Letter to Célia Marie

Dear Célia Marie,

Your birth has awoken some new thoughts and feelings within me. One is that I never imagined how great I would feel having a baby. These feelings are so much more powerful than I ever thought they would be; they border on overwhelming at times. Another is how I look at people around me. I see families, especially those with little girls, and think about how we are as a family. I see teenage girls and wonder what you will be like at that age. I see boys and girls together and wonder what kind of boy you will choose to love and if you will have your heart broken by someone who doesn’t respect you. I also wish I had treated girls better when I was younger, now that I see they were some loving father’s little sweetheart, too.

The third awakened realization in me is that of my own mortality. Never in my life have I been so constantly conscious of how tenuous my life really is. And it’s completely your fault for two reasons. First, because you are utterly dependent on your mother and me your life is so fragile. One misstep on our part and you could die. But I don’t mind or regret our responsibility a bit, because the alternative is an even more difficult aspect of reality to accept; when you are no longer so dependent on us and you start school, choose your own friends, go on dates, get a job, go away to school and move out, then your mother and I will not be there to watch over you and protect you every second of every day.

The second reason it’s your fault is that you change so quickly. Just in 8 weeks you’ve grown and developed enormously and you will continue to do so. But I don’t want you to change and grow. I want to keep you just like you are, because I can’t imagine you getting any more adorable or my developing any greater love for you.

Watching and loving you reminds me of how ephemeral life is. It’s something I have never thought about so fervently for such an extended period.

Love, Dad

P.S. Why are you always shaking your fist at me?