How to Be a Father

These instructions are for me. Your mileage may vary.

In some particular order:

You are officially no longer priority #1 or even #2. First rule about fatherhood is you never come first anymore. Thems the breaks, breeder.

Baby first. Mommy second. You third? Hahaha. No. You: last. Dead last.

Snacks. Always have snacks. Never in the entirety of my adult life (calculation pending) have I even used the word as much as I have in the past two years.

Breathe. Take a second, you only have one, but take it. Use it to breathe.

Allow for traffic. Getting out of the house takes at minimum (it’s never minimum) 10 minutes. Begin 5 minutes ago.

Hugs. Stop everything for hugs. Pee yourself, burn the toast, you’ll find the cat later. Don’t be the first to let go. Enjoy that moment. Savor the love now.

Go to bed. You can stay up and watch TV or write if it helps you feel person-like again, just know there will be consequences in the morning.

Your body is a wonderland. Swinging your child, doing airplanes, silly dances, horsey-rides, leg-hug walking, silly faces, the fake walking-down-the-stairs, row-your-boats, leg slide and, of course, the daddy shimmy.