You are seismic

Abraham,
I wish I spent more time writing to you about these first days. There is a lot to tell about the casts on your legs that aim to straighten your off-kilter ankles. There's a lot to tell about how we talk with you and you with us. You cry without tears and we practice guessing what you mean. We get better, but too slowly. You sleep a lot and hate to wake, much like your Dad. You like to bounce and hear my lullabies. Your smile is like the sun. Life is amazing and blazing fast.

People ask about fatherhood. It is a silly question really, as if there is some generic way to summarize this earthquake for shopping line conversations. Still, I try…

I say, “Emotional.” Your smiles light up dark corners of my heart. Your disquiet aches in me more deeply than anything I've ever known. I feel connected to parts of me and parts of the world I hadn't known before. That's good. And that's hard at times too.

You are seismic.

Pa-