Egg Shells

I just got an announcement about the birth of my best friend’s son.  He’s absolutely adorable and I wish I could be there to see him in person.  It made me think back to the births of my children.  I remember holding each one in my arms for the first time and thinking “Oh my goodness, it’s real.  I’m a dad!”

It an exciting and frightening feeling.  It’s amazing to just look at the tiny person and think of all the adventures they have ahead of them.  You want to protect them from the world, but you know that sooner or later they will have to face it and you just hope that you’ve prepared them enough.

My oldest daughter is now nine years old and sometimes I still think of her as my little baby.  She wants to be so independent and I have to fight the urge to coddle her.  No matter how old she gets I’ll know she’ll still be my little girl.

It’s a lot like the fossils I like to collect.  I have all kinds of fossils, but one of my favorites is a tiny brownish-red one.  It’s thin and curved and has some texture to it.  It’s not much to look at, but it’s actually a fossilized eggshell from an Oviraptor.

It’s incredible to think that some tiny dinosaur hatched from that fragile egg and despite the frantic and exciting scene that it must have been, that tiny fragment of eggshell wasn’t trampled.  Instead it was preserved and now I can sit and hold it in my hands.

The memories I have of the births of each of my children are the same way.  The days, weeks and months after their births were frantic and exhausting and yet certain moments are preserved forever.  I’ll forever treasure those precious moments.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s