On one’s early 20s…

I had a surreal moment driving down the highway the other day.

A song from 2008 came on, and I was suddenly struck with the vivid, tangible, memory of being in my early 20s…

You might remember it. That desire for a future you can’t quite put into words yet… A feeling of dissatisfaction and listlessness… a sense that the world doesn’t take you seriously quite as you are…

…an odd, persistent, feeling of life being a bit incomplete.

Of course, I wasn’t incomplete, and, in fact, life was pretty good… I just didn’t know it yet.

And as quick as that, the sensation passed, and I was filled with gratitude. For the love of my wife, for the joy of my two healthy sons, for a meaningful career, for “ride or die” friends, and for the graciousness of God.

This post doesn’t really have a point, but I wish that I could give 2008 me a hug and tell me that it all turns out ok…

…that I wasn’t really incomplete; I was just impatient and should enjoy the ride.

PS: what music does to your brain is wild.

On valuing fatherhood

As life trundles on, fewer things irritate me. Life’s too short to sweat the small stuff.

But there are two words that absolutely make my blood boil: “Daddy daycare”.

My gosh.

I shouldn’t need to say it, but me spending time with my kid is not daycare. It’s parenting.

The 90s sitcom stereotype of the hapless, only-vaguely present father did a lot of damage to fatherhood. The narrative undermines the critical role each of us plays.

Bec and I might be better at different parts of this weird and wonderful parenting journey, but… spending time with my son is literally the least I can do to be a decent parent!

Doesn’t matter if I’m his Dad or his Mum… It’s not daycare. It’s parenting.

Some of the great dads I know, like my friend Pete, or the inimitable Bandit Heeler (iykyk) are good dads because they’re simply present. They go to the park (when they’d rather be sleeping), play a stupid made up game (when Netflix is preferable) an they’re there to listen (even when wrung out).

My son needs me to play with him, cook for him, clean up his stuff. And I’ll happily do it.

But lets not call it daycare. It’s parenting.

Furthermore, #CocomelonDelendaEst

Surprised by fatherhood: a list

1. The washing. My goodness, the washing. How does somebody so small generate so much laundry?!

2. Everything I own has a little bit of vomit on it now.

3. The love I immediately had for him was unconditional and irrational and visceral and fully complete.

4. It is surprisingly easy to switch from “playtime Dad voice” to “serious lawyer voice” in mere seconds.

5. You spend more time than you would think on your hands and knees every day looking for dummies and teethers and lost socks.

6. How he can wake up every hour from midnight to 5am but somehow when he smiles at me at 7am the room will brighten and all is forgotten.

7. It’s possible to attend relatively serious (Teams) meetings with vomit on one’s shirt but still project credibility.

8. I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world (though I would pay a handsome sum for a good night’s sleep).