birdseed
Perhaps it's a modest sign of success that with one week (week? day? commercial break? Khel, how are you doing over there?) to go before baby, I have some time to write. That certainly hasn't been the case for the past several months; an array of father-to-be responsibilities have commandeered my time, from home repair to infant care. The prep work has been satisfying, and the two of us have had ample chances to spend quality Last-Days-on-Earth time together. A thought, however, has lingered throughout: "What did I do with all my time beforehand, and will I get that time back?"
I know the answers to those questions. One of those answers is "not anytime soon."
[...]
"Love is not like birdseed..." is anyone else with me on this one? I remember this episode of Sesame Street distinctly. Telly Monster was concerned that Susan and Gordon would not like him anymore because they were busy adopting a baby boy. Oh, the grief! While preparing for the adoption party, Big Bird explained to Telly in his own yellow-feathered words that although Susan and Gordon may have less time to share, they would always be Telly's good friends. Love is not like birdseed, you see: it never runs out.
[...]
To say I enjoy running is an understatement. I love running like I love breakfast cereal at 9pm. I love the history, the photos, the colors, numbers and emotions. And friends. Friends! Elders whom I admire, and young guns whose PRs will be revealed over time are treasured. I could spend an entire Sunday afternoon browsing old running journals, doing core exercises and writing.
Next week however, I'll be spending that time wiping meconium into a toilet. At least the Olympics will be on in the background as I'm passed out on the couch, desperate for shuteye.
The Olympics will end after two weeks. The diaper cleaning (in all its literal and figurative forms) will continue for two decades, from what I've been told. Although love is not like birdseed, attention very much is. My time will become less and less of my own, and sometimes I fear that my life will take me away from running--the sport and the art. It can only take me away time-wise, however (and to a certain degree, only if I enable it to do so).
If love is true, it should be contagious should it not? Local swimming coach Keith Bell describes how his daily swimming brings his family closer together than apart. Certainly K and I have shared many running memories together; I can't possibly imagine our creation of those memories stopping and our child not being included in them. And if attention pulls us away from running for a while--an outcome neither Kelly nor I would choose, but would accept--I know that love runs deeper than birdseed.
[That's right: paternity leave during the Olympics. Somebody light a torch, birth a child and get this sleep-deprived party started!]
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