m clinging dearly to every moment that passes. My feelings are torn sometimes. I’m so excited for her to say “Da Da”, or “Ma Ma”, or something. I’m so excited for her to walk. A few months ago when I got home from work, she looked at me, recognized me, and just started beaming. That moment absolutely melted my heart. But let me tell you, the moment I’m really looking forward to: when she walks up to me with her arms out wanting me to pick her up. I can’t tell you why the thought of that moment coming up is so exciting, but it is.

I’m torn because while I look forward to all those moments, I’m terrified that time will pass by too quickly. The last 5 months have flown by. It’s scary. I’m trying to hold on to every single memory from every single milestone. For me, it’s way less about the big milestones (walking, talking, solid food). It’s the small things. Someone once told me that the secret to a good relationship was to not sweat the small things and pick my battles. I’ve found this to be very good advice. What’s funny is that it’s totally opposite of how I treat Olivia’s progress. I sweat all the small things. I just mean that I treasure every one of the small things she does. For example, every day I play a game with her. She’s lying on her back and I’m on my knees leaning over her. My face is far from hers and my hands are in the ‘claw’ position ready for attack. Then I swoop down and kiss her tummy, neck, cheeks and hands while tickling her ribs. Up until last week, it was a one-sided game. She had no idea what was happening. She might smile coincidently, or even cry. Then it all clicked for her. I swoop down for my kisses and tickles and she gives me the widest, toothiest, gummiest smile I’ve ever seen. Having finished two degrees, won a few golf tournaments, done some cool stuff at work, never have I felt so much pride. My daughter knows me. My daughter knows that when I’m playing a game with her, she should smile. I think she even knows how much it means to me.

Words are funny things. They have meanings. Sometimes more than one meaning. You say them enough, and the meaning starts to ring hollow. What does pride really mean? My parents used to tell me all the time how proud of me they were, regardless of whether I was doing something “pride worthy”. Pride was just another word. Until 5 months ago. She smiles? Proud. Sits supported? Proud. Sits unsupported? Proud. I think you get the point. I now understand how my parents felt. I can’t say how many times someone said to me “you’ll understand once you have kids”. A hundred? A thousand? Maybe more. But it’s true. I can vouch for that. You probably know that I travel a bit for work. I’ve sat next to many a random person on a flight. I’ve probably been shown pictures of my seatmate’s kids at least a dozen times over the years. I wouldn’t say that I didn’t care, but I was really only making conversation and it was an easy topic. Now I can see why it’s an easy topic. Because people love to talk about their kids. Since Olivia was born, I’ve flown 34 flight segments (I know because I just checked) (typically 2 trips a month, usually 4 segments each trip). I’ve shown my seatmate her pictures on all 34 segments. After being slightly annoyed by “that guy”, I am now “that guy”. And I love it. I just don’t care if I annoy anyone. She’s my daughter, and I’ll tell the whole world how proud I am.

I’ve always known what proud meant, but know I know what it means.