Saturday Morning, 9 o'clock

It has been a while since I found the time to write to you. Writing has been pushed to the side, thoughts and theories have been replaced by hugs and smiles. I’ve been so busy marveling at you, sharing days and nights and counting moments until I get back to you. So much has happened since you were born, it has only been 11 weeks and you are so small, so young and yet I know you very well, understand you, recognize every little feature and movement. You are starting to play now, starting to interact with the world with your arms and legs, holding, grabbing, kicking. In these few weeks you have learned to smile, to laugh, to turn your head and find me across the room. You have such stunning eyes; there is so much behind them, so many stories to be told, and so many things you seem to already know. You love your mother most, that’s how it is supposed to be and she deserves it so much. Every morning you wait and give her your biggest smile; it’s the best moment in my day.
In 11 weeks you have been to a wedding, ran 30-40 miles, had a late first Christmas, watched many soccer games on t.v., featured in many pictures, gave first smiles and learned to eat. Your granny and granddad and uncle Adam visited with you and you bonded with them and lay upon your grandmother and stared at her and my fears that you would not know each other all went away.
As I write you lie beside me on your play mat. You are kicking the soft, plastic ball that hangs by your feet and sucking at your thumb. You stretch, turn your head and I call your name twice until you look at me with your midnight eyes. A brief smile, a yawn and then you turn back and play. So together we lie, you in your world and I in mine, drifting in time.

Punk Rock Girl

The first song you ever heard was in our car as we drove you back from the hospital. It was a hot Monday afternoon, November 17th around 12.15. The song was ‘Babylon’ by David Gray. It’s not a bad first song to hear or sing, though late at night when I am trying to help you sleep I’m singing ‘Angels’ instead.

You were born at 8.24 pm on Saturday November 15th, 2008. Your mother is so brave, so strong; I admire her and love her so much. You weighed 6 pounds and 10 ounces. I sit and stare at you and time slips by and you look at me and I don’t want to blink, don’t want to swallow or turn away or miss an instant with you. We named you Sophie Kathleen Geraghty. I wonder if your feet are like mine, I know your eyelashes are from your mother; I now know I will have the pleasure in my life of knowing two women who will stop my breath with a simple look, an unprovoked smile. Your middle name is after your great granny Kathleen Smullen. You will be my little muse, my heartbeat, my compass. You were 19 inches long when you were born.

One final song tonight? In the West of Ireland, there is a town called Galway where it always rains. One day we will visit there and as we walk through the drizzle and narrow streets, I’ll turn to you and sing:

And I ask you friend, what's a fella to do?
'Cause her hair was black and her eyes were blue

November 15th 2008... Hiya!!!

On a Winter’s Night?

Where do I see you in a novel? What kind of character will you be? Is it a mythology, a children’s adventure, a tale for all ages? Is your hair short or long? Light or dark? Are you tall for your age and do you have a defiant look in the face of challenges? Are you the hero of the story or are you by the hero’s side? Am I there with you? Do I understand the things you see, the challenges you face? Do I share your doubts, your triumphs? Maybe, I’m just in the background, the introduction; the other that doesn’t understand, the parent, the structure you can return to when your adventures are complete. Maybe your mum is there with me, two black and white characters that represent society, all good, all safe.

I’d like to take you on some adventures; I’d like to be there alongside you, battling evil, saving something. I’d like to defend you and fight off everything that is bad. I could help read maps, I could row across the rivers or chase away the dogs with a stick and a loud voice and an unshaven scowl. Maybe I’d have a long beard and long hair, I could be wise and give you guidance; I could give you that look that means everything will be okay.

It’s getting close now, the first adventure together. I have a sense, a vision, I feel it coming soon. Prepare yourself, be confident. You will be okay, you have trained well, and I know you will make it through no matter what. I’ll be there waiting, with your mother, getting ready to provide that structure, that safety.

Nov 4th...

Today was a remarkable day. It’s Nov 4th 2008 and when we woke this morning it was raining. It is very rare for it to rain in San Diego so that makes it a special day. It’s probably only the second time it rained since we found out about you. One day I’ll explain to you what it is like to grow up in a world where rain is the norm but for now let’s just agree that in San Diego rain is special, just like you. However, today will not be remembered just because of the rain, it will be remembered for a historic moment.
One day you might ask us if we remember what we were doing when Obama was elected. This seems to be the kind of question we’ve asked our parents about in the past. Just in case our memories fade or the stories change I wanted to get it down on record. Your mum was sitting with you by the computer writing thank you cards for the gifts we received at your baby shower. Your dad was drinking some tea and watching CNN count the votes. It turned 8 o’clock in San Diego and the polls closed on the West Coast. Within seconds they said Obama was the new President… within 20 minutes your mum announced that she would probably forget where she was when this all happened.

So a few weeks before you were born Obama was elected President, it rained in San Diego, your father drank some tea and your mum and dad shared a small glass of champagne and wondered when you would arrive.

Hello in there...

So this is how the outside world sees you at 36 weeks, 6 days old. Other than the alien-probing ultrasounds this is one of the few images we have of you as you have been growing. It takes a lot to get a picture taken of your mum when she is dressed up at the best of times; it takes quite a bit of convincing to post a picture on the web that shows her belly sticking out. However, I caught her at a sleepy moment and she relented.

By the way, your mum's name is Kristen. I call her Krissy. My name is Simon. Together we are "Si&Kris". We've been going by these names for quite a number of years and we're not so sure about being renamed as mum and dad for the next 30 years. We understand the concept and tradition but it's difficult for me to imagine anyone calling Krissy anything but Krissy, it doesn't feel quite right. I'm working on accepting it but if you happen to want to stick with Si and Kris or Simon and Krissy, I'll be very okay with that.

Names/titles in general is a recurring topic. We're supposed to change ours and supposed to create one for you. This is not the simple and nonchalant process that we may make it seem or how we may recount it to you in future years. Your mother has spent at least 80-100 hours of her "study" time researching various baby names. Multiple future relatives have weighed in with ridiculous suggestions. We've secretly come to a decision but are holding off on any announcements until we see you and verify that you do in fact look like an "x" or you might look like an "x" one day or that we haven't got sick of the name "x" by the time you join us out here. For now, stay comfortable with alien or baby geraghty...

Nesting...

So your crib is built, our room has become your room and piles of gift boxes are building in the garage. The first lesson to be passed on is an important one - never buy a chest of drawers from Target, spend the extra $50, don't think you are saving money... it is a mistake. Remember that 4 weeks before you were born, your dad and a friend called Noe spent 4 hours battling the 18 pages of obscure diagrams, nails that didn't fit and pieces of wood that when put together may give the appearance of a chest of drawers but upon closer inspection are actually an oversized wooden rattle that shakes and provides all kinds of soothing baby noises. So, please remember life is short and hours of frustration spent with little wooden widgets and pieces of wood from a box bought at Target is not a good way to waste time.