melancholy hope

first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage (or similar).

what happens after the baby carriage?

the baby starts to grow up. fast. more quickly than it seems possible for time to pass.

this having of this baby has created for me a reflection of my own small life.

every time she has a first, for some reason, i feel a last. it's a grasping sort of finality: don't grow another inch, or i'm one day closer to a time where i won't be here for you. with you.

i can't imagine her not needing me, and when i see her grow out of one stage and into another it's a sad celebration. sad like a wedding.

being a parent is the absorption of another's well-being into your core. it's a crushing responsibility and a promise of endless anxiety. life is hard. life is painful. life is scary. and i've just given that gift of a life to someone else who can't protect themselves from anything - yet.

so all i want to do is protect her. all the time. from everything from boredom to abduction to raindrops. all i want to do is teach her. all the time. to be cautious but curious. brave but not fearless. soon she'll need to learn even more difficult lessons. i hope i am a good teacher.

i have always felt a underlying sense of the futility of existing, but it was somewhat abstract. there's plenty of time. i'm young. who cares. carpe diem.

she is the wake up call to my own unnerving outlook and the finite part. the part i like to ignore. shit.

i am learning to live with it again, but differently. just like i live with the constant ringing in my left ear. more and more i will work toward less 'who cares' and more 'make every moment matter.' this takes discipline, but if it isn't difficult, it probably isn't worth doing anyway. 

i'm not going to apologize for how i feel about this. or that it is depressing. or for writing it down.

i didn't expect this.