Every piece of orchestral music sounds like a broken music box when listened to through a baby monitor, yet I listen still. The occasional sigh or faint cry heard over those broken notes is just enough to keep my worry enclosed, despite the fact that she is sleeping right next to her mother, fully capable of caring for her.
My days and nights oscillate between unconditional love and sheer panic and sometimes, through some breakdown in the laws of physics, both at the same time. The days and nights all run into each other. I have to consult a calendar to determine how old she is because I can’t quite figure out what day of the week it is or just how many Wednesdays have past since the day she was born. Sometimes I even wonder “was it Wednesday? or was that a Thursday?”. At 1:40pm today she’ll be 12 days old. 12 DAYS OLD.
It is said that a mother learns to love her child through hormones and instinct while a father learns through proximity. I can’t quite figure out how it happened to me but it’s certain that I’m absolutely smitten. Though I know her eyes can’t really focus and can only make out basic shapes and, even then, only about 10 inches or so in front of her face, I’d swear her eyes brighten just a little bit every time she looks into my eyes. I’m sure it’s just gas or a random, unintentional facial movement, but she smiles almost every time she hears my voice. And I know it’s just a reflex that all infants have, but every time she grasps my finger with her tiny little hand my heart breaks and is mended all over again.