In my office every year, there's a "Giving Tree" that has paper ornaments with wishes for gifts from children at a local shelter. The kids are as young as 1 year old and as old as 17, and the gifts range from a winter coat to blocks. Every year I go up and read the tags and try to pick just one, and end up with 3-4. And I always feel like it's not enough.
My heart literally breaks when I see the things that these kids ask for. Many are from broken homes, their young lives torn apart by parents, family members and guardians consumed by drugs, alcohol, abuse, violence... all the things that no child should ever have to experience, yet so many do.
I wish that these children -- or anyone -- never had to deal with these types of things, these horrors and abuses that force them out of the world of a child into one that is far crueler, far more desperate and far more dangerous than I have ever known.
But they do. And if a winter coat or set of blocks or toy kitchen or a Dora doll can provide these kids with a brief light, a small measure of hope, in what has been a hard life, then it's worth the sacrifice of a few dollars.
In this season of thanks, I am thankful that my parents raised me in a home where -- even if we couldn't have everything we wanted -- we had more than we need: shelter, food, clothes, and most importantly love and support. Showing me what a strong, vital marriage is -- hard work and selflessness mixed with equal parts passion and humor -- gave me the faith to believe that I find that, too,
I am thankful that I have two brothers who, being fathers and husbands themselves, taught me that being a good husband
and good father doesn't mean "giving in" to your spouse or "sacrificing
your life." Instead, it means taking a leap of faith that giving
yourself over to your wife and children will bring you so much more than
you could ever have alone.
I am thankful that I have friends who know how vain, moody, and/or strange I can be... and still stand by me.
I am thankful that I have my amazing, kind, supportive and incredibly beautiful wife, who shows me every day what love is and what it can be, and how giving in to that love and returning it can bring you a happiness that is impossible to describe.
I am thankful that I have a happy, healthy, growing daughter who has taught me more about myself and the world I live in than any college course could ever do, challenging me to be a better man and make the world a better place.
But I am most thankful that I have been given so many blessings -- health, family, friends, love and security -- that many don't have. I am humbled by these gifts, and eternally grateful for all that I have.
Happy Thanksgiving, and God bless you and your loved ones.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
On Penn State and responsibility
As you know from reading this blog -- and the title of the blog itself -- I am a dad. A new(ish) Dad. And I admittedly am learning on the job every day. Some of that learning is fun (Where are my daughter's ticklish spots? What's her favorite bedtime story?); some of it not so much (What are the signs of an ear infection? How do I sleep-train my daughter?)...
I can tell you one thing I didn't need to learn, tho. I didn't need to learn that a child is vulnerable, maybe the most vulnerable thing in the world. Vulnerable to sickness. Vulnerable to a new world that might not be fully be baby-proofed. And vulnerable to those who prey on them.
Those like Jerry Sandusky, the alleged pedophile at Penn State.
I tried to hold off writing this; I really did. I do believe in innocence until proven guilty. I believe in due process. But when a crime like this -- one so heinous that it shakes you truly to your core -- is alleged, I go blind. Blind to reason and justice and, frankly, logic.
Sandusky -- allegedly -- took advantage of young boys who came to his Second Mile charity foundation seeking guidance. Many of them came from single family or broken homes, looking for something or someone that would help them escape what I'm sure were awful situations. What they got was far, far worse.
They asked for help. Instead, they got a predator who was -- allegedly -- only too happy to take advantage of that need, that want, to feed his own sickness. To me -- again, if guilty -- Sandusky should go to prison for the rest of his life, where he will be subject to a Hell that monsters like him deserve. It's well known that child molesters and pedophiles are the most hated, most reviled, most ostracized members of any prison community. They are the ones that murderers, thieves and rapists look down. Men with no moral compass know a true monster when they see one.
But this is not just about one man who took advantage of children who were vulnerable. This is also about responsibility, more specifically moral responsibility.
There's no question that, when confronted by the reports that a predator was in their midst, using his position and influence in the football program and access to the facilities, the leaders in the Penn State community chose to bury the truth rather than confront it. The firings and resignations of the last two weeks -- academic, institutional and athletic leaders all have been dismissed, chose to leave or have been placed on leave -- are proof of that.
Many of these individuals claim that they "followed the rules" in reporting what they saw or what they knew to their higher-ups. That may be true, and -- legally at least -- was a responsible move.
But what about going further? What about realizing that a child often has neither the mental capacity to understand nor courage to report to an adult that another adult has taken advantage of them? Some children barely have the courage or smarts to tell a teacher when a classmate steals their pudding at lunch or hits them at recess, let alone that they have been sexually assaulted by someone they know and probably trust.
Now remember that, to many of these children, that adult was a "friend" who gave them gifts, took them on trips, and told their parents that he was "helping them to a better future."
So, confronted with an unspeakable crime, the coaches, administrators and leaders at Penn State chose to keep it in house. Take care of it their way. Not go to the police, protect the children, and stop a monster.
Those leaders, those pillars of the Penn State community, had a moral obligation -- as self-described teachers and leaders of men -- to report this and try to put a stop to it. And they failed.
And those children paid the price.
I can tell you one thing I didn't need to learn, tho. I didn't need to learn that a child is vulnerable, maybe the most vulnerable thing in the world. Vulnerable to sickness. Vulnerable to a new world that might not be fully be baby-proofed. And vulnerable to those who prey on them.
Those like Jerry Sandusky, the alleged pedophile at Penn State.
I tried to hold off writing this; I really did. I do believe in innocence until proven guilty. I believe in due process. But when a crime like this -- one so heinous that it shakes you truly to your core -- is alleged, I go blind. Blind to reason and justice and, frankly, logic.
Sandusky -- allegedly -- took advantage of young boys who came to his Second Mile charity foundation seeking guidance. Many of them came from single family or broken homes, looking for something or someone that would help them escape what I'm sure were awful situations. What they got was far, far worse.
They asked for help. Instead, they got a predator who was -- allegedly -- only too happy to take advantage of that need, that want, to feed his own sickness. To me -- again, if guilty -- Sandusky should go to prison for the rest of his life, where he will be subject to a Hell that monsters like him deserve. It's well known that child molesters and pedophiles are the most hated, most reviled, most ostracized members of any prison community. They are the ones that murderers, thieves and rapists look down. Men with no moral compass know a true monster when they see one.
But this is not just about one man who took advantage of children who were vulnerable. This is also about responsibility, more specifically moral responsibility.
There's no question that, when confronted by the reports that a predator was in their midst, using his position and influence in the football program and access to the facilities, the leaders in the Penn State community chose to bury the truth rather than confront it. The firings and resignations of the last two weeks -- academic, institutional and athletic leaders all have been dismissed, chose to leave or have been placed on leave -- are proof of that.
Many of these individuals claim that they "followed the rules" in reporting what they saw or what they knew to their higher-ups. That may be true, and -- legally at least -- was a responsible move.
But what about going further? What about realizing that a child often has neither the mental capacity to understand nor courage to report to an adult that another adult has taken advantage of them? Some children barely have the courage or smarts to tell a teacher when a classmate steals their pudding at lunch or hits them at recess, let alone that they have been sexually assaulted by someone they know and probably trust.
Now remember that, to many of these children, that adult was a "friend" who gave them gifts, took them on trips, and told their parents that he was "helping them to a better future."
So, confronted with an unspeakable crime, the coaches, administrators and leaders at Penn State chose to keep it in house. Take care of it their way. Not go to the police, protect the children, and stop a monster.
Those leaders, those pillars of the Penn State community, had a moral obligation -- as self-described teachers and leaders of men -- to report this and try to put a stop to it. And they failed.
And those children paid the price.
Monday, October 24, 2011
And when I die, and when I'm gone...
The title of this post sounds way darker ("dah-keh") than I intended, but I'm a slave to my "theme" (such as it is)...
There's this commercial that I'm sure most of you have seen where a Dad is using all sorts of web tools (Google, YouTube, Blogger, etc.) to document all these moments in his kids' lives, and it ends with him typing the line "I can't wait to show you these...", and it got me thinking.
What am I leaving behind for my daughter?
Not the obvious things -- money (hopefully), photos, our home, maybe a car, some personal possessions (jewelry, etc.) -- but things that are maybe more ephemeral, more intangible... like a better world, as much as I can. A legacy of trying to do the right thing. Of being a good person. Caring about the world I live in and my place in it, trying to make my corner of it a better place.
It's funny how these things seem "important" when you're young and single, but -- let's face it -- they're really not your primary focus. Or maybe not even secondary. You're young, just starting to figure out who you are and what kind of person you want to be, what kind of job or career you want, and how fast you can get there and how much fun you can have on the trip.
Of course, that all changes when you get "older." That word does not necessarily mean years, mind you; I know my fair share of 40+ year old men (and some women) still working out that "Who am I? What's my place? What are my goals?" stuff. And they have every right to take as much time as they need.
Because I sure did. I was 35 when I got married, and believe me (and I tell my wife all the time), I needed every one of those 35 years to get to a place where I was ready for my world to expand and become about more than just myself. Which is really what starting a family is about -- putting someone and something else first.
I was 37 when my daughter was born, and again that was right when I was ready. Being a husband is one of the hardest and best jobs I have ever had. Being a father is even harder and more rewarding -- which probably goes without saying.
That's why today, more than ever, I think about the world I live in and what my place is in it.
That's not to say that I have that licked, by the way. Every day I have the internal conversation about whether the time I have to spend away from my family to work is worth the sacrifice (i.e., the "Waah! I have to work to support my family but I'd rather be home with them!" feeling). What about the trips to the gym a few times a week? It's a balancing act.
So, yeah, what I do every day is a mix of trying to help my world and the world overall. Some days, I do it real good with one. Some days, it's the other. Very rarely, it's both. Often, it feel like neither. And it feels empty and not fulfilling.
But I wake up every day believing that day will be the one where I fill up both columns, a better world for my family and the world in general. And I keep waking up every day feeling that way; otherwise, why get out of bed?
That's what I am trying to leave behind. And that's what I want my daughter (and any future children) to know and remember. I tried every day to make the world a better place.
And that, to me, is the best legacy I can leave for my daughter. Because I'd want her to follow that more than anything else.
There's this commercial that I'm sure most of you have seen where a Dad is using all sorts of web tools (Google, YouTube, Blogger, etc.) to document all these moments in his kids' lives, and it ends with him typing the line "I can't wait to show you these...", and it got me thinking.
What am I leaving behind for my daughter?
Not the obvious things -- money (hopefully), photos, our home, maybe a car, some personal possessions (jewelry, etc.) -- but things that are maybe more ephemeral, more intangible... like a better world, as much as I can. A legacy of trying to do the right thing. Of being a good person. Caring about the world I live in and my place in it, trying to make my corner of it a better place.
It's funny how these things seem "important" when you're young and single, but -- let's face it -- they're really not your primary focus. Or maybe not even secondary. You're young, just starting to figure out who you are and what kind of person you want to be, what kind of job or career you want, and how fast you can get there and how much fun you can have on the trip.
Of course, that all changes when you get "older." That word does not necessarily mean years, mind you; I know my fair share of 40+ year old men (and some women) still working out that "Who am I? What's my place? What are my goals?" stuff. And they have every right to take as much time as they need.
Because I sure did. I was 35 when I got married, and believe me (and I tell my wife all the time), I needed every one of those 35 years to get to a place where I was ready for my world to expand and become about more than just myself. Which is really what starting a family is about -- putting someone and something else first.
I was 37 when my daughter was born, and again that was right when I was ready. Being a husband is one of the hardest and best jobs I have ever had. Being a father is even harder and more rewarding -- which probably goes without saying.
That's why today, more than ever, I think about the world I live in and what my place is in it.
That's not to say that I have that licked, by the way. Every day I have the internal conversation about whether the time I have to spend away from my family to work is worth the sacrifice (i.e., the "Waah! I have to work to support my family but I'd rather be home with them!" feeling). What about the trips to the gym a few times a week? It's a balancing act.
So, yeah, what I do every day is a mix of trying to help my world and the world overall. Some days, I do it real good with one. Some days, it's the other. Very rarely, it's both. Often, it feel like neither. And it feels empty and not fulfilling.
But I wake up every day believing that day will be the one where I fill up both columns, a better world for my family and the world in general. And I keep waking up every day feeling that way; otherwise, why get out of bed?
That's what I am trying to leave behind. And that's what I want my daughter (and any future children) to know and remember. I tried every day to make the world a better place.
And that, to me, is the best legacy I can leave for my daughter. Because I'd want her to follow that more than anything else.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
I just called...
So my office (really a cube) phone just rang, and I answered. The voice on the other end of the phone said "Hi Dada!"
It was awesome.
Crazy, really... for a while now, my daughter's been playing "telephone," picking up our house phone or cell phone(s) or even remote controls (or her baby monitor) and saying "Hi!" and telling us she's calling Grandma (my mother-in-law) or Nana & Papa (my parents). But when it came time for her to talk on a real phone to a real person, she would usually just smile at me (or my wife) when we told her to "Say 'Hi!' to" whomever was on the phone.
Now, though, she seems to be on board with talking on the phone, for real.
I'm sure there will come a time when I'll be asking her to NOT talk on the phone so much.
But for now, I can't wait till she calls again.
It was awesome.
Crazy, really... for a while now, my daughter's been playing "telephone," picking up our house phone or cell phone(s) or even remote controls (or her baby monitor) and saying "Hi!" and telling us she's calling Grandma (my mother-in-law) or Nana & Papa (my parents). But when it came time for her to talk on a real phone to a real person, she would usually just smile at me (or my wife) when we told her to "Say 'Hi!' to" whomever was on the phone.
Now, though, she seems to be on board with talking on the phone, for real.
I'm sure there will come a time when I'll be asking her to NOT talk on the phone so much.
But for now, I can't wait till she calls again.
Monday, March 7, 2011
So let them be little 'cause they're only that way for a while
Warning - this one's gonna be all over the place...
The March issue of GQ featured a profile on Bill Ray Cyrus (of "Achy-Breaky Heart" fame) which detailed, in equal parts, a heart-breaking (no pun intended) and searing look at the toll of being Hannah Montana's daddy. It's here if you want to read it.
In the piece, Cyrus acknowledges that he played a part in allowing his daughter to become a massively popular and now -- arguably -- out-of-control star with the "Hannah Montana" show, concerts, albums, etc. Miley Cyrus, his daughter, seems to be well on her way to becoming another burnt out child star fallen victim to partying, booze, etc. Think Lindsay Lohan with a Nickelodeon instead of Disney pedigree. The story is equally sympathetic to, and scathing in its critique of, the Cyrus clan, with Daddy Billy Ray seeming despondent that his little girl is gone and may never come back to him.
For a while, this story was the most read and most emailed piece on GQ.com (which is where I read it), probably due to the "car-wreck" factor of the story and the easy jokes about Billy Ray and his rise to fame (and infamy) on the wave of his one hit, his acid wash jeans and spectacular mullet (he likes the term "Kentucky Waterfall"). But it resonated with me for an entirely different reason.
Billy Ray is a father. He sent his little girl out into the world because he thought it was best for her talent, and he believed in her. Now his daughter is in trouble, under the sway of folks who care only for her money (and don't care about her), and he knows it's partially his fault. And he doesn't know what to do.
In the GQ piece, Billy Ray talks about how he thought he had everything under control when he and his wife made the decision to let his daughter become a TV star. They thought the family bubble was strong enough to withstand the pressures and temptations of fame... but it wasn't, and now they have a daughter who, at 18, is essentially estranged from him, beholden to people who care about her as a commodity and not a person. His lament is painful, moreso because he doesn't hide the fact that he doesn't know what to do.
Now, don't misunderstand me -- I am in no way saying that the clan Cyrus are victims (they knowingly chose this for their child), nor do I think my daughter will someday be a huge TV star and pop icon that will cause me the same regret.
It goes without saying that you never stop being a parent. Even when your children grow up and become parents themselves, they're still someone's child. And you never go to sleep at night without saying a prayer that your child will be happy, loved and safe in the world.
You always think that your choices will be made in the best interests of your child. If they want to play soccer or take ballet, you weigh the pros and cons and then let them do what they want. If they want something bigger -- like to be a TV star or pop singer -- you do the same thing.
And it's struggle -- you want to let them fly, but you need to protect them. You want them to grow up and experience all that life can give them, but you also want them to remain little forever, protected inside the bubble of your family.
It's the parents' dilemma: Love them and nurture them to follow their dreams while secretly praying that their dream won't take them beyond what they can handle or control. And all the while you're longing for them to remain your little girl (or boy), who looks at you adoringly and depends on you for everything.
I know that someday my daughter will grow up, spread her wings, and leave the nest. Maybe it will be for college in a far-off city, maybe for a job, maybe for a husband... or maybe all three. And I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me sad to think of that now, even though she's barely 14 months.
Someday when she's older, she'll read this and think I worried too much about something that wasn't a big deal. But to me, it's everything. And when I came to that realization, that's when I knew I was a Parent.
The March issue of GQ featured a profile on Bill Ray Cyrus (of "Achy-Breaky Heart" fame) which detailed, in equal parts, a heart-breaking (no pun intended) and searing look at the toll of being Hannah Montana's daddy. It's here if you want to read it.
In the piece, Cyrus acknowledges that he played a part in allowing his daughter to become a massively popular and now -- arguably -- out-of-control star with the "Hannah Montana" show, concerts, albums, etc. Miley Cyrus, his daughter, seems to be well on her way to becoming another burnt out child star fallen victim to partying, booze, etc. Think Lindsay Lohan with a Nickelodeon instead of Disney pedigree. The story is equally sympathetic to, and scathing in its critique of, the Cyrus clan, with Daddy Billy Ray seeming despondent that his little girl is gone and may never come back to him.
For a while, this story was the most read and most emailed piece on GQ.com (which is where I read it), probably due to the "car-wreck" factor of the story and the easy jokes about Billy Ray and his rise to fame (and infamy) on the wave of his one hit, his acid wash jeans and spectacular mullet (he likes the term "Kentucky Waterfall"). But it resonated with me for an entirely different reason.
Billy Ray is a father. He sent his little girl out into the world because he thought it was best for her talent, and he believed in her. Now his daughter is in trouble, under the sway of folks who care only for her money (and don't care about her), and he knows it's partially his fault. And he doesn't know what to do.
In the GQ piece, Billy Ray talks about how he thought he had everything under control when he and his wife made the decision to let his daughter become a TV star. They thought the family bubble was strong enough to withstand the pressures and temptations of fame... but it wasn't, and now they have a daughter who, at 18, is essentially estranged from him, beholden to people who care about her as a commodity and not a person. His lament is painful, moreso because he doesn't hide the fact that he doesn't know what to do.
Now, don't misunderstand me -- I am in no way saying that the clan Cyrus are victims (they knowingly chose this for their child), nor do I think my daughter will someday be a huge TV star and pop icon that will cause me the same regret.
It goes without saying that you never stop being a parent. Even when your children grow up and become parents themselves, they're still someone's child. And you never go to sleep at night without saying a prayer that your child will be happy, loved and safe in the world.
You always think that your choices will be made in the best interests of your child. If they want to play soccer or take ballet, you weigh the pros and cons and then let them do what they want. If they want something bigger -- like to be a TV star or pop singer -- you do the same thing.
And it's struggle -- you want to let them fly, but you need to protect them. You want them to grow up and experience all that life can give them, but you also want them to remain little forever, protected inside the bubble of your family.
It's the parents' dilemma: Love them and nurture them to follow their dreams while secretly praying that their dream won't take them beyond what they can handle or control. And all the while you're longing for them to remain your little girl (or boy), who looks at you adoringly and depends on you for everything.
I know that someday my daughter will grow up, spread her wings, and leave the nest. Maybe it will be for college in a far-off city, maybe for a job, maybe for a husband... or maybe all three. And I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me sad to think of that now, even though she's barely 14 months.
Someday when she's older, she'll read this and think I worried too much about something that wasn't a big deal. But to me, it's everything. And when I came to that realization, that's when I knew I was a Parent.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Time passages...
So, umm, hey... what's going on? Been a while since I Daddy-blogged. A lot has happened.
We had our first Christmas, and it was, hyperbole notwithstanding, truly magical. My daughter was excited, confused, tired (as were Mommy & Daddy) and delighted by both her presents and the boxes they came in. Wrapping paper proved a little confusing; she would rip it a bit, then stop and wait for something to happen, which led Mommy and Daddy to finish the job.
Elmo-themed gifts were a hit, including an Elmo Remote Control that satisfied both her urge to play with anything that has buttons (remotes, phones, BlackBerries, etc.) and the aforementioned love for Elmo. She also loved a front-door/house play set, which was -- surprisingly -- easy to assemble the night before. It has all sorts of sounds, bells, and other stuff to play with that she loves, and it's actually fun for us to play with her.
A few weeks later, we had her first birthday party -- 30+ people in our house (which is a lot of people) -- and it was a great day. We pushed our Baby Girl beyond her usual nap times, so there was a minor meltdown. She also wasn't so excited about birthday cake, much to our chagrin, as we were really hoping for some fun "frosting face" photos. She got great gifts from everyone, and my wife and I were humbled by how much everyone gave and how excited they were for such a wonderful milestone.
She had her first day in the snow. The last six weeks, we've been getting hammered by snow in the Boston area. After the last round of 10-12 inches, we took her out into the snow to let her play. She wasn't a fan... at least, not yet.
And then, just this past weekend, the big milestones started -- walking and talking. Almost overnight, our Baby Girl started saying all sorts of stuff, and is moving all over. When she's walking, the look on her face is priceless: A combination of playing it cool and a sly "Look at me!" smile since she knows how excited Mommy & Daddy are. It's just remarkable to see her walking around and talking up a storm.
All these things happened in about a five-week span. It went from "I can't believe she's gonna be a year old" to "She's doing it all!" in what seems like the blink of an eye. When I decided that I would re-start this blog as a "Daddy Blog" I always thought that, while all these things were happening, I'd have so much material and blog posts on all of them. Then I looked up and it was February and I hadn't written a thing.
It's funny -- all the cliches people have for parenting are right. It DOES go fast. A year ago, I would hold our five-week-old Little Peanut and just be in awe of this little life. Now I hold her and she looks at me and I know she's thinking "That's Daddy!" and she smiles and hugs me.
You always tell yourself to "Remember every moment" and document everything. You try to take mental snapshots of smiles, hugs, playtime... all that stuff. And then all of a sudden everything happens and you feel like you haven't enjoyed it enough.
Part of me is so excited to see our Little Peanut walking, talking, smiling, feeding herself... all those great things. And part of me is sad that each first step, first word, new milestone means that she's getting older. And that I need to hold on to each of those moments however I can.
When she's old enough - and if I keep posting - I'll show my daughter this blog. Hopefully, all of these moments will be captured. If not for her, then for me.
Because it does go by fast.
We had our first Christmas, and it was, hyperbole notwithstanding, truly magical. My daughter was excited, confused, tired (as were Mommy & Daddy) and delighted by both her presents and the boxes they came in. Wrapping paper proved a little confusing; she would rip it a bit, then stop and wait for something to happen, which led Mommy and Daddy to finish the job.
Elmo-themed gifts were a hit, including an Elmo Remote Control that satisfied both her urge to play with anything that has buttons (remotes, phones, BlackBerries, etc.) and the aforementioned love for Elmo. She also loved a front-door/house play set, which was -- surprisingly -- easy to assemble the night before. It has all sorts of sounds, bells, and other stuff to play with that she loves, and it's actually fun for us to play with her.
A few weeks later, we had her first birthday party -- 30+ people in our house (which is a lot of people) -- and it was a great day. We pushed our Baby Girl beyond her usual nap times, so there was a minor meltdown. She also wasn't so excited about birthday cake, much to our chagrin, as we were really hoping for some fun "frosting face" photos. She got great gifts from everyone, and my wife and I were humbled by how much everyone gave and how excited they were for such a wonderful milestone.
She had her first day in the snow. The last six weeks, we've been getting hammered by snow in the Boston area. After the last round of 10-12 inches, we took her out into the snow to let her play. She wasn't a fan... at least, not yet.
And then, just this past weekend, the big milestones started -- walking and talking. Almost overnight, our Baby Girl started saying all sorts of stuff, and is moving all over. When she's walking, the look on her face is priceless: A combination of playing it cool and a sly "Look at me!" smile since she knows how excited Mommy & Daddy are. It's just remarkable to see her walking around and talking up a storm.
All these things happened in about a five-week span. It went from "I can't believe she's gonna be a year old" to "She's doing it all!" in what seems like the blink of an eye. When I decided that I would re-start this blog as a "Daddy Blog" I always thought that, while all these things were happening, I'd have so much material and blog posts on all of them. Then I looked up and it was February and I hadn't written a thing.
It's funny -- all the cliches people have for parenting are right. It DOES go fast. A year ago, I would hold our five-week-old Little Peanut and just be in awe of this little life. Now I hold her and she looks at me and I know she's thinking "That's Daddy!" and she smiles and hugs me.
You always tell yourself to "Remember every moment" and document everything. You try to take mental snapshots of smiles, hugs, playtime... all that stuff. And then all of a sudden everything happens and you feel like you haven't enjoyed it enough.
Part of me is so excited to see our Little Peanut walking, talking, smiling, feeding herself... all those great things. And part of me is sad that each first step, first word, new milestone means that she's getting older. And that I need to hold on to each of those moments however I can.
When she's old enough - and if I keep posting - I'll show my daughter this blog. Hopefully, all of these moments will be captured. If not for her, then for me.
Because it does go by fast.
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