You never expect to be in love like this.

At least, before becoming a parent, it never really was imaginable. Certainly, there is romantic love, which is at times both beautiful and horrible. And when you find someone with whom it is more beautiful than horrible, you tend to get ideas of settling in for the long term. But romantic love so often has that correlation, that return on investment, that gratifyingly selfish aspect: romance.

I have found that parental love is something else altogether. It’s loving so hard it makes you tired. And even when you are exhausted, the love continues to come out of you, as though a brand new force akin and at times equivalent to gravity has taken hold of you.

It can be awesome and all-consuming at the same time.

It’s bewildering. To love so much that you want to cry, just watching them sleep.

Today, I got some quality time with Rebekah. She’s an interesting and lovable little girl. At once all about princesses but at the same time carrying the unmistakable mark of having an older brother: fearless and certain, loving and inquisitive.

She asked me if we could go ride around the block, her on her little tricycle, me trotting along behind. At midday and peak sun, I’m not usually inclined to go out, but I’ve been trying so hard to be less The Parent Of No and more relaxed with kids. “More relaxed” is the wrong way to put it. “Less uptight” would be more honest.

So I say yes and we buckle up her helmet and are out the door. She pedals her little trike furiously, little knees popping up and down with each wheel rev. She leans forward against the handlebars to squeeze every last drop of speed that she can muster going uphill, and when the front wheel finally starts to slip under the strain, she calls back, “Push me!”

We travel around the neighborhood and she swerves back and forth across the sidewalk like a child-sized pinball. Then, without warning, she’ll gasp, come to a full-stop and exclaim, “Exquisite thing!” It is really a big word to come out of such a small little mouth and I cannot help but find it ridiculously funny. But I’m always sure to laugh at such things on the inside. It’s funny, but it is also preciously beautiful. Sometimes I put my finger on the scales, but other times I want the balance to be all her own.

Among Rebekah’s “exquisite” things today: a pine cone, an oak leaf, two magnolia leaves, two near-black rocks, two light gray rocks, a small stick and a seed-bearing blade of grass. She carefully tucks her finds into the little nook behind her seat. “Mommy will love this [one],” she’ll say. Then she’ll return her focus to the handlebars and mash the pedals with abandon.

Invariably, half her treasures will slide off the bike. A good daddy, I dutifully pick them up and each time she looks behind her seat in concern, I hold my hand up to show her that the treasures are still safe.

Thus comforted, she again tries to set a land speed record on her tricycle.

Tonight, after dinner and bath, I was able to get each child settled into bed. Rebekah wanted me to tell her a princess story. Reed wanted me to tell him about my day, and to tell me about his, about getting to school, about finishing up a new book, about art and coming into lunch from recess.

In turn, each child fell asleep in my arms. That is such a special gift. They’re both growing up so fast. I know soon they’ll be teenagers and will be quite certain their old man doesn’t know anything worth knowing. But for now … now, they’re still at least a little bit by sweet babies, who only want to curl up in my arms and fall asleep.

I cannot help but
linger in their perfection,
slumbering angels

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