a different kind of writing

Dear Chicken Nugget,

My last letter to you was about six months ago. Since then a lot has happened in our lives: you turned one, you learned to walk, you began to talk, dear loved ones passed away, and your mom went back to graduate school full-time while continuing to help women bring their babies into this world.

My writing in the last six months has come to a complete stand-still, not because I have nothing left to say, in fact, I compose new letters in my head constantly, but because of you :).

Your mom and I have found that our computer time is very limited now that you can walk and talk. If I wanted to make time to sit at the computer to write a letter it would be in exchange for sleep - and most parents will agree that that's not a good trade-off.

Instead I've been watching you grow, I've been watching you learn and develop, and I've been providing the guidance you need to do it all safely. I figure it's a more active way of teaching you than writing letters.

Still, I will not give up on this little adventure completely. My hope is that I can still sit down occasionally to write a letter to you that is profound or at least funny.

In the meantime, I have started a different kind of writing, one that has you as an audience as well. I pulled out an old moleskine I had on my bookshelf and began putting together a sort of memoir (or, random thoughts by me centered around what I love the most - God, family and running). I imagine that writing in a notebook may be more productive than the kind needing the computer. We'll see how that works out.

If any of it goes public, it'll be found here. Otherwise, I'll make sure to leave this moleskine in my will to you.

There's a lot I want to tell you and teach you, Nugget, but there's only so many hours in the day. I'd rather spend those hours reading to you, jumping with you, and holding your hand. If an extra hour pops up, you'll find it in the form of an extra letter, an entry in the moleskin, or a happier well-rested papi.

 I love you more than I can write,

Tu papa