Now I’m REALLY a Daddy.

No I don’t mean like my wife and I had a paternity test done and Maury Povich called me and told me that with 100% certainty, my son is my son. Plus, we know he’s mine because if you knew me and my dome piece, you’d recognize the genealogical hereditary lines in the basketball-head-on-a-toothpick-body that is my son.

I mean I’m really a daddy because there are things that happen, each passing day with your first child, that are just amazing. And sometimes it’s the littlest, weirdest things that cause you to pause and reflect.

Jay, you’re a poet. That cause-you-to-pause stuff is ingenious. Shut up. Help me focus.

Before I fall too far off the list of things that make you a daddy, let me clarify for all of you second or later children, that your parents probably still love you too. And yes, you’re just as special as your older brother/sister who was your parent’s first kid. And I’ll love my second, third,…..that’s enough Jay….. child just the same. But there won’t be as many touching, amazing, flat-out-smack-you-in-the-face-you’re-a-daddy moments. Minus I guess my first daughter, since I had a son first. I guess I’ll have a whole different set of daddy realization moments when we have our first daughter.

But anyways…so you all know (or can at least pretend for the sake of this conversation) the normal list of things that happen, that solidify your daddy-hood. You can’t talk about that kind of stuff here, it’s not that kind of page. Not THAT stuff that happens that makes you a dad. Jerk. I mean the normal stuff of a son. First when you carried him to the scale at the hospital. First night of sleep lost when you have no idea what’s wrong with him. First roll over. First crawl. First words. First steps.

Those are all the normal things. I didn’t mention the first thing that makes you a true, heart-stopping, oh-shit, moment of your life. I’ve been in a car wreck. I’ve been in a Jeep that did 1-1/4 rolls off the road. I’ve broken bones. All of that is nothing, NOTHING, compared to the instant your son is born. You’re at your wife’s side, coaching her and freaking out more yourself than she is. And after watching the most special, nasty, amazing, gut-wrenching, beautiful, destructive, event of your life…..there’s a split second, where they’re lifeless. They’re purple. They’re yellow. They’re not breathing. They’re not moving. AND YOU ARE FREAKED THE FUCK OUT. Yeah, it was scary. It is probably only approximately 0.0005 seconds long. But it truly feels like an ETERNITY. Then the doctor turns him over, clears his mouth, rubs his back – and all is well. And you’re on to daddy memory #2, cutting the umbilical cord.

Is this going somewhere? Yes, shut up. So you have memory #1, your first instance as a dad, is flat freaking the fuck out. Then the good ones start. Umbilical cord. First nights. All the normal things I already listed. Now my son is 2. 27 months. Whatever, who keeps age like that? He’s starting to have his own personality. He’s starting to react to situations. He’s starting to be a little man of his own. Now you have the first time he uses the potty. The first time he spells his name. The first time you catch him lying about finishing his dinner.

“All gone!”
“Really? Let’s see what’s in your napkin!”
“All gone!”
“What’s this then?”
“Cheese!!! Daddy found my cheese!”
Yes, daddy found your cheese.

Earlier this summer, I thought I had moment-of-all-moments of daddy-hood. The first time my son hit a baseball I pitched to him. Sports aficionado myself, former baseball player, we’re starting early dammit. The first time he could hit the balls I pitch to him – I glowed in daddy-dom. That’s all I need. More memories like that. Swimming in our pool recently, he has lost his fear and probably his good sense. Now he’s a little daredevil. And I’ll have to watch him like a hawk, but I couldn’t be more proud.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better. My wife made us breakfast-for-dinner last night. It’s simple for her, and I like the occasional breakfast plate for dinner, since on work mornings I’m lucky to get a Pop-Tart and juice on my way out the door. You know, if you got up a little earlier and devoted more time and effort to eating in the morning, you could…. Just shut up.

So my son is eating in his big-boy-chair (feeding seat strapped to a kitchen chair), making a mess of his food, probably yogurt at this point. And my wife lets him try some of her plate.

“Ooooooh mommy dat’s good!”
“Yes it is. Here’s some more. It’s called bacon. Can you say bey-kuhn?”
“Daddy!!!!!! I Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaacon”.

[insert glowing light of fatherhood affirmation]