28 Days Later

On the Fourth of July Jonas will be one month old. It seems like much longer than that since we sped to the hospital at Four a.m. I feel like I've been a dad forever, although I still falter when applying that name to myself.

Even in the pain of exhaustion, in the twinge of my shoulder from holding and rocking without pause or rest, there is love. Like a hard, bright diamond core. My body is failing, my mind is dissipated like static in the open air, but I am happy. He cries seemingly without end, yet I smile at his wailing face. I am so happy he is alive.

Looking into his face we can sometimes see the future, see the person he's going to grow into. It's more than just following a logical progression, it's an honest glimpse, magical and fleeting. When he was born, it was like seeing someone I knew but couldn't quite place. For days I couldn't shake the feeling. From the very first moment I could pick him out of a million babies when before all newborns were indistinguishable to me.

Holding him against my chest, feeling his tiny rhythmic breath, I marvel at what we've done. Unexpectedly and without any intention we have created life. We have created a tiny self-sustaining heart that will beat and beat and beat for a lifetime. We have made lungs that breathe, hiccup, coo, and eventually laugh, talk, and sing. I can't imagine how this is possible, yet there he is. Waving his arms. Breathing. Beginning to look into our eyes. Crying. Some nights I risk waking him up to make sure he's still alive.

This month has been hard. It's obvious and cliche, but our lives are almost unrecognizable. Something else is forming from what I'm tempted to call the rubble. But I wouldn't change it back. I can't wait to spend time growing up with him.

- David