She is seven months old and he still has trouble leaving her side. If, for whatever reason, he does have to put her down, it can only be for a brief second. And if she looks as though she may cry, she is immediately back in his arms. He never acts as though carrying her is a burden, he simply does it without complaint.
Allison believes that this child has saved him.
Tonight he is lying in his easy-chair in their living room, feet up, back of the chair completely reclined with his infant daughter sprawled across his chest. It is mid-July and the New Jersey heat has left her in a plain white diaper, her baby soft skin resting on the soft cotton of his t-shirt. Her thumb is in her mouth and she's sucking softly as she sleeps. He seems content to stay this way with her all night, holding her to him, watching her tiny body rise and fall with each breath he takes. He has spent many nights like this since her birth, simply watching her, adoring her, knowing that she has saved him from himself.
He had never imagined himself as a father. He had spent most of his life working not to become his father. He certainly hadn't imaged having a child of his own to screw up. But now that he had her, now that she was his to care for, someone who would, hopefully, love him unconditionally, he couldn't imagine his life without her.
It was nearly two a.m. when Allison woke alone in a cold bed. Greg's side of the bed was still made up but she wasn't worried. She near exactly where he was. Throwing back the covers, she padded her way across the house. When she reached the living room, she wasn't surprised by what she found there. She smiled and watched for a moment, taking in the form of her sleeping husband and child. She moved over to Greg's chair, carefully lifting the sleeping Amelia from her father's chest. Brushing her lips across his forehead, she took their daughter down the hall to her nursery, placing the child in her crib.
After assuring herself that the baby monitor was on, Allison retraced her steps back into the living room. She smiled, knowing that she didn't particularly want to wake her husband but knowing full well he wouldn't be able to walk in the morning if she left him where he lay.
"Greg," she shakes his shoulder gently, "Greg, come on, let's go to bed."
He stirs, blues eyes opening slowing to look up into her face. He smiles at her, knowing their routine, and pushes the chair back into a sitting position. He lets her help him up, only because he's too tired to argue, and the make their way back to the bedroom. Once he's checked the volume on the baby monitor they crawl into bed. It doesn't take long for him to drift to sleep, the sounds of his wife and daughter breathing reminding him that these women have breathed life back into him.