two things that happened
It’s fair to say I’m overthinking this. But in my defense, I overthink everything.
Last night, our two kids both did new things. Kaeden slept in his new “big boy” twin bed and Harper rolled over to her stomach. Both for the first time.
It’s almost hard to believe that it took this long. They both seem like they should have done it a long time ago. But that’s not the point.
They both did new things. On the same night. There must be a message in that, right?
Often life feels like something spilled. And all we are doing is cleaning up the mess. We chafe at progress, we agonize about the now. I worry about the dishes, sleep patterns and antioxidants. We spend half our evenings teaching about consequences and responsibilities. We explain that golf isn’t hockey and that proper football tackling doesn’t end in an armbar. I wonder if Harper is going to like jeans or skirts. Or if she will be a sweatpants girl. Or if she will be content with living her in own skin.
But firsts like last night, those are parenting milestones. They are reasons to stop, acknowledge and cry. If you do that sort of thing. That’s my way to say I do that sort of thing. We squeeze the most out of them. We relish in them and we take pictures of them. But none of that helps.
These moments come and go. It’s just a new bed and it’s just rolling over. There will be more firsts. But more firsts mean growing up and these firsts will be farther away. And yet just when we think they are growing up too fast or we can’t relate, something happens that seems purposefully designed to set our hearts aflutter.
If I’ve learned anything in three and a half years of being called a dad, I’ve learned that parenting is based on one thing, joy. Not everything about parenting brings joy. But it’s the joy part that makes the rest of it palatable. And joy? That’s nothing more than a smile in the morning, the second helping of a vegetable, a new bed and a new move.
Today, we are full of joy. That’s the message.
I love you both to the sun and the moon,