With

We think of this baby in terms of when she will arrive, as though she's in some faraway place, perhaps a baby factory in Detroit. In fact, she's here now. In a fit of cheese-ball sentimentality, it occurs to me that the baby will never be closer to Julie than she is right now.

Clearly, I need to watch some football or shoot some guns, drink some domestic canned beer, perhaps, and stop acting like such a pansy. Humor me a moment longer, though, and then I promise I'll go eat a raw steak or something.

I have students who tell me they don't know where they're headed for college but that it'll be far, far away. I hope that doesn't happen with our daughter. I know the instinct to seek independence is powerful, and I know that parents symbolize the main obstacle for teenagers who want to be all grown up. But it must be tough for parents to reconcile this reality with the memories of all that went into preparing for a baby. I'm trying to imagine the transition from caring for a child 24/7 to her wanting to get the hell away from us.

I ask those students why not pick a Minnesota college, live on campus, and then drive to Mom and Dad's house occasionally to eat dinner and ask for money. They look at me like I'm crazy. Maybe this will make more sense when our daughter is 17 and a complete pain, a self-centered, hormonal brat. Then we'll look forward to the day when she sees for herself what the world is really like.

I doubt it. And there's that phrase "look forward" again. Why are we always looking forward? For today I will enjoy the idea that our baby is with us in the most literal sense; in fact she is within Julie, which is spectacularly profound and agonizingly temporary.

Okay, I'm gonna go organize my tools.