The Night Light
March 27, 2016
Dearest Solomon,
I know it seems like forever since I’ve written you son — it does to me. There’s been lots and lots going on actually and I’ve already written you several letters but then wasn’t sure I should publish them. Maybe soon.
You’re 10 months old today and I can feel how much you grow every single day. Everything is a new adventure for you and you venture out just far enough to realize something bad can happen and then retreat back to us for safety. It’s one of the things I love the most.
I’ve been on the road a lot lately. So much so that I actually forgot this week existed and that I was actually going to be home. My job calls me to lots of different places to work with our team and to meet with our awesome customers. But being away is hard for everyone — you, me and mommy.
Every day, you change so much. I see it in the pictures Meena sends. I see it in your face when we do a Hangout. I hear it in the way your mom talks about you. It’s hard trying to keep up remotely. And it’s sad.
I’ve been known to have your Dropcam feed up more than once when away. Every little notification is a chance to see you and I take them every chance I get. And though it’s remote, it’s the only way I stay sane, to be honest.
When I’m home, I keep the night light on my side of the bed. I keep an eye on you through the night and tend to you whenever I can, if I can keep mom from having to wake. Fortunately, you sleep pretty well so there’s minimal fuss in the evening.
On the road, the Dropcam is my night light. I keep my phone on my bed so I can take a peep whenever there’s some movement or I’m just curious what you’re up to. The big difference, of course, is that I am not there and can’t help. It never feels good to feel unhelpful. It feels worst to pile it all on your mom.
Your mom is amazing with you. From my spot, she just seems so natural with everything you need. I got a taste of that just yesterday when she took a little day-cation. Mom went off with Aunt Skye to eat some oysters (disgusting little beasts if you ask me) and relax for the day. That left me and you to do what we do.
Overall, the day went great. We went to Gymboree, the park, watched a bit of softball, some Wheels on the Bus and lots more fun. What wasn’t so great, though, was the fact that you wouldn’t take the bottle from me. Now for historical reference, this has never been a problem — a little resistance sure, but never outright refusal. Of course, this is part of a larger trend — you have given up on eating solid foods for weeks now, but still.
We pushed through, but this lead to the unfortunate circumstance that I had to reach out to mom and ask her what to do — which is the last thing I wanted to have to do. To make matters worse, she had to come back so we could make sure you ate. And then, lastly, the worry if something was wrong. So a good day, but not great.
But more than all that, was just realizing how hard it is when you’re alone. We love you more than everything in the world, but that doesn’t make it any less challenging. Simple things like trying to get something to drink, or grabbing something to eat are all virtually impossible (well they feel that way, anyway). I couldn’t even figure out the new stroller thing!
Every day, you change so much every day, son. I miss it so much when I’m away. But being away has taught me something else, something maybe more important. I miss your mom, too and seeing her with you. Maybe what I really need is a better way to see how she’s doing and the rest will fall in place. Maybe I need another night light. Maybe I didn’t really know what I was looking for all those nights.
Love always,
Dad
