Abby and Roby and I went out to dinner at a nice restaurant in Montpelier for my belated birthay. It was delicious, thanks Sarah ;).

We ran into an old friend, and made some new ones, though we didn’t take down their numbers. An older couple, one a teacher the other a food writer, they knew a lot about detective novels and science fiction. They had sophisticated opinions about Dune as well as the chicken they ordered. They were far more generous with the chicken than the film, but they had a way of leveling critique that felt like feedback; a sort of parental appreciation cut with a desire to see improvement. The lady had had a manhattan before coming, and she blamed that for her potentially over-zealous appreciation of Roby, it was very cute. 

Before they sat down at the table next to us there were to men, fathers. Professionals, one was wearing a Bruins t-shirt, an a Bruins hat, and a Bruins watch strap.

I can’t recall what the other was wearing. 

We talked about parenthood, they’re both fathers of daughters, though one has a son as well. 

They promised us that it would get easier and more fun once they could talk and “engage with you a bit.” Which is the same thing as saying it’s shit now, sorry. 

I found that advice pretty strange and sad when Abby was pregnant, and I find it pitiful now. I think in the past I wrote about how it frustrated me, made me a bit cross with the parent for trying to unload their own inability to enjoy parenthood by promoting the notion that it’s shit when it’s actually incredible. Now I mostly feel sad for them. 

I mean, really. That child has to be able to speak in order for you to “engage” with them? Roby is the the most engaging, thoughtful, and curious person I have ever met. Every waking moment spent with her is a journey into mindful astonishment and joy that is difficult to describe. The more deeply I attend to her the more tenderly I adore not just her, but the world itself. It is to the point where I must be careful let I bruise myself like a peach for the love of it. 

That sounds a bit like pride, and maybe it is. I wish that dad had a better time with his 6 month old, because it’s phenomenal.