In two hundred and fifty words

As many of you may know I applied to attend law school this Fall. I've heard back from 9 of 12 schools, and most of the response has been positive. I was encouraged to apply to Yale by a handful of people even though I knew I had little to no chance of being accepted, but I guess you never know unless you try! One unique aspect of the Yale Law School application is their request for a 250 word essay on a subject of your choice. It was actually quite a fun exercise, and it alone almost made filling out the application worthwhile. Allison wanted me to post the essay sooner (before Tessa was born), but I didn't want to until they had made a final decision on my application. Now that Yale has officially, but not unexpectedly, rejected my application I guess there's no reason not to post it now. I present my Yale 250:

“Come here! Press it with your finger,” she says, mild concern in her voice. I touch it. Taking my finger away I notice the impression remains. I try again, moving my finger along the surface of her foot leaving a long shallow groove in its wake. Under normal circumstances her skin would have quickly rebounded, hiding any trace of my touch, but we aren’t under normal circumstances. My wife is eight months pregnant, and her body, it seems, is at its tipping point. Her lungs have about as much room now as the ugly stepsisters’ feet in the glass slippers, and what was a slow, yet steady, weight-gain has become…well….not so slow and steady. Water retention is taking its toll, too – hence that groove, still visible, running from her ankle toward her toes.

It’s been fascinating to watch her body change. First, there was just a little extra flesh (perhaps she’d eaten one too many donuts at her faculty meeting), but then there were the unmistakable rumblings of life. She ate a See’s chocolate, and our little daughter, perhaps taking after her parents, started into a fetal dance. Even with these obvious physical signs, though, it all felt a little unreal…until now. I’m assembling a crib. We’re folding itty-bitty onesies and filling dresser drawers with them. I notice the groove on her foot is finally starting to fade a little, but it makes me realize someone is about to leave her own, more permanent, impression on our lives.