Thoughts from the chair

I’m sitting in a chair in a dark room as I write this. I’ve spent a lot of time on this chair, though not always in this room. My little guy is laying next to me, rocking back and forth as he's always done to soothe himself, but now in a big-boy bed. He used to be to my right on this chair. Before that he was on my chest. Before that it was his sister. I held him like that a few weeks ago. He had pulled a lid off a sippy-cup the day before and made a huge mess, so I had given him a drink in a plastic cup with a rubber top. He was next to me but also more on my arm this time/the side of my chest. He was making little suckling sounds on the cup's top, right next to my face like he had done so many nights before. It had been quite a while since I had experienced that though. Man, did it bring me back! A world of bottles and feedings and holding. It felt like I had a baby next to me for a split-second. I knew. I knew as I leaned into it and smiled and smelled the top of his head that it was probably the last time I would ever experience that. It’s like I was aware of the moment; a treat I was even getting to have it. He doesn’t sit on the chair with me much anymore. He just likes to have me sit on it by him while he falls asleep. He'll hear the creaks if I leave and softly say “One more minute, Daddy.” I almost always oblige.

I’ve spent so much time in this chair. Usually quiet time, with some loud exceptions. There is a wonderful and beautiful peacefulness to the dark room with the fan's white-noise and your beloved child sleeping next to you. It’s as if nothing else matters. And in some ways, nothing else does. I’m a big subscriber to the notion of natural cycles. I believe millennia have forged us in ways we don’t fully understand and raising children has really heightened my sense of that. I now realize that these quiet times spent alone on the chair are meant to be, they are part of the life cycle. They force a man to slow down, gather his thoughts in this rare shrine to stillness and quiet, his most precious treasure laying beside him. It forces you to think and to process. In doing so, it really changes you. It forges you from a man into a father. We are forced to slow down, recalibrate what is important, think about what matters. We evolve from the role of an adventurer to that of protector.

Its been a rich and beautiful process for me. It has really centered everything. Everything. I barely recall who I was before my children, and I've only had them a decade. It's all about and for them now. My wife and I find our joy and contentment through them. He is our last child and so each door we close we know we close for good. It’s an incredibly heavy feeling. I never fully understood what the word “bittersweet" meant, until I had children. The goal, your life objective, is to help raise them to be the best they can be. You want them to grow and advance and phase-out of the early stuff! That's the plan. But oh man, is it difficult to watch happen. Kids have changed me fundamentally. Made me much more emotional, more present.

I still enjoy these moments, even though I usually sit by myself now. Before too long, the not-as-little guy will give his old man the boot. I'll miss this chair. I’ll cherish these times forever.