Better than me

For 33 years my life has been a collection of my experiences. Experiences that have ultimately taught me to be the person I am today. Perhaps that's what scares me the most. I am now one of most influential people in a perfect, precious life. My daughter Chloe. On December 8, 2011 my life and its experiences ultimately, and indefinitely, changed from self-collective to instructive. My baby Chloe was born and it is now time for my experiences to teach her, with one explicit goal in mind, to be better than me.

I have had many advantages in life that are commonly overlooked, and even more commonly under appreciated. I have had a life with two great parents, a modest but comfortable living and the freedom to be and explore who I want to be.

A good life.

Yet with all those advantages, I am far from perfect. Everyday I try to become a better person, a more giving person, a more patient person. But at my worst I have hurt those I loved the most, and even worse yet, I have hurt those who did nothing but love me. So how do I ensure this flawless newborn does not repeat my mistakes? Hopefully by using my mistakes to teach her why not to repeat them.

Regardless of my efforts, she will make her own mistakes one day, and when she does, I will support her. When she succeeds, I will congratulate her. When she cries, I will console her. But most importantly, I will father her. And in her own beautiful way, she will father me too.

Love,
Pops

Watching Paint Dry

For 9 months you are reading, listening, feeling, and flat out, worrying about every small and insignificant detail of your child. For 9 months you hear that you will never sleep again and your life will never be the same. For some the longer the "rest of your life" waits, the better. But as an anxious POP, the last 9 months has flown by.

The last 9 days, however, have been the complete opposite. Besides chugging castor oil (who comes up with these homeade remedies) we have tried almost everything to move this process along. So instead of trying to get a move on mother nature, I will keep hoping for mother nature to get her move on...

...preferably south.

Week 37: It's starting to become REAL!

Some parents out there may find it odd that my first post comes only now, 37 weeks into the pregnancy.  But to me, as a first time "pops" (a.k.a father), I feel as if my role the last 37 weeks has been more of a baker than the oven.  Patiently waiting for the dough to bake to perfection.  Trying to be supportive of the process and balance the changes in temperature within the oven (my wife).  But the simple truth is the true magic of pregnancy is the experience a father cannot truly understand the same way the mother can.


Whether it was setting up the crib, installing the infant car seat or, my personal hell, painting the nursery, my wife has been the all-star.  I am simply the bat boy.  But now 37 weeks later, I see that my perspective, my role and my responsibility is beginning to shift from that of a supporter to that of a provider.  From a classic movie (first person to guess it gets an equivalent of a digital beer):

"I am 98% excited, 2% scared.  Or maybe it's 98% scared and 2% excited.  That's what makes it so confusing."

The truth is, I am barely mature enough to take care of myself, let alone raise a child.  But compared to teenager parents, you might as well call me Danny Tanner.

My oven gloves are on, let's play ball!!!