Somehow half a decade has flown by in my second career as an at-home dad. 1,826 days I have been a father. 260 weeks seems like an awful long time, how can it have passed just like that? The moon has shone full 62 times since the night she was born. How many new moons will I see before she drives, graduates, leaves home? How many before she is married? When I think of time that way it breathes new life into one of her favorite sayings, “I love you to the moon and back.” In the back of my mind, I wonder how many turns around the sun are in me? Will it be enough? Surely I am losing potential with my over-eating, my smoking (light these days, but not non-existent), my lack of exercise, not to mention sleep.
I’m a chronic procrastinator. Always waiting for some pressure to jolt me into action, or setting arbitrary moments in the future when I will do something. I’ll be a better husband tomorrow. I’ll do the dishes in the morning. New Year’s is coming up, I’ll start to exercise and eat better then. Next week, I’m going to spend less time staring at my phone and more time talking with my children about what they find important. Soon, I’ll start planning what to do with myself as my youngest enters school. A plan is needed. It’s time to plan to start planning. You see, the new and improved me is always right around the corner. Meanwhile, the moon waxes and wanes. The clock ticks and my fingers click. Is that pain in my joints? Has my steady march toward entropy gained momentum while I didn’t?
No matter. Tick. What’s gone is gone. Tock.
Quarter to three now. My mind races and my heart is determined to pump a little faster than usual this evening. Strangely, I’m not antsy. I’m writing. I’m putting my change to paper. Penning my own pressure. Write out of thin air. I’m nearly to the moon and I’ve got to make the return trip. I promised a young lady “and back…” This is no one-way journey and I can’t allow time to do me in like so much sandstone in the river bed.