Baby Messes

Hi Ess,

As I type this, things of yours are strewn about the floor: Isabella bunny, Sophie the giraffe, Skinny Dog your Christmas present. There’s a kitchen tongs on the living room floor and a geodesic ball perched on your circle desk. There’s Pat the bunny sitting by the piano and a few blankets about there as well. The point is, it looks like a baby-shaped tornado just tore through our first floor. And let me tell you, your dad abhors a mess. I can’t stand disorder and your mom and I just spent a ton of time straightening up your nursery. But get this: I’d feel less happy, less full and fulfilled if you weren’t upstairs napping right now, if your toys weren’t scattered underfoot. This mess, I like. You see, these things are in disarray, but what they signify is far more important: they remind me of you. They remind me of your smiling, six-month-old face. They remind me of the reverence with which you hold things in front of your face, and the way that reverence quickly turns to frenetic, kinetic energy. You just fascinate your mom and dad, little one. And even though you aren’t sleeping well at all at night, and even though your mom is spending 25 hours a day looking after you, even though it’s overwhelming, you are absolutely amazing. We’ll never forget this time.

I love you.

Brief Notes Nearby