TIMES WE SHARED

Dear Spike:

This is fast becoming my favorite time of the day. I’m in the rocker. You’re on my lap. Your mother’s in bed, next to us, fast asleep.

Every few minutes, I nod down to kiss your head and whisper that I love you. Every hour, you wake up to cry.

I rock you and sing to you. If that doesn’t work I change you. If that doesn’t work I fix you a bottle.

We get to hang out this way until 3:30 or 4 a.m. — maybe two feedings and two changings — and then your mom will get up and I’ll go to sleep.

I know our relationship will change as you grow.

Sooner or later you won’t need me to feed you. Sooner or later (please, God, let it be sooner) you won’t need me to change you.

One day you’ll no longer need me to rock you to sleep. And one day, I know, I won’t be able to rock you at all.

I imagine you’ll let me sing to you for a few years to come. But someday you’ll find someone else to sing to you. That’s just how it goes.

But maybe, from time to time, you’ll let me kiss your head. Maybe you’ll let me whisper that I love you.

Maybe you’ll let me remember these times we shared, late at night, rocking the nights away.

Love,
dad