Sunday, August 31, 2014

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I am happy to report that Ms. 8 is doing better. She did wake up once in the night with a fever, but this morning, she woke up complaining only about being hungry; her temperature was back where it ought to be. So was her temperament; instead of whimpering or crying in pain, she is making happy babbles and offering raspberries to whatever it is that fails to amuse her. Her appetite is back, as well, and so her mother and I are quite pleased with events at this point. Things are getting back to where they need to be.

I had not been prepared for how much my little girl's suffering would affect me. At one point, while I was sitting and holding her, hoping to comfort her, she whimpered as I have heard those who have been beaten and expect another blow to come whimper, and I cried at the sound of it. I, whom many have called an unfeeling, heartless, callous asshole, felt tears trace down my cheeks at the sound of her hurting. I have attended funerals at which I shed fewer tears, in fact, than I did for Ms. 8 feeling so poorly as she did.

That such things would affect me, I expected. I knew going into the experience of parenting that I would need to make my child the most important part of life, that her needs would have to come before my own. (Wants are a different matter altogether.) I knew that the focus would entail a connection. But I did not know that it would be quite so intense as it seems to have become. It snuck up on me how much it is, in fact; it has built itself up while and where I was not looking, until it surprised me yesterday with its intensity.

This is not at all to say that it is unwelcome. Aside from the absolute jackassery that would attend on my being annoyed at feeling for my daughter and which I would wish to avoid (although that is part of the matter), there is a particular promise in yesterday's sadness. I have the hope that it will work in one of its reversals, that I will find joy in her joy. If it is the case that I can do so (and many testimonies of other parents tell me that it is for them), then, given how bubbly the girl's personality already is, I stand to be in for quite a ride.

I suppose that I have been going off on one of those happy pappy rants I know annoy the child-free and even those who have or want children who have other things to do. I do not seek to compel others to my view (in this), only to note what my own is. (Unlike an earlier Geoffrey, I am sincere in my retraction--although protestations of sincerity are hardly authoritative, I know.) It is far from unique, I know, but neither is a loaf of bread or a pint of beer, and those are both well worth having again.

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