Contastic

There are days that I think, "Connor's lucky to have me as a dad." and there are days that I think, "I feel bad that Connor got stuck with me as his dad." Both are severly narcissistic, yet that's what I think sometimes. A majority of the time I look at him and think, "How in the blue hell did I get so fortunate?"

Connor turns 11 months on Monday. A month away from turning the big 1. I'm amazed at how fast this year has  gone. It seems like yesterday he was just two months old and laying in my lap at 2 a.m. refusing to go back to bed. It has gone by quickly. Too quickly but not quick enough. Watching him reach his milestones of rolling over, smiling, his first tooth, crawling, cruising, all have been a magically ride. And now he'll eventually begin to take his first steps. Life certainly moves fast.

During Lacy's pregancy, I would have severe panic attacks when I thought about Connor growing up. I remember driving and this mental flash of Connor's life gallops through my mind. In 30 seconds I went from preparing for his arrival, to his first day of school, to his high school graduation. Next thing I knew, he was 30 and I was 60. My heart began to race and my pulse was high, arm went numb. Textbook panic attack, if I had read about panic attacks in a textbook. I failed biology my first time around. He's almost a year old.

I hope he doesn't get in a hurry to grow up. I hope I don't force him to be in a hurry to grow up.

He's not into walking. He'll take a couple of steps while holding my hand. He laughs at it and sits down and begins to crawl. He's a super fast crawler and provides his own sound effects. He's growing up. He's starting to put words together. He's getting bigger.

It's hard not to feel like you're in a parental competition with other parents. The age of Facebook and Twitter make it hard not to think that you're child will fall behind if he doesn't keep up with the Kardashians (whoever they are). I keep reminding myself he's not. Everyone comes into their milestones in their own time and in their own way. I keep reminding myself, "You're here to help him pick himself up when he falls. You're here to cheer him on. You're here to love him." I'm here to love him.

He'll walk when he walks. He'll come into his milestones when it is his time. I hope and pray that I can resist the need to compete. I hope I can simply be here to love him. I hope that when he turns thirty, he'll look at his sixty year old father and say, "I'm glad you are my dad."

I think that's the best to hope for.