Dad 2022. Dancing Days.

Sometimes I dance with you. In the middle of the night, in the middle of the day, I put on music and I hold you in my arms and we move across the living room floor. I sing to you, I swing with you, I hum along deep in my chest. I tell you things about the song and the artist, I point out good lyrics and great hooks. “Get ready for this chorus… I think you’re gonna like it.” Shawn Colvin and Natalie Merchant and Tracy Chapman and Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty and Suzanne Vega. I played U2 the other day and talked a lot about the bass line in “Two Hearts Beat As One.” That might not have interested you much, I don’t know. I just love rocking with you. Music is a simple good thing in life that can move and inspire you. It can make you think and make you feel and take you to far off places. And in those moments when you are able to share in the music with someone else, to listen deeply together and dance together and connect across the notes… that’s living lovely.

Today you are two weeks old and it feels like we brought you home from the hospital just a few days ago. We are still trying to figure you out, to learn your rhythms and to learn to accept that each day (and each long night) is going to be a little different from the day before. Nana has left town and it’s just me and mom again. I got sidelined Friday night with a stomach bug, so mom had a long stretch with you. She is phenomenal in every way and you are lucky to have her as your mother. She is aglow and she is on it. All day long she tells you she loves you. I was back on track this morning, alarm at 3 a.m., me and you on the couch by 3:15, with a bottle for you and a coffee for me. Each day with you is exceptional even when it’s ordinary—feeding, changing, sleeping. Time floats along, a steady wave of devotion and delight. It’s the best new normal I’ve ever known, and I don’t want this dance to end.