2.7.24

It’s a special day.

For the past 22 years, I’ve had the honor and privilege of being the father to my middle child. They’re one of the bravest, kindest, lovingest humans I know, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t count myself lucky to be their dad. Tonight I’m coming to terms with another quality kid of mine has: being an adult.

As I write this, they’re on the open road, traveling to visit someone and spend a few days in a place they love. I fully support this and am glad they’re able to make the trip. But there’s also a part of me that wishes they were home tonight, sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying a special birthday dinner I’d make for them.

The struggle of wish versus reality is part of growing up. Not for my kid, but for me. I’m growing up as a parent. My expectations need to shift. None of my kids are kids anymore, and I need to prioritize their happiness as adults over what I wish still was.

I’m working on it.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t get lost in memories of times past. I can celebrate the amazing adult my middle child has become without abandoning or denying what came before. In fact, my pride in their growth allows me to embrace their childhood even more. Look how far they’ve come.

And in the beginning … there was a song.

The first time we heard it together, it was playing on the radio. It was a chilly winter weekend, and this baby I held in my arms was just a couple of weeks old. I was preparing to go back to work after a bit of paternity leave, and I was struggling.

The brand new big brother of the house was upstairs, sleeping the sleep of an overtired, overexcited 3-year old. Mom was in slumberland too.

Not me and the baby.

They’d had a much-too-long afternoon nap, followed by a big dinner of milk and a post-dining snooze. Now it was time to get fussy and keep Dad on his feet.

When Bubble Toes — from Jack Johnson’s debut album, Brushfire Fairytales — started playing, I found myself and the baby just sort of naturally booping along to the rhythm. I am not a natural dancer (nor an unnatural one), but that song got me going. And before three minutes and 55 seconds had passed, this little human who’d been kicking up a storm was snuggled into my arm, fast asleep.

Bubble Toes became our go-to for naps and bedtime. Not just when they were a baby, but for years to come. Sometimes I’d put them in their little motorized swing and sing to them. I’d lay on the floor beneath them, and they’d have a bit of a giggle fit, watching my face appear and disappear. Then they’d be asleep once more before Jack was done singing.

I’d give anything for another chance to carry them in my arms as I dance around the room, and to feel them grow heavy in my arms with sleep. But I also wouldn’t trade the person they are now, and I’d hate to think of taking away the growth they have worked so hard at over the years.

That’s the contradiction in the heart of this Dad on a chilly winter night.

Happy birthday, Bean. I love you so much.

When you move like a jellyfish

Rhythm don’t mean nothing

You go with the flow

You don’t stop