I’m unimpressed by dates that include consecutive numbers. So it’s 8/9/10, in the order that we happen to put those numbers in the U.S., and depending on how you feel about military time, logic, and the general arbitrary nature of this sort of thing (I feel it’s completely and exclusively arbitrary -- is that coming across?), it might have been 05:06:07 on 8/9/10 this morning. Heck, you might even pull an 8/9/10 11:12:13 out of this sucker.I don’t care.I can feel a different set of numbers in my arms and my back.I feel them in long lost sleep, when our three-year-old daughter was tiny, and we worried about getting her enough to eat, and didn’t sleep, up long nights with her. Every visit to the pediatrician was an agonizing march to the scale.Is this the right scale? We used a different scale last time. I’m sure we were in Room Three last time. This isn’t the right scale. Can we go to Room Three? We want to use the same scale.Every ounce a battle. A prayer.She’s fine now. Petite.Our son turned two months old today. That’s a number I like. All of his numbers are good.We went to the pediatrician today, and the scale is a joy. I don’t even know if the rooms have numbers here, I don’t care. The doctor barely remembers us, and I don’t care. The kid’s numbers are huge. Like, 90th percentile huge. We slept six hours in a row last night.They’ll grow up and none of this will matter. They’ll find their own numbers to obsess over, to value, to celebrate, to remember.To weigh.To hold in their hands while they can.About the author: Ryan Sholin has been a thinker, doer, reporter, editor, strategist, filmmaker, bartender, father and husband. Not necessarily in that order. You can find him on Twitter at @RyanSholin.
