It's time to meet Dylan

This is Dylan.  She's calm and content, full of gummy and delightful squeals; my heart living outside my body. 

And this is her Dad, he's mine too.

For months now, I've been trying to find the right words but I didn't feel like my thoughts were gathered enough, polished enough, or exact enough.  So I didn't write.  I wanted to preserve these feelings and stages but always waited for more time, more words, more clarity.  And so here we are, nearly 1/2 a year later, and I still haven't written a single thing about something I feel so keenly and so fully. 

I probably would have waited forever but just this week, it hit me: this is my new normal and I'm waiting for something that isn't going to come. I'm wasting time, and time is something I now choose to share.

Gone are the days where I spent hours mulling over a single word or phrase, or slowly cooked an elaborate meal, or slogged through a book I didn't particularly care for just to avoid leaving it unfinished, or spent 10 days ripping out stitches on a project because I was annoyed that it wasn't *just right*, or spent 45mins on my morning hygiene routine (wtf was I doing with my life?), etc., etc., etc.  And it would be understandable if I said I no longer have time - that certainly what it feels like most days.  But what I realized this week is that I still have all the same time I did before.  And while it would be a taxing effort in it's own way, I could probably even muster the same mental clarity I had pre-baby.  But now I opt to spend everything differently and the result is less time and focus on me and my interests.  And that isn't going to change in the foreseeable future...by my choice.

Everyday for the last 5 months, I have chosen Dylan.  I give her my body because she used to be a part of it, and now this bright new world is strange and overwhelming, but so much nicer when you don't have to go through it feeling alone.  I give her my attention because it helps her grow, and learn, and makes her happy.  I give her my effort and intention because of all the things I apply myself towards in the course of my life, I want her to have my very best.  And I give her my sleep because day after day in the wee hours, she needs me.  

And I want to remember all these things in the small moments that they occur.  They're so precious yet so ordinary, repetitive, and fleeting that when I give them to her I'm also surrendering my own time and memory.  It's such a blur of love, sleepiness, tiny struggles, and rapid change; it's impossible to remember all (or even most?) of it.  And that simply won't do.  Six months, a year, or 20 years from now - I want to remember more than my second priority mind can spontaneously recall from this love-drenched time.  So this blog is going to become a place for me to share, but also just to remember. 

And it's going to get a whole lot messier. 

Not sorry, not even a little bit.