Day Ten

sleep.


When Sailor was born, I commented to a friend that, while my love for her was less conditional than any I had previously known, it was also less intimate. I could say nothing of what bands she liked or what kind of jokes she told. We had no stories together.

Already, things are changing. I know what face she makes when she is about to poop (or in the process of). I can tell her cry apart from other children. I know that she wants to be held constantly and that, apparently, being outside is the most calming thing in the world.

I hope that Sailor grows up to call me Dad some day (or O Captain, My Captain). But more importantly, I hope that she comes to know her true Father. I pray that she learns of a Love unceasingly unconditional and infinitely intimate.