10 Days Older than Dirt

Having a child at 43 years old is not necessarily something I would recommend. The concept certainly scared me ... just becoming a father was frightening, let alone being older. But, my age has given me a depth of perspective that I'm pretty sure I would not have had earlier in my life. The whole process has also been the second most amazing experience of my life ... marriage, the first!

I would also like to believe that I am more mature (yes, I know there are those that would disagree with me there) and am more than willing to be as involved as Jen and Patrick will allow me to be in his life. I will, most likely, have to put retirement off ... put it also means that I am a bit more financially stable (if only more aware of what that means) than I ever managed in my twenties or thirties.

Now, this does mean that I have to focus on living well since I would like to see my grandchildren and be around to get to know them. I have been watching Patrick interact with my parents and it is truly amazing. There is a bond there that is truly wonderful.

I am learning to get up at all hours (thankfully, I did that most nights anyway), change diapers (some experience there with nieces and nephews) with lightning speed, and pass food on in amazement ... not just how much he eats, the gusto with which he inhales food, but also with his ability to cover himself in such a short amount of time. There hasn't been a meal recently that did not require at least a pass under the sink. I know this doesn't have much to do with being an older father ... but it has been amusing.

What has been good, during his antics, is my ability to stay calm and not get irritated ... which is certainly something I've developed as I've gotten more mature (older, I know). The experience of being a father is not one I was sure I was ready for, but as I watch this amazing young man grow ... I am looking forward to every moment, even if that means being the father that is "older than dirt."

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"Hello?"

We walked into my parents house ... looking for Papap. "Hello," we called. "'Ello," Patrick mimicked. "Hello," we called again, laughing a bit. "'Ello," Patrick mimicked again, delighted that he could get us laughing that easily. Out in the back yard, he went for the shovel (small blue plastic one I got for him a while back). "Maybe he should go shovel in the sand-box," Papap said ... Off he went to the sand-box, lugging the shovel. Later I asked him if he wanted raisins. Shaking his head no, he headed for the fridge. "Eeze," he said ... Cheese, he intended. His comprehension and vocal capacity is growing by leaps and bounds!

A Simple Evening

We had my parents over for dinner last night ... Patrick and Jen prepared dinner, even going as far as making brownies for desert! It was very cool watching Patrick cuddle with his Grandfather. It is always amazing to me how those two get along. It was also very cool watching Patrick and his Grandmother read a book together ... Before dinner, he got a chance to show off the cast-iron toy stove that Jen had played with as a child. This has become one of his favorite toys ... the parts certainly make a lot of noise when he tosses them across the room. At dinner, I sat next to Patrick, across from his grandparents ... their expressions as they watched him were sheer joy and a joy to watch, as well. At one point, I asked Patrick to show them the Moon and Stars in his room. He has a humidifier that lights up, projecting colored starts and a moon on the ceiling ... he loves them. He immediately headed for the stairs, and turned to his grandparents and signaled come on ... a q

Terror or Anger

Jennifer and I woke about twenty minutes ago to Patrick crying ... nothing unusual. I asked her to get him since I have to start getting ready for work in about three hours (yes, I have to work on a Saturday). Where things became unusual was the loud, sustained crash, and Patrick's cries rising to a hefty scream. Being the concerned parent that I am ... with visions of his changing table collapsed on top of him, I rushed to their aid. "What was that?" I cried. Jennifer, weakly replied, "I fell down the stairs." With Patrick screaming at the top of his lungs, I think I actually asked her to repeat what she said. I found my wife sitting, with her legs out and my son in her arms, at the bottom of the stairs. Asking if she and Patrick were OK was mixed into confused questioning about what happened. Somehow, her feet went out from under her (we suspect a couple of the leaves that Patrick likes to play with were on the steps). While my real concern was i

Fatherhood

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