I’m a dad. I’m neither an old wise dad, nor a brand new dad. I have 2 girls, a 3 year old and a 4 month old. My three year old does not believe silence is golden. She believes silence is a wonderful opportunity for everyone to hear what she has to say, or for me to make one of her princess figurines ‘talk’…mostly the latter. My four month old is preparing for college by sleeping during the day and staying up all night. She’s even started to engage in ‘deep talks’ in the middle of the night with anybody who will listen. It’s mostly a garble of noise because she’s only 4 months old, but she’s earnest. A few days ago at roughly 4ohmygodwhywontshesleep am in the morning she rolls over and I swear she started telling jokes. Again, just newborn cacophony, but she insists they were hilarious. I was less amused.
So I’m a dad… and when I met Red many years ago I knew that I had found the woman who would build a family with me. I always knew she would be the great mom that she is today, and she’s already introduced you to our girls, little miss (LM), and little miss junior (LMJ) through the pages of this blog. I always kinda thought that I’d enjoy being a dad, and I was right. I love being silly, I like to play, and I have an endless supply of hugs for the little miss’s. I get to buy toys again… (let’s pretend that I actually stopped buying toys because I’m an ‘adult’ and just go with that). I get to spend weekends in museums, and parks, and playgrounds with my family, and I love that… I wanted that. I’m a dad.
Lately I’m a nervous dad. Perhaps anxious is more accurate. Sometimes downright scared. Most of you are probably aware that LMJ threw us a life curveball about 2 months ago when she started getting sick. Then she got really sick and we got really scared. Nobody wants their newborn in a hospital, let alone enduring spinal taps, and marrow procedures, and blood draws, and pokes, and prods, and medicine that tastes like sewage. LMJ is doing much much better now, thankfully… but she’s not through the proverbial woods and we get to wait and wait for an exact diagnosis. We get weekly trips to the hospital to draw blood. We get results, but we don’t have a lot of answers. Answers apparently take time.
I should probably already know this, because I’m not a brand new dad. Sometimes answers take time. Parenting is messy. All kinds of messy. Maybe if I make it to old wise dad, messy won’t matter so much. Sometimes right now the messy feels like a heavy weight… and sometimes LM informs me that she is Santa because of her soap beard in the bath… and that Rudolph is coming over, and that I should definitely go right to bed because you’re supposed to go bed when Santa’s coming… and there is no messy. So now I have to go ‘to bed’ (probably repeatedly), because Santa told me to, and that’s cool, because I’m a dad.