Beatrix: 1 Year Old

d81_8626Hiya Bix,

You’re napping right now as I write this. When you wake up, it’ll be lunch time. You are a champion eater, ravenous and loud about it. You’ve gone from a really little kid to a giant in the 6 months since my last letter.

We have a video monitor to spy on you while you sleep. The camera’s cheap, the picture is grainy black and white, and I love it. Right now you are in downward baby pose, one of your favourites.

The world is in a strange place right now, B. I don’t really know what to say about it, or how different it will be by the time you’re old enough to read these things. When I used to read about awful things happening in history I always had trouble relating. I couldn’t understand why the people in those times didn’t do more to resist. Right now there are some awful things happening and it feels like we’re on the precipice of some more, really awful things that are about to.

Your mom and I talk a lot about what we want to do about it. How we can make the kind of change we want in the world, and resist the kind of change we don’t. As an adult, I think you’ll realize that your mom and I are pragmatists. We get things done. It’s how we succeed at work and it’s how we run our life. We try not to spend too much time on moralizing or polarizing. Life, and the people that fill it, are full of nuance, Bix. It’s never the right call to weaponize those disagreements, and turn others into villains. But 2016 has been the kind of year that can radicalize a person. And so I have trouble really predicting what kind of parents you’ll think you have. But I want you to know that we’re paying attention. That we care. And that we’re trying to figure out how to make the world better.

Heavy stuff, I know. But none of it matters to you, today. Today, you have figured out standing, and climbing stairs, and you’re one step away from walking. Your big sister is the most important person in your world, followed by your mom, then Adele the pig, then Anne at daycare, and then, I think, me.

It’s okay. I don’t mind. I get to put you to bed every night. You’ve settled on Down to the River to Pray as your lullaby, just like your sister did. We rock in the chair. I shush, and you grab at my face in the dark. Then you snuggle in for a minute and sigh before moving to your crib. Where you immediately find Adele.

You’re waking up from your nap. Gotta run, B. I love you. Happy Birthday.

Daddy

 

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