It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like writing, and even as I write this, I’m not really sure I feel like writing. There are plenty of events to write about, probably most notably one that started with a 5:00 AM departure from a powerless home to go to a hospital near Baltimore to welcome Rex Xavier Murphy to the world.
He seems to be enjoying it here mostly. His sister seems to be enjoying having him around. Yesterday she burped him after I gave him a bottle and it was precious. I wish I had taken pictures, but I was too content just savoring the moment.
I’m tired, too. Like real tired. I never got enough sleep before Rex was born. I wake up around 5:30, leave for work around 6:00, get home around 4:00, put Ariella to bed around 7:30 and then try to enjoy conversation with my gorgeous wife until I fall asleep, which is ALWAYS later than the 9:30 PM time that would mark a possibility of 8 hours sleep. Now, I’m both going to bed late and being awoken intermittently throughout the night. And sometimes, it’s tough.
I feel like with Ariella, I was iron. I could go forever without sleep. I stood in the gap as often as possible and let my bride rest. This time, I find myself drowning sometimes. I find myself unable to be the hero I was last time. And it sucks.
I like being the hero. I like being super involved with my children. I’ve said before how sad I think it is that so many dads are content to watch their wives do much of the parenting of their young children.
It’s not been easy to reconcile myself to not being a hero. A lot of time my ego is such that I see only two options: hero and failure. The third, more realistic, more common option, “human,” is brushed off like the dirt on Jay-Z’s shoulders.
Well, I’m human, I guess. I’m tired. I’m sad I’m letting people down just to keep functional. I’m stressed about school starting up again in October.
I’m worried about stuff, and the tiredness just pricks at the anxiety that runs in my blood and typically successfully address, suppress and ignore. Sometimes, admitting I’m human reminds me that it’s still coursing through my veins, and reminds me to take up the standard again and live life the best I can and do the best I can. Even if it’s not heroic.
And that’s why I haven’t felt like writing.