Friday, October 03, 2008

Pocketful of Trucks

Hoisting Wendy Lu's left leg high in the air and not just seeing, but experiencing the arrival of all 8 pounds, 14 ounces of our daughter, Eva Sage, caught me more than a little off guard.

The big, beautiful baby part I'm used to. Scout has always been a looker, and unfortunately, two and one half years on...he knows it. But this bounteous bundle made her entrance through the door, not the escape hatch.

While big brother Scout was a footling, always ready to hit the ground running and thus requiring extrication, our little miss was quite cooperative with my wife's (and to a less important degree, my) wishes to attempt a vaginal birth after caesarian delivery.

Mission accomplished, ladies! We've got wheels down, successful landing, all lights green across the board! Both of you did an absolutely fabulous job!

And while I did my absolute damndest to be the rock of encouragement, breathing, back rubs, leg lifts and cord cutting, my cool "Second time around" steely exterior could hardly hide how this little girl buckled my knees. Yes, yes I know the miracle of birth is well documented and more mums and dads than anyone cares to mention have waxed on ad infinitum about said subject. But to hell with the naysayers, miraculous doesn't even begin to describe that sensation of seeing your child's thick head of hair (!) announce, "I'm here and I'm gonna get loud!"

She did and she does, but she's daddy's little girl and I love her for it.

Two weeks away from work with this newborn nymph, our spectacular son (who absolutely trounces all of mine and his mother's wildest dreams and expectations of not only intelligence and inquisitiveness, but of just sheer enjoyment to be around), and my incredibly strong, yet sensitive, bold and beautiful bride Wendy's just not enough time. I need more of them. I need more of them and I need it more than weekends and two weeks each year. Wendy Lu and I haven't bought into corporate vacation schedules and timetables in a long damn time. We're certainly not going to now. Change is coming to more than just Washington D.C.

One evening during this all too brief respite, carrying my daughter upstairs in one arm, while my other guides my son's hand, balancing a sippy cup on an elbow, with a pocket filled to spilling with Matchbox fire, dump and cement trucks...that's when it really hit. That was the moment I realized just how far we've come.

Where we're going, we go together, the four of us. We're a family.

Well, us and boxes upon boxes of trucks.

west bound & down, eighteen wheels are rollin', we're gonna do what they say can't be done.


Post a Comment

<< Home