I told myself I did not want to start this post with a cliché. Actually I run the risk of the whole thing being a cliché, because if I’m to write about our first year of wonder with our little girl I cant help but sum it up with….get ready:

It’s gone by way too fast.

(Big ol’ cliché’ that parents say…hey that rhymes.)

I see the reason parents say this. When you’re trying to keep a totally dependent living thing alive it requires you to empty yourself. Now this is no gradual process. You don’t ease in to parenthood, warm-up to it, get a feel for it. No. It hits you in the face like an avalanche and all you can do is hang on for dear life. And it’s awesome.

Having Claire was pretty wild. It went something like this:

1. Go to hospital to be induced
2. Stay up all night being nervous while contractions become more intense
3. Continue to stay up all night and help Kimberly unhook from all the sensors so she can walk to the bathroom every 15 seconds
4. Wake up with family hanging around, feeling more nervous
5. Contractions make Kimberly want to punch a hole in the wall
6. Kimberly gets epidural (Honestly my favorite part of this was Kimberly not having to get up anymore to go to the bathroom…odd, I know)
7. Nurses pretty much say: “Oh man! She is ready to have her any second”
8. Left alone for another 45 minutes (I’m having a good personal freak-out thinking baby is going to just come out with no one around)
9. Doc walks in like he’s just there to have coffee, pulls a baby out and all of a sudden I’m a dad.
10. Kyle gets a stomach virus and is stuck at home the rest of the week while Kimberly and Claire are at the hospital. (That was fun.)

As you are adjusting to this little creature that has invaded your home, you realize you don’t really adjust. By the time you think you have something down she’s grown to need something else. Her developing mind over the last year has been fascinating to behold. Early on you could tell she would hit points of frustration where she could clearly recognize something she wanted to do, but her little body would not quite cooperate. So we encourage her on and bit-by-bit she would overcome. Simple moments. Magnificent.

I think when I look back over the last year and feel that odd sticky sense of happiness and sadness it’s that I know those little moments with her are gone. We’re on to walking now, expressions, laughter, dancing (this kid can dance), and a new recognition of the world around her. In those early weeks all you wanted was some peace. You hope so much that maybe this night she will sleep just a few more hours. I wont say we didn’t appreciate those moments over the last year. We made a point to keep photography as a prominent documentary of her growth, while knowing when to put the cameras away and just enjoy. But now that year is over. You don’t get to keep her a baby forever, and you don’t want to of course. We have so much fun watching her stumble around laughing and smiling to herself as if someone is telling hilarious jokes and seeing her come in to her own unique personality is the coolest thing ever. So why do I feel a little sad typing this? It’s because I remember that during those difficult nights, when she would finally drift to sleep with her head on my shoulder the world would stop. In the quiet darkness she would find comfort and rest lying on daddy. I was able to hold a perfect gem of innocence and love her beyond what I can even comprehend.

So I hold this crazy paradox of emotions within: a mix of insane mind numbing joy and the kind of happy-sadness that comes from a fond memory.

Now we’re on to new moments, new adventures, all with full force as this little girl leaves “babyhood” behind her.

I’ll end with another Cliché.

They say having a baby changes you. It does.

And it’s awesome.

 

-Kyle

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