Well, here’s where it all started (for me, at least, and I guess for Ava, too, in a way). I’m told this shot was taken the day I came home from the hospital after being born.
That’s my mom, there, overseeing my yawn. I can’t look at this picture without thinking about the day we brought Ava home and showed her our (her) house for the first time. There’s just no forgetting that moment when your life goes from two to three. It’s even more profound in many ways than being in the hospital and seeing Ava for the first time.
Or that first night home, when you’re awakened from a deep and well-deserved sleep to realize that there’s someone else in the house. Someone small and fussy (and awake) who has absolutely zero chance of being alive by the end of the week without your care and attention. There’s a fascinating and very challenging period there in the first week or so when you come to understand (no, really understand) that your life isn’t really yours anymore. Or, that it is yours, all right, but it’s also someone else’s now, and by some cruel (and wonderful) twist of fate, that someone else has more influence over your life than you do. What a ride.