The British Are Coming

Okay, so it's not actually the British, but it is a little baby that will one day, hopefully, speak English, an intelligible form of English, not the English that is most common in the southern parts of Louisiana. My wife is a staggering 7.5 months pregnant, the time is approaching and all too quickly. When she was pregnant for Eden we were in a much different state in our lives. Now, with Ashley being in school and me working ridiculous hours at my job, I think we were a bit more detached from each other than we are willing to admit. Unfortunately I have to take sole blame for that attribute as I have had the displeasure of convincing myself that I needed to work this hard to provide for my family, not realizing that when I worked less at my previous employment we made it just fine, perhaps better than now. Luckily I have 2 weeks vacation that I have not used, I fully intend to use them all when the baby arrives. I remember the first day I went back to work after Eden was born, I took 5 days off from work and not one time did I realize how hard it would be to return. The first day I went back I probably stalker texted my wife all day querying the most ridiculous things, as though I expected our 1 week old to start walking or speaking full sentences. Looking back I knew it were preposterous notions, but the thought of my daughter growing up and only knowing me as a daddy that worked all the time was very scary then, and now that she is smart enough to read situations, it's most frightening. Being a parent for the first is intimidating, you think you'll get use to it but with every age comes new fears, excitements and challenges. It is quite possibly the most rewarding and the most difficult thing I have ever done, and most likely ever will do. Although kids have a way of making it all worthy of existence itself. We trudge through our daily routines day in and day out caring very little for the things that go unseen in our lives only focusing on what we think we need to accomplish to somehow or another qualify the essence of our definitions of success. Only to have our quest for success passed by a journey we hadn't noticed we were on. "Success is a journey, not a destination," yet we treat our lives as though we are one day arriving at the finale marquis de puissance. Dare I compare my life to Hermes, or my quest to Job's or relate to the "Council of Mad Youth" as Antoine De La Sale wrote in his book Petit Jehan de Saintre on reason to  climb to the crater of a volcano in the Lipari Islands. It is Life's longing for itself that leads to our desire to conquer the "Council of Mad Youth" we dwell in years beyond our invitation. Is it this that insists on who we are? Or does the same subsist on who we are not?

Dammit, I've rambled again... Ah well! My thoughts, horribly translated.