In the last week, several friends have announced to the world that soon, little wee ones will be invading their home. I couldn't be happier.
I love babies, and it almost always makes me happy when people have them--if I think they'll be good parents, and these most recent friends I trust will be.
Some people, though, just don't like babies. They don't like that they need to be fed or changed or that they cry a lot. They don't like that babies can't talk or walk or hit the toilet right out of the gate. I've found these people are usually selfish people in one way or another, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Hey, if you're an adult and you've reasoned that your freedom means more to you and makes you happier than an infant who demands your every waking second, it's hard for me to argue. Hell, I can't describe how much I miss jumping in my car and heading off in any direction without anyone to answer to or think about after I put foot to pedal.
But that was then. Today, a corporation of children own my freedom, and they dole it out every so slightly. Evidently, having a place to live, food to eat, clothes that look cool, and iPods to keep entertained take precedence over pop's would-be aspirations. I understand this, and I knew what I was getting into before I became a dad. And the sacrifices I make aren't any more than millions of others, and for the most part, I gladly make them, especially when the effort is recognized.
Still, it's difficult when my freedom disappears for weeks on end. Sometimes, I forget what he looks like. Sometimes, when he comes wandering back after a long time away, it's awkward because we don't know how to act around each other. I'll say, "How you been?"
"Bored," he'll say. "When are we going to play?"
Invariably, I disappoint him with my answer.
"Not today, I have a bike to fix."
"What about tomorrow?"
"Sorry, man. Got to work."
"Tomorrow night?"
"No good. Basketball practice."
"Well, what if we stay up late and play guitar?"
"You know, I would, but I'm really tired already."
"Fine, whatever.
And so it goes.
Now, the flip side to that freedom lost are moments of complete and utter joy gained, moments you can't obtain if you're not a parent, such as completely out of the blue hearing, "Dad, I love you." Or "Dad, want to color because I like the way you draw dogs." Or "Hey, I just wanted to say 'thanks' for making me do all that stuff myself." Or "Dad, what's your favorite band ever?" and listening to the answer.
Sometimes, I have to remind myself what's so great about being a dad. There are a lot of things that will try to get in the way of that, including children growing up and not needing you nearly as much as they once did. That's why I always get a kick out of a friend who is expecting a baby. It reminds me of the importance of those early years and all the rewards that turn up over the years that follow.
I love babies, and it almost always makes me happy when people have them--if I think they'll be good parents, and these most recent friends I trust will be.
Some people, though, just don't like babies. They don't like that they need to be fed or changed or that they cry a lot. They don't like that babies can't talk or walk or hit the toilet right out of the gate. I've found these people are usually selfish people in one way or another, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Hey, if you're an adult and you've reasoned that your freedom means more to you and makes you happier than an infant who demands your every waking second, it's hard for me to argue. Hell, I can't describe how much I miss jumping in my car and heading off in any direction without anyone to answer to or think about after I put foot to pedal.
But that was then. Today, a corporation of children own my freedom, and they dole it out every so slightly. Evidently, having a place to live, food to eat, clothes that look cool, and iPods to keep entertained take precedence over pop's would-be aspirations. I understand this, and I knew what I was getting into before I became a dad. And the sacrifices I make aren't any more than millions of others, and for the most part, I gladly make them, especially when the effort is recognized.
Still, it's difficult when my freedom disappears for weeks on end. Sometimes, I forget what he looks like. Sometimes, when he comes wandering back after a long time away, it's awkward because we don't know how to act around each other. I'll say, "How you been?"
"Bored," he'll say. "When are we going to play?"
Invariably, I disappoint him with my answer.
"Not today, I have a bike to fix."
"What about tomorrow?"
"Sorry, man. Got to work."
"Tomorrow night?"
"No good. Basketball practice."
"Well, what if we stay up late and play guitar?"
"You know, I would, but I'm really tired already."
"Fine, whatever.
And so it goes.
Now, the flip side to that freedom lost are moments of complete and utter joy gained, moments you can't obtain if you're not a parent, such as completely out of the blue hearing, "Dad, I love you." Or "Dad, want to color because I like the way you draw dogs." Or "Hey, I just wanted to say 'thanks' for making me do all that stuff myself." Or "Dad, what's your favorite band ever?" and listening to the answer.
Sometimes, I have to remind myself what's so great about being a dad. There are a lot of things that will try to get in the way of that, including children growing up and not needing you nearly as much as they once did. That's why I always get a kick out of a friend who is expecting a baby. It reminds me of the importance of those early years and all the rewards that turn up over the years that follow.
Blaine, you sound like a great dad. And every stage is truly a joy to look forward to because as they get older they will seek your advice on life altering choices coming their way and you will then again feel the magnitude of your presence and guidance. Although, sometimes I do wish I had my own little apartment where I could go to read uninterrupted. Reading a book without a thousand demands on me - that's my open road! Good luck finding your balance!
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