Emily and I managed to leave the house on Saturday and took in a viewing of Ocean’s 13 – [Your One-Minute Review: Entertaining movie. Convuluted story line, like the first two] – followed by a lovely Thai dinner. Emily had been in the house for a good two weeks, and she was getting stir crazy. It was good for us to go out for the evening and just sort of breathe and relax [Emily’s mother babysat]. In general, things are going well. Emily is getting used to feeding, and I just try to help as much as possible. My habit of staying up late is paying off, as it allows Emily a few hours sleep before the inevitable midnight/1 am feeding. No longer does she berate me for staying up so late, but instead hopes that I stay up even longer. My biggest anxiety at this moment is what Emily and I are going to do when her mother returns home next Friday. She’s been invaluable in keeping us both sane these past couple of weeks.


Many people wished me a Happy Father’s Day yesterday, and it was swell and all, but I still don’t feel like a dad. When I think of dads, I think of my dad, Emily’s dad, Heathcliff Huxtable, and for some reason, Al Bundy. Maybe by this time next year I will more like a father. The thought of me = dad is just plain weird. I am sure those who have known me for most of my life probably think the same thing. I still think of myself as that dorky kid in 8th grade [and according to Emily, I still act like one sometimes]. And dad’s aren’t supposed to act like goofy 12-year-olds. You know?


So far though, fatherhood is great. I never thought I would enjoy holding a baby so much. I could hold and kiss her all day long. And I don’t know how it is with other parents, but when Esmé cries, I don’t find her crying annoying, but instead it fills me with concern, as I desperately try to figure out what is the problem. Someone needs to invent a machine that can read newborn minds.


And I can’t not post a picture of my precious ….


Esmé again

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