One Hundred Warm-Ups, and Now the Main Event

I've supposedly been preparing for eight and a half months. There were the ultrasounds, with their vague but recognizable images of noses, hands, and feet. There's the simple "lub-dub, lub-dub" running a 150 beats per minute, a steady cadence to match the pace of life when we are parents. We've gotten baby room furniture in all its stately woodenness, car seats, burp cloths, baby bottles, diapers, and two big bottles of hand sanitizer. Most peculiar of all, I can feel and watch my baby on Susie's belly, as it writhes around, seemingly in a wrestling match with someone. I don't know what's going on, but I don't like seeing a foot sticking out of my wife's stomach.

And yet...and yet, eight and a half months have passed and it still didn't feel real.

Then, I received a gift from Scott: Four books by Sandra Boynton. For those who don't know, she is the J.K. Rowling of the pre-verbal demographic. I've read her books to my nieces and nephews a hundred times. I will not forget, for example, reading "Doggies" to Alex, who I could always have laughing in stitches by the time we got to the end. Reading these books, yes, I am that good.

I looked at those books, and it was real. The baby was no longer shades of gray on a screen, rumblings in a stomach, or utilitarian devices we use to make our way in the world. I get to hold my baby on my lap, read to him, make him laugh, and answer, "I'll read it once more, but then it's time for bed."

I love my nieces and nephews, and I've loved every time I've read to them. But with the collection of Boynton books on my dresser, I can't help but think that each one of those readings to my nieces and newphews was a warm-up to the main event.


-- Post From My iPhone