Noah

Hey, it’s a non-writing-related post.

I’m gonna talk about my kid here, so if gushing and extreme happiness isn’t your thing, you might want to move on.

I’m the father of a 10-month-old, a little boy who’s just learning to walk and talk. Every day the world opens up exponentially before him, and it’s a real joy to see the excitement and surprise in his big, beautiful blue eyes.

During the first six to eight weeks of his life, my wife and I weren’t sure we were cut out to be parents. Noah wasn’t happy, and Misty and I were pretty miserable, too. Throw in a bout of postpartum depression on Misty’s part, and life was pretty difficult. But we got through it. I joke that Noah finally got us trained (although I’m really not sure I’m kidding), and he began sleeping through the night. Early problems with drinking his formula disappeared quickly, and now he’ll eat anything that isn’t nailed down.

Recently (as in a couple of weeks ago), I lost a job that I hated and had no respect for. In fact, I had no respect for myself for keeping that job. I should have walked away from its stupidity, its micromanagement, its low pay (for the position), and its pressure. I returned to a job I enjoy — bartending — and I can’t tell you how much happier I am.

The only problem is that I work nights. I don’t get to put Noah to bed as often as I used to. I don’t get to feed him or hang out with him in the evenings and laugh at or with him. I miss him a lot. But I also know that being a father — being a dad — means that I have to support my family. So off to work I go.

The best moments lately have been in the mornings when Misty brings him to me, fully dressed and smiling, giggling, and saying “Dada!” I’m still in bed, still groggy from getting off at 2 a.m. after dealing with the drinkers, the drunks, the dangerous, and the deranged for nine or 10 hours straight. But those precious moments in the mornings when he crawls into my arms and hangs out with me are the highlight of my day.

I love that little guy.

Being a dad is worth every moment of aggravation, every poopy diaper, every minute of lost sleep, every minor irritation that I deal with on a daily basis.

I just hope he knows that I think he’s worth it.

 

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