When the doctor hands me my son or daughter none of this will matter. When I get to say hello by saying their name out loud and they can hear it for the first time, I won't think of this for an instant. When I can't get any sleep because of the baby crying, when I put on their first shoes, when we walk hand in hand into Fenway for the first time, this will be a distant sad spectacle. If I try to look back at these dark hours or questioning days I'll think:
What a waste. You were free to go out to dinners, movies, and go on vacations as you wish. You wasted those last moments before you became a dad sulking around or over thinking how you'd feel. You knew all along you'd be in love.
Today's gift is knowing none of this, the worry, the pain, the thinking, the soul searching, will matter one bit.
I'm getting my second wind.
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