So here we are. We’ve been doing this for eight weeks and I don’t even know how to do the experience justice…as soon as I sit down to write about it, my mind starts spinning with images of Drew and I dancing with the baby to Otis Redding in grey morning light, all of the smiles that have come through the front door, crying my eyes out with the shame of wondering if we rushed into parenthood, feeling something that I’ve definitely never felt before every time Asher smiles just at the sound of my voice, trying to describe the heavenly sweetness of the noises that he makes as he nurses, the peace that floods everything as we watch him fall into sleep, Drew and I laughing at each other every time we wind up wearing spit up, or worse, and then the thousands of thoughts that float through my mind about what life with this child and eventual man will be like almost every second that I’m with him. I can’t organize any of this very well yet, and so I’m watching and feeling all the emotions slowly spin by on their own little carousel, distantly listenting to the music and hoping that at some point the ride will slow down enough that I can focus on something long enough to really describe it. I am overcome with how fleeting this time is and just hope that we are soaking in every little grunt and squeak, every outrageous cry, every new fat wrinkle and cellulite dimple, every curl of the fingers against the palm and the impossible sweetness of those spontaneous smiles. Everyone (myself included) encourages new parents to “get back to normal” as quickly as possible, but the truth is, time with your growing infant is the perfect study in remembering to celebrate what you have while you have it, and to put your nose to those proverbial roses. Each day that passes adds to the growing framework of the past, but it also contributes to all of the possibilities that lay ahead, and so we are treading that continual crossroads with the bleary eyed, awe struck love of new parents. What a ride.