baby's first steps . . . up canyon walls

Dear Murphy,

You just got back from your first climbing trip. I'm glad you only weigh ounces, because the few times I had to climb with a backpack made me realize that extra weight can really throw off your balance. I was worried I was putting you at grave risk going through with the rock climbing vacation, that a bad rock fall could dislodge you. But I chose easier routes and probably got more exercise from the hikes to and from the ledges than climbing itself. However, the camping was probably a true risk. You and I survived six nights of near and below freezing temperatures, one night of 60 m.p.h. winds, and several days where the rock was so cold my fingers would numb up mid-climb. I got fearful for you when I shivered for hours at a time.

In general, I'm adjusting to you physically with the greatest of ease. I haven't had morning sickness, just a general lessening of appetite, and I'm still feeling pretty energetic. Emotionally is another story. Your poor father has endured two major crying fits. The first was over my worry that our relationship wouldn't be as good once we became parents. (Sorry, if that makes you feel like a third wheel.) The second over trying to get of New York City soon because the stress of child-rearing here will probably have me meltdown.

Your father and I have a relationship that everyone admires. So many times, my friends have commented how well he and I sync up, especially in our love of movies, music, and books. Even when there's a table of friends around, he and I will address comments to the table looking frequently at each other. We don't lock others out, it's just clear that we're very engaged with each other's thoughts. We like Saturday morning bike rides and breakfast over newspapers. We have recently taken to singing "You Are My Sunshine" everynight as we cuddle our way into sleep. We call each other "sweet pea" and "baby, baby." I know the latter title will go the second you arrive. I hope we can still maintain this affection through the rigors of child-raising. I know we'll be better parents if we don't fall into the trap of just communicating over where you are, what you need, what toy you want, what you need for lunch, etc. A lot of parents go there, and then when the kid goes to college the conversation just stops. Who are you again? What do we have in common other than our progeny?

Life is a juggling act, and you'll be the new ball. I know I'll have to cut back on other passions to give you the attention you need and build a relationship with you that's as strong as the one I have with your father. But I'm not going to give up any of the other balls completely. You might resent it if I choose to climb on a sunny Saturday and leave you with your Dad. But when you're older, you'll realize that time I had to myself makes me a happier, better person for you. Time away will never be about avoiding you, so much as fueling up on experiences that will make me a more enriching presence for you.

Unlike a lot of couples, your father and I still do some vacations apart. We miss each other, but when each one of us comes back re-charged, our relationship seems even more alive. He missed me while I was climbing. I miss him now as he drives up to Vermont for his annual boys ski trip. Being apart isn't about getting away from each other, but returning to each other in finer form. You'll understand this, I hope.