A New Year

by Byron on January 1, 2013

Decker,

You’re only 68.5 days old right now, here at the very end of 2012.  Pretty soon, it’ll be 2013 and you’ll be 69.5 days old.  Getting up there.

This 2013 should be a big one for you.  You will probably begin to talk a little, you might even start to walk a little.  And according to some random baby development timeline on the Internet, you will find partially hidden objects, have full color vision, and transfer objects from hand to hand.  Holy cats, Batman.  This year is gonna be intense.

Maybe you will even sleep through the night.

Truthfully, I don’t care what it brings.

Let me explain.  I’ve spent my entire life trying to see around the corner.  I want to know what tomorrow brings.  Hell, I want to control it.  I’m so much into predicting the future, I write a blog called Estimated Future and subscribe to a magazine called The Futurist.  I make yearly predictions, like this one from last year.  (My predicitons were so-so.  Most were not good, but I nailed the 10-Year treasury.)  But you’ve already proven to me that’s not possible.  You are teaching me, slow and steady, the future is not mine to control.

All that cliche shit became true when you got here.  “Treasure every moment.”  “Tomorrow is never promised.”  “They grow up so fast.”  “Take it one day at a time.”

But you’re changing me even more than that.  Before you came, and just after you got here, I was so concerned how I was going to support you.  Private schools, great experiences, cool vacations, a nice place to live, an iPad mini for your pre-school class.  Now, I’m realizing that doesn’t mean all that much either.  At least not if you miss out on any attention or love from me.

I want you to know how proud I am of you.  Everyday you get up and face the world.  It may not seem like much to some, but you can’t even control your body.  You can’t lift your head.  You throw up after every fucking meal.  Literally.  Like three times.  And everyday you do it again.  And you sit in your bouncer seat and stare at me while I say weird shit and hold up one finger, then two, explaining that this is math.  You’re a champ, truly.  The world loves you.  I love you.

You’ve been trying to speak, trying to mimic things I say.  I’m pretty sure your first word is going to be “Hiiiiiiii!” in a really high voice.  Your Aunt Heather was here for the holidays.  She was dancing with you and you were trying to mimic her arms.  You were smiling and laughing and cooing and flailing your arms.  It was awesome.  I started crying I was so happy.  So did your Aunt Heather.  Happiness is being totally aware of Joy.  We sure wish Aunt Heather lived closer.

I’ve said a bunch of unrelated things for one letter.  I’ll sign-off here.  Thanks for all you’ve taught me in 2012 and thanks for all I’m sure to learn in 2013.

Love,

Dad

 

 

 

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