Blog a la Cart

I read this while perched atop a public toilet, dress hiked up to my chin, breastfeeding Courtland as she simultaneously drooled and pooped in my lap.

I cried and cried. It stung with beauty and truth.

I feel honored everyday to call myself a parent. It’s an incredible privilege. The most humbling and incredible privilege I know.

Full text here. It’s worth reading the slew of comments, too. Primarily from men. Fathers. Relating similar feelings.

So James isn’t the only rockstar dad out there, eh? ;)

As an adult, you may think you’ve roughly mapped the continent of love and relationships. You’ve loved your parents, a few of your friends, eventually a significant other. You have some tentative cartography to work with from your explorations. You form ideas about what love is, its borders and boundaries. Then you have a child, look up to the sky, and suddenly understand that those bright dots in the sky are whole other galaxies.

You can’t possibly know the enormity of the feelings you will have for your children. It is absolutely fucking terrifying.

When I am holding Henry and I tickle him, I can feel him laughing all the way to his toes. And I realize, my God, I had forgotten, I had completely forgotten how unbelievably, inexplicably wonderful it is that any of us exist at all. Here I am with this tiny, warm body so close to me, breathing so fast he can barely catch up, sharing his newfound joy of simply being alive with me. The sublime joy of this moment, and all the other milestones – the first smile, the first laugh, the first “dada” or “mama”, the first kiss, the first time you hold hands. The highs are so incredibly high that you’ll get vertigo and wonder if you can ever reach that feeling again. But you peak ever higher and higher, with dizzying regularity. Being a new parent is both terrifying and exhilarating, a constant rollercoaster of extreme highs and lows.

via dooce