time keeps slippin'

First: look at that sweet girl. We were at the beach here for the first time. She's wearing the dress Ben got her from Hawaii, which we felt was only appropriate for an ocean adventure.

Second: You might have heard that I made Brandon read The Host. So far, he says it "isn't bad." Now, in his world, that could mean the greatest thing he has read, or it could mean "it's better than a swift kick in the nuts." For an example of his highest praise that I have received, please read this.

Also note that I have made lesser men faint dead away when eating my chicken tacos.

In The Host, our heroine Wanderer (and why is it so close to heroin? Am I ignorant on it's etymology? Are we women heroes so addicting [like my chicken tacos, but I digress from digressing] that we make men die? Really?), makes comments on not knowing how much time you have left to live your life. And frankly, the thought both scares the dickens out of me and also calms me. It scares me because I've never felt that I will be able to love Birdy as long and as well as I hope. Ever since I fell in love with her (which is different from when she was conceived or when she was born, but that is a different story for a different time), I've never had the sense that I would be with her for very long. Objectively I know she'll grow up, go to college or whatever, have a family, and live her life well. That being said, I don't see myself sharing that with her. I feel like something is going to happen to me so that I can't be a part of those experiences with her.

Let's be clear: I don't see me taking myself out of the picture, if you get my drift. I'm simply not there. I don't know where I am, but I'm not with Birdy, which makes me sad.

Is that weird? It makes everyday things so desperate for me. I just walked through her bedroom and picked her up, wondering to myself "how many more chances will I have to hug her?" And when I was hugging her, I almost cried.

Ugh. How morbid.

So I pose this question to you, whether you are a mother or a father, or a lover of another thing that will die: do you feel this way about things? This odd sense of urgency and protectiveness?

Or, does this just mean that for once in my life I have found something that I would gladly give my life for?

Or, is it just 11:30 and the fact that I've been up for 16 and half hours going at full speed?

Personally, I'm caught between the two, but leaning more toward the latter.