I love watching the sun set over the Pacific Ocean. It sinks, sinks, colors the sky beautifully, and then it is gone. And I just stare out at the ocean through the entire thing.
I got to see it rise over the Atlantic Ocean for the first time this past weekend.
It was my first time out to the Maryland coast, one of those little adventures that John and I are addicted to yet sometimes loathe until it's happy hindsight. You know, stressing to get out the door, arguing over how to get there and who sucks at directions on the fly (that would be me) and being constantly overwhelmed by the large size of our family and the big work of our little guys that crowds out so much else.
But we did squeeze in some fun between eating, sleeping, eating, and sleeping. The girls and I hustled out a block to the beach, hoping to catch the sun rising, and I was thrilled to get there with no sun in sight. The girls fiddled around in the sand while we waited and waited for the big moment, watching the horizon get just a little brighter. And then suddenly, this big brilliant light burst out of the water, and it was so bright that I COULDN'T WATCH IT ANYMORE! So much for the peaceful gazing I'm accustomed to at sunset.
And then, I realized, babies are kinda like ocean sunrises. You wait for it, wait for it, and then BAM it's brilliant and beautiful and blinds you all at once and you go bumbling through the rest of the day (or life?!), glad that it's there but unable to soak in all the greatness until, well, sunset?
(And, babies or sunrise, it turns out having a camera to capture what you can't see at the time comes in kind of handy too :)).