You get home from the hospital.
You have no idea what you're doing.
You don't sleep.
She's on your side of the bed while your wife recovers. You hand her over to be fed as she wakes up throughout the night.
You text your cousins, you ask your coworkers, will I ever sleep again? They say they slept great last night.
You research day-night confusion. You wonder if it's gas. Is she too hot or too cold? Will this be the formula that finally works?
You form routines, you see sunrises every day. You're not a morning person, but you look forward to your morning strolls with a coffee.
She gets sick, you take her to the emergency room. You rock her throughout the night so that she can get sleep. You do this again the following night. You've been awake 48 hours, you begin to hallucinate. You can't remember ever being this tired. Then she sleeps through the night, and you feel a bit more like yourself.
You play guitar to her every day. You take her on tours of the backyard, she loves touching the trees and the grass. You play splash the water.
You worry about naps and you worry about bedtime. You worry about her first flight, and then her next and her next. Then she won't roll over, then she won't crawl, then she won't say "Da da", then for a week it's her favorite phrase.
She's not on your side of the bed anymore. She's not in your room. The crib drops one rung and then three. She sits up on her own, and later she stands.
She loves freedom, and exploring, and the dog bowl we call the doggy water park. She loves to swing and climb mount stairs. She gets distracted easily and has a baby war cry while she turbo crawls across the room, her favorite green block in hand.
Then she's one.
And you can see the toddler starting to come.