“Men are just little boys who got big.
Women are just little girls who got big.”
— Jack Winter
I’ve sat on this post for a bit, trying to figure out what I could tell the world about fatherhood. Other than doubling in size while I was looking, in ways it feels like much hasn’t changed — he feeds every few hours; he has plenty of outfits to model; I don’t see my family as much as I’d want to with their bedtimes only an hour or two after I get home from work… these are the early years where you’re adopting a routine, simply awaiting the next cue to take action. Where you sneak into the nursery 3 times overnight to make sure they’re still breathing. These are the years where you have to get used to a holding pattern in your days, life stubbornly reminding you that things aren’t like they were before.
What’s there to tell about that?