"All his life has he looked away... to the future, to the horizon."

Linda and I are on opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to how we look at Violet. I watch her random eye movements and flailing limbs and I look forward to the time when some true form of interaction occurs with my daughter – when a smile will be answered with a smile, when the grip of her miniature hand is more than just reflex. Linda wants to hold Violet at this age forever, reveling in the simplicity of this tiny, adorable human being that belongs completely to just us two. She is safe. She is warm. She is ours. As I mentioned yesterday, Linda said she still doesn’t feel like a mother, and I offered the explanation that maybe the feeling will arrive when Violet starts responding to us. Linda wondered if it would happen once she went back to work, when we returned to something that resembles our old schedules. I mentioned this to a friend today, a mother of two, and she spoke of how with her own children, she was always looking forward to their next stage of development. “I can’t wait ‘till they’re walking…I can’t wait ‘till they’re talking… (and now) I can’t wait until they’re out of the house.” I find myself doing that a lot - looking ahead, and not just with Violet but with life in general. And it drives home an idea that’s been phrased in so many different ways – it’s hard to enjoy the present when you’re focused on the future. So, I’ll try to stop waiting for what comes next with Violet and just enjoy her as she is – in all her cross-eyed, grunting beauty.

31 days old