Captured between June 15, 5:03PM and June 16 7:53AM (originally published in 2013)
5:03PM
Metal hammer against metal nail.
My wife’s wanted to redesign our upstairs hallway into a storytelling photo gallery. “This probably isn’t what you wanted to do your first Father’s Day weekend, was it?” she asks, not really looking for an answer.
It’s a project, it’s measuring things. I can measure things. I can put a nail in a wall.
Wait.
I get an entire weekend?
6:24PM
Daughter giggling
There’s nothing better in the entire world. Her laugh is maturing. It’s becoming less of a grunt and more of that precious high-pitched squealing, into a repetitive giggle. I adore it.
7:46PM
Daughter deeply breathing
Her eyes are closed; she’s in a deep sleep. Other parents recognize this as a moment in their strict, pre-planned sleep schedule. We call this “Oh, weird, she fell asleep, what do you want to do for 20 minutes?”
8:35PM
Daughter crying
She’s getting smarter. She knows that at this time, here on the changing table, the beginning of her night is imminent.
Her diaper is changed. She smiles, she’s dry and clean. But that emotion vanishes and she begins crying again, remembering she’ll be alone for the next eight hours.
8:41PM
Daughter suckling
She’s becoming more efficient. The feedings that once took 45 minutes four months ago, now last no more than 15 minutes.
She hears one of her dogs walking by and pulls herself off, looks down at the dog looking up at her, smiles, then puts herself back on the breast.
Smart, efficient, and now, becoming independent.
8:53PM
Daughter giggling, again
Apparently she’s forgotten she should be asleep by now. She’s clean, she’s dry, she’s full, and now, she’s happy.
As I try to swaddle her growing body (that’s now very nearly too long to be formally swaddled) she smiles up at me, grabs the corner of the swaddle blanket and pulls on it, ruining swaddle attempt #3.
Must avoid eye contact… she thrives on eye contact.
8:56PM
White noise
We’re in her nursery now, the monitor is on, the white noise is on, and I’m rocking my daughter into a repetitive slumber.
Even in the dark of her room, I close my own eyes — partially to pray for this little girl’s sweet dreams — and partially so when she opens her eyes to see if she’s missing anything, she sees my eyes closed, takes a hint, and goes back to sleep.
9:01PM
Pages turning
Our daughter is now asleep in her nursery down the hall. Her parents sit in bed with their own respective books trying to read themselves into a sleepy state.
She reads a novel about an animal conservationist who became famous after living with a wild wolf pack. I read a novel about a Russian ballet dancer.
9:47PM
White noise
It’s our white noise now. After months of white noise helping our daughter remember sounds of the womb, we became attached to it ourselves.
It helps us (try to) block out the irritants outside — from the dog yapping next door, to the idling engine of the truck a few doors down.
9:58PM
Sleep
…
12:33AM
Daughter crying
My wife and I both hear the monitor at the same time. I think at the same time, anyway. My wife rolls out of bed and lands on her feet, making her way down the hall to our crying baby. It’s Father’s Day Eve, I’m allowed to lay here, right?
12:37AM
Sleep
…
2:22AM
Daughter crying, again
I’m quick on the draw and get out of bed. On my way down the hall I think that maybe Father’s Day is supposed to be all about fathers actually being active, participating fathers and doing their part — like taking a turn and helping their wife out a bit — instead of pretending like they don’t have responsibilities. I’m now proud to be awake at 2 in the morning — I’m being a father.
By the time I get to the nursery, my daughter’s not awake, but she’s still crying. She could be having nightmares, she could be wet, she could just be noticing a swaddle blanket tag irritating her arm, or she could just need to know that she’s safe.
I pick her up, kiss her forehead, rock her until she’s heavy in my arms, reposition her in her crib, and slowly walk back to my warm bed.
2:30AM
Train whistle, low engine growl
The train whistle is long and drawn out, and is followed by the low growl of its engine chugging.
The closest train tracks are at least five miles from our home — our palatial estate — but its sound keeps me from sleep as I lay motionless, in bed.
Do we live in a ‘big’ city because there’s a sound of a train in the distance, or do we live in a small city because sound travels so easily through the valley?
As a child at my parent’s house, I remember hearing the sound of race cars in a Figure 8 race at the speedway across town.
And now, as a father in my own home, I can seemingly hear the sound of the train just as easily as I can the sound of the PA announcer and the roaring crowd at the high school’s football games, from just across the (dry) river bed.
2:34AM
iPad tapping
I convince myself if I write down all of these thoughts, I’ll have a clear mind and be able to fall asleep again.
2:36AM
Bed creaking
My wife is tossing, she can’t find sleep. Chances are she’s being distracted by the bright screen on my iPad.
I save my notes, close my case, and lay back down.
2:40AM
Neighbor lady talking, but not realizing how loud she is
She has a history of this — yelling (when she thinks she’s talking) — her voice echoing through the neighborhood and into our open window.
Sure, we could close the bedroom window — and often do — but then we lose our cool, crisp, fresh air.
I refrain from throwing our noise machine at her.
2:46AM
Light switch
My wife can’t sleep. She turns on her bedside light, picks up her book, and reads more about the animal conservationist.
3:02AM
Sleep
…
6:38AM
Daughter whining, restlessly
My wife gets up, walks down the hall, grabs a pacifier from the dresser-top in the nursery and picks up our little girl in one swift motion, turns on her heel and heads back to our bedroom where she puts our daughter in our bed between us, hoping she’ll drift back to sleep.
And she does. She smells the comforting scents of her parents, she’s warm, she’s happy.
7:53AM
Daughter cooing
She’s finding her voice. She sometimes surprises herself with the volume of her screams.
As I wake, she’s wiggled her arms out of her swaddle and is tugging on our sheets.
She’s well rested, she’s happy, and she’s very much awake.
My wife raises herself on her elbow and says, “Good morrrrnnning, baby girl” and kisses her.
She pulls our daughter close to her and says, “Say ‘Happy Father’s Day, daddy!’”
My little girl looks at me, and smiles her biggest smile.
5:03PM
Metal hammer against metal nail.
My wife’s wanted to redesign our upstairs hallway into a storytelling photo gallery. “This probably isn’t what you wanted to do your first Father’s Day weekend, was it?” she asks, not really looking for an answer.
It’s a project, it’s measuring things. I can measure things. I can put a nail in a wall.
Wait.
I get an entire weekend?
6:24PM
Daughter giggling
There’s nothing better in the entire world. Her laugh is maturing. It’s becoming less of a grunt and more of that precious high-pitched squealing, into a repetitive giggle. I adore it.
7:46PM
Daughter deeply breathing
Her eyes are closed; she’s in a deep sleep. Other parents recognize this as a moment in their strict, pre-planned sleep schedule. We call this “Oh, weird, she fell asleep, what do you want to do for 20 minutes?”
8:35PM
Daughter crying
She’s getting smarter. She knows that at this time, here on the changing table, the beginning of her night is imminent.
Her diaper is changed. She smiles, she’s dry and clean. But that emotion vanishes and she begins crying again, remembering she’ll be alone for the next eight hours.
8:41PM
Daughter suckling
She’s becoming more efficient. The feedings that once took 45 minutes four months ago, now last no more than 15 minutes.
She hears one of her dogs walking by and pulls herself off, looks down at the dog looking up at her, smiles, then puts herself back on the breast.
Smart, efficient, and now, becoming independent.
8:53PM
Daughter giggling, again
Apparently she’s forgotten she should be asleep by now. She’s clean, she’s dry, she’s full, and now, she’s happy.
As I try to swaddle her growing body (that’s now very nearly too long to be formally swaddled) she smiles up at me, grabs the corner of the swaddle blanket and pulls on it, ruining swaddle attempt #3.
Must avoid eye contact… she thrives on eye contact.
8:56PM
White noise
We’re in her nursery now, the monitor is on, the white noise is on, and I’m rocking my daughter into a repetitive slumber.
Even in the dark of her room, I close my own eyes — partially to pray for this little girl’s sweet dreams — and partially so when she opens her eyes to see if she’s missing anything, she sees my eyes closed, takes a hint, and goes back to sleep.
9:01PM
Pages turning
Our daughter is now asleep in her nursery down the hall. Her parents sit in bed with their own respective books trying to read themselves into a sleepy state.
She reads a novel about an animal conservationist who became famous after living with a wild wolf pack. I read a novel about a Russian ballet dancer.
9:47PM
White noise
It’s our white noise now. After months of white noise helping our daughter remember sounds of the womb, we became attached to it ourselves.
It helps us (try to) block out the irritants outside — from the dog yapping next door, to the idling engine of the truck a few doors down.
9:58PM
Sleep
…
12:33AM
Daughter crying
My wife and I both hear the monitor at the same time. I think at the same time, anyway. My wife rolls out of bed and lands on her feet, making her way down the hall to our crying baby. It’s Father’s Day Eve, I’m allowed to lay here, right?
12:37AM
Sleep
…
2:22AM
Daughter crying, again
I’m quick on the draw and get out of bed. On my way down the hall I think that maybe Father’s Day is supposed to be all about fathers actually being active, participating fathers and doing their part — like taking a turn and helping their wife out a bit — instead of pretending like they don’t have responsibilities. I’m now proud to be awake at 2 in the morning — I’m being a father.
By the time I get to the nursery, my daughter’s not awake, but she’s still crying. She could be having nightmares, she could be wet, she could just be noticing a swaddle blanket tag irritating her arm, or she could just need to know that she’s safe.
I pick her up, kiss her forehead, rock her until she’s heavy in my arms, reposition her in her crib, and slowly walk back to my warm bed.
2:30AM
Train whistle, low engine growl
The train whistle is long and drawn out, and is followed by the low growl of its engine chugging.
The closest train tracks are at least five miles from our home — our palatial estate — but its sound keeps me from sleep as I lay motionless, in bed.
Do we live in a ‘big’ city because there’s a sound of a train in the distance, or do we live in a small city because sound travels so easily through the valley?
As a child at my parent’s house, I remember hearing the sound of race cars in a Figure 8 race at the speedway across town.
And now, as a father in my own home, I can seemingly hear the sound of the train just as easily as I can the sound of the PA announcer and the roaring crowd at the high school’s football games, from just across the (dry) river bed.
2:34AM
iPad tapping
I convince myself if I write down all of these thoughts, I’ll have a clear mind and be able to fall asleep again.
2:36AM
Bed creaking
My wife is tossing, she can’t find sleep. Chances are she’s being distracted by the bright screen on my iPad.
I save my notes, close my case, and lay back down.
2:40AM
Neighbor lady talking, but not realizing how loud she is
She has a history of this — yelling (when she thinks she’s talking) — her voice echoing through the neighborhood and into our open window.
Sure, we could close the bedroom window — and often do — but then we lose our cool, crisp, fresh air.
I refrain from throwing our noise machine at her.
2:46AM
Light switch
My wife can’t sleep. She turns on her bedside light, picks up her book, and reads more about the animal conservationist.
3:02AM
Sleep
…
6:38AM
Daughter whining, restlessly
My wife gets up, walks down the hall, grabs a pacifier from the dresser-top in the nursery and picks up our little girl in one swift motion, turns on her heel and heads back to our bedroom where she puts our daughter in our bed between us, hoping she’ll drift back to sleep.
And she does. She smells the comforting scents of her parents, she’s warm, she’s happy.
7:53AM
Daughter cooing
She’s finding her voice. She sometimes surprises herself with the volume of her screams.
As I wake, she’s wiggled her arms out of her swaddle and is tugging on our sheets.
She’s well rested, she’s happy, and she’s very much awake.
My wife raises herself on her elbow and says, “Good morrrrnnning, baby girl” and kisses her.
She pulls our daughter close to her and says, “Say ‘Happy Father’s Day, daddy!’”
My little girl looks at me, and smiles her biggest smile.