The great thing about working nights, is I get to be with my son all day and watch him develop minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. And I have to admit it’s pretty damn awesome!
The worst thing however, is that I don’t get to be there for fun time in the bath, or get to tuck him into bed. And it’s really sh*tty that my wife and I are like passing ships, at dinner time. But hey, this little angel needs a roof over his head, and food in his belly, so I’m ‘sucking it up’ so to speak.
The other day my wife and I were watching some of the old video footage we have stored, like his first steps, and the first time he managed to roll over onto his back. We often recall when he couldn’t even crawl, and we would wish he could. That moment came, far too fast I might add, along with the realisation that everything on the floor was fair game. So everything was put up onto the tables out of reach, and we wished he couldn’t crawl anymore, even though it was an awesome event in his timeline.
The same thing happened a few months later with walking, both of us saying ‘won’t it be nice when he can walk’. We were soon rueing those words, as he could now get to the things on the tables. Then within days there was climbing, so we then said bye bye to the chairs, the tables and the objects on the tables. It seemed our home was quickly becoming a minimalist home. It was like living in an art gallery, a white room with nothing but a Tracey Eminesque installation of toys strewn upon the floor. With the devils toy, Lego, ready to jump under foot when you least expect.
The next major milestone was talking. Yep you guessed it, I now have shares in a company making earplugs, as all he does is jabber, jabber, jabber. His first word being ‘dada’ made me especially proud, and it was months later, much to the bane of my wife, that ‘mummy’ got a mention. Now it’s all he says, and it drives her insane. Even on the odd occasion, and by that I mean ‘rare as hens teeth’, when he calls out “daddy” at 6am, and my wife punches the air in celebration, she still can’t get back to sleep for that extra hour.
Am I destined to be über keen to see my little cherubs next achievement, only to be annoyed that he’s so bloody good at it, and that he’s forever doing it? I have visions of getting soaked when he learns how to use the garden hose, being constantly ran over when he learns to ride a bike, and getting seven shades of sh*t knocked out of me when he takes up martial arts, (not that doesn’t happen now). Is this all just preparing me for the inevitable moment when he no longer needs me to get on in life? The moment he walks out the door and becomes his own man?
Till then I’m gonna enjoy this wonderful ride with a grimace on my face, and a great big smile on my heart.
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