[image_1_small_right]The below is my entry in The 3six5 Project. It's a book project where 365 people write 365 word diary entries on a day they select. When it's done, it'll be a diary of 2010 written from 365 perspectives. My day was March 10, 2010.
I hear Jake cry. Even through the fog of sleep, I know this means only one thing. My shift has begun.
Get up. Find robe. Get Jake. Go downstairs. Make bottle. Start laptop. Go back upstairs. Settle in the rocking chair with Jake. Put headphones on. Stream an episode of This American Life. Feed Jake.
Talk about grounding. Our life revolves around feedings. Jake's stomach is our clock.
This is how my mornings start now that Andrea and I made a human being. We still can’t get over it. The most fundamental fact of life is nothing short of surreal to us. I make light of it to avoid getting stuck in an endless loop of wonder. I think of Jake as a mashup. Or a DIY project. Make should devote an issue to parenthood. Forget robots (Volume 19), making a human is the ultimate DIY project.
I hang with Jake until about nine. We have a pretty good morning routine now. And I can troubleshoot almost anything myself. I’m no longer a clueless dad. I enjoyed hanging out with Jake this morning even though he spent most of it sleeping in my arms head burrowed in the folds of my robe.
I hand off Jake to Andrea, who is on maternity leave. I ask her how she feels. She says OK. That’s good. She’s a pediatrician, and the unexpected product of mixing pediatrics and motherhood is worry. She knows too much. I have no worries. Jake is healthy. My ease makes Andrea a little mad. I once asked her if it would help if I pretended to be worried. She said yes.
I go downstairs to begin work. I’m co-producing an event about resilience, design, and the sharing. As I work, the stories my dad told me last night keep churning in the background. The name Gorenflo is 800 years old. We’ve avoided getting wiped out despite persecutions, wars, and migrations. My dad says that our talent is the ability to see trouble coming, and leave before it happens. We've got to evolve. There’s nowhere left to run.