Me, Myself and I

We headed over to Gina's aunt's house yesterday for a swim and a barbecue.  They'd moved about an hour away from where we are so, while Gina had been there a while back, a few of us had not yet seen the new digs.  After splashing around for most of the day and scattering our collection of toys around the house, Gina took the baby inside to be fawned over by everyone and I settled into a hammock with the two big girls and we counted airplanes (Grandpa Steve's as they call them; since their Grandpa is a commercial pilot).  As we laid there - well, I laid there, they bounced and flopped and squirmed and wrestled and did everything BUT just lay there - I had this nearly indescribable moment of serenity.  My wife filled a large hole in my heart when she came into the picture, it's like she completed me.  But simultaneously she's still a separate entity.  It's like the round peg in the round hole, you still have a peg and a hole, they're just together.  But my children aren't separate from me.  At least, that's not how it feels.  Sitting with them, being with them is really just like being alone.  Not in the "I'm sad and alone so I need to wallow and eat comfort food" alone but in the "let's sing at the top of my lungs and dance around in my skivvies because no one will judge me" alone.  They are me.  They're not pegs that fill up the void they're part of the object itself.  It's a very strange thing.  And it's not a new feeling, it's just one that hit me as unique and notable.  I don't think there's anyone that makes you feel more "you" then you're children do.  There were three of us in that hammock, but really was just me.