Oh, to be expecting. A magical time, really. Nine months of mystery in which parenthood is a locked door and you spend most of your time imagining what it’s like on the other side.
Having now lived nine months on the other side, I have some insider information.
My earliest memory is moving into the home I’d eventually grow up in. I was probably two, maybe three. I remember the kitchen counters being as tall as the Eiffel Tower and I remember the backyard was dirt.
That’s it. My earliest memory and that’s all I remember.
I don’t remember my mom or dad. I don’t remember diapers or teething. From age zero to age four, I don’t remember anything.
This is nothing shy of a tragedy. I understand that now. I understand that the hardest years of my parents’ life were the ones I don’t remember. At all.
So, Mom and Dad, accept this as a belated thank you. Because I understand now what you went through and it deserves recognition (albeit 32 years late).
Before having a child, I had a lot of questions.
What will she look like?
Will she be healthy?
How will my wife handle labor?
Who will I become?
In two short months, you will enter a world four-and-a-half billion years older than you. It will be cold and bright and loud, and it will greet you with indifference.
You will share this world with over seven billion people. Those people can be cold and bright and loud, and many will also greet you with indifference.