Day 1.

The goal is to write a page for 30 days. I'm not sure what a page entails on this and it would be made easier if Ames was not constantly letting out deep, discontented sighs. Periodically, and by periodically I mean every minute, I have to put my hand on her stroller and push it back and forth. This baby loves to move. It seems the calm of sleep, laying still, breathing gently, those things that babies are suppose to do, bore her. When she is awake she is moving- constantly, and when she is asleep, if she is not being moved or shaken, or rattled, she wakes herself up so she can take care of it on her own. Kick, kick, squirm squirm. Smile. Squirm and Streeeeeeeeeeeetch.

I think this has been tougher than I thought it would be. You begin things thinking you have a handle on it. That other people don't attempt the things you do because they are weak and stagnant and unable to dream. Not because they are sane and rational and realize that both of you going to school with a newborn is a recipe for disaster. But in we jumped and maybe that is the key. Maybe in this life we have to jump in with both feet. Or maybe that is just me. I remember reading when I was a kid about this boxer. When he was 5-6 his dad decided he needed to learn how to swim and instead of lovingly taking him to the YMCA, he carried him out into the Ocean, picked him up over his head and threw him in. I must of been 8 or 9 when I read that story and remember being really impressed. It didn't really scare me, the idea of a little kid my age desperately trying not to drown, but made me wished I had learned to swim like that. That instead of suburban pools and swim teachers, I had been taken into the Ocean and thrown in. Moments of intense fear and panic usually quickly turn into moments of intense calm and satisfaction.

I guess Breckan and I have done the same thing. Here we are, this shuddering baby in a car seat, her in a Con Law class. Me at 8 am, drinking a Dr. Pepper because I slept 4 hours last night. No jobs. Very slim prospects. I think about how sand under that kids feet must of felt after he realized he didn't drown. How standing on his tippy toes, his nose barely above the water, must of made him feel taller and stronger than any person alive. The feeling that from here on out he'd be ok. As it stands right now, my head is barely above water, my arms are flailing and I'm waiting to feel something under my feet. Waiting for that feeling that this has worked. Waiting to feel I survived. Waiting to feel we'll be ok.