All Good Things Must Come to an End

The past two weeks have, almost inarguably, been the best two of my life.

Last night, Elise asked me if I was going to keep writing in this journal after I go back to work. I told her I would try.

All of our waiting has ended. Clementine is here, and India awaits. I do not yet know what I will remember most about the last two weeks, the first two of Clementine’s life.

I drove Sam to school every day and picked him up. Every morning, I would park, help him out of the car and into his back pack. I would walk him to his classroom and hang his backpack on the first hook outside the door. He would hop up and down, hands flapping beside him like an injured bird, chirping, “Kiss and hug! Kiss and hug!”, Tia Cris waiting patiently to receive him. I would bend down and give him and hug and prickly kiss. He would run off to the parquinha, to join his friends already swinging or sliding, but, not quite there, he would remember something, turn around, sprint back to catch me (though I hadn’t gone anywhere, lingering to watch him play).

“Dad,” he would start, “I need to tell you one more thing. Can you tell mom I want a giant, huge sip of milk when I get home out of the huge, tall glass?”

“I’ll tell her,” I reply, enjoying the irony of a giant sip.

I had dreamed of taking Petey for a morning jog everyday, but then Petey got sick, I got exhausted and sleep-deprived, and no one ran. Instead, the four of us, me, Elise, Peter and Clementine visited Vitoria bakery for pão de queijo and fresh-squeezed suco de laranja. We discovered new places. Nothing before us unknown any longer, we dove back into Brazil, searching out unknowns. Elise and I enjoyed a coffee date at Ernesto in Asa Sul, the perfect coffee house. Though Clementine was new, Peter was the one who I got to know better than I did before. He wore underwear everyday and left his pacey in his bed, accomplishments I never would have had the time to be a part of otherwise.

Elise marked the end of two week paternity leave with the most amazing plate of BBQ ribs with a huge, giant bottle of beer. No one could ask for more, and, with Clementine in my lap, I stickied my fingers, as all meals worth remembering forever must be eaten by hand. I know the Turbevilles to enjoy taking pictures of their food. This food was definitely worth photographing for posterity.

As dinner ended, my thoughts inevitably turned toward the next day and how much I didn’t want my paternity leave to end. Though I had napped, I was too tired to enjoy the last few moments which makes me all the more eager, today, to get home and recapture them.

I didn't want them to end, but they did. I tried to fight it, but lost. Frustrated, I yelled. I didn't want it to end this way. I didn't want it to end at all. I didn't want to leave. I miss then already. I secretly yearn for it to be 3:30 a.m. again so Clementine and I can sneak out of our room, leaving Elise to hopefully sleep peacefully for an hour or two before the boys wake, to see the hours piercing the darkness in digital neon-green 4:12 5:48 3:31 2:42. I try to remember the numbers as a game and tell myself that everyday from 4 to 7:45 and again from 5:20 to, who knows, whenever, the next 4 a.m. I get to have paternity leave all over again. Though pulled in yet another direction, and feeling as though there wasn’t enough of me to go around to begin with, I try to remain calm as I know calm is what will keep our ship afloat and our course true.