Mykala and I participate in what we call “awards season” during the dark days of late mid-winter where on Sunday nights there are Hollywood and entertainment industry awards shows. It would be more aptly called “have some fun toaster-oven food and watch parts of a live event while reading.” The latter description has been accurate for a few years. This year, however, was quite a bit different. The Grammy Awards were on, Ess was in her Björn, and we had finished up “Grammy Pancakes” (see, gold records look like pancakes!). Poor little girl had just blown out a diaper and gotten a bath, and was looking adorable in her fresh, clean jammies. Mykala tuned into what can only be called a “momstinct” or a premonition, and was cuddling Ess particularly closely when our little baby girl started making sounds we hadn’t heard her make before.

In an event that I have since called Vomitorium 2015, our daughter emptied out her stomach into our sink in a heart-breaking cyclical succession of cuteness, throwing-up, and confusion. It was impossible to tell her what was going on, and all we could do was take turns holding her. In a smart investment in all of our futures, we gave up and went to bed, Ess in her carseat so things would start going the correct direction, which they eventually did. My Google searches for the evening began with things like “brio play table” and “taggies hippo” and ended with “breastfeeding after vomit.”

As you can imagine, we saw vanishingly little of the awards, I saw some of AC/DC perform, which was, well, that happened I guess.

As Mykala and I experience these events of parenthood for the first time, things like spitting up, vomiting, getting sick for the first time, getting cut, falling, one starts to understand that you’ll always worry about your child. For a brief instance this morning, when I was at work and Ess and Mykala were catching up on some much-needed sleep, I didn’t hear back from them immediately after I sent a message, and I found myself spiraling into panic. What if Essie has not simply a flu bug but a vaccine-preventable disease? What if she and Mykala are at the hospital? What if it is pneumonia? Wait, no, she was vaccinated against that. What if they need me right now? That kind of worry, that spiraling, is the kind that you don’t really expect until it happens, and then you start to understand the emotional depths and heights of parenting.

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“If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside over the christening of all children, I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life.”

—Rachel Carson

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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.
Dad

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A few nights ago, I was upstairs taking care of a few chores when I heard Mykala laughing in our room. Then, I heard our Essie giggling right along with her! It’s pretty uncommon for Ess to laugh in the first place, much less for both her and her mom to be sharing a joke. It turns out that while lying on her side and eating her milk dinner, Ess managed to take off her sock, and then proceeded to wave it for the entirety of her meal. Then, when she was done eating, the sock went right into her mouth. This got her mom laughing, and Ess responded in kind. That’s some kind of joy, walking into a room where your wife and child are both laughing uproariously. I am so very lucky.

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