Time flies, when you’re turning two!

Arlo James,

Two years ago today, my life completely changed.

Before you were born, I was your mom’s husband. Before that, I was her boyfriend. Before that, a struggling entrepreneur. Before that I was a snowboard bum. Before that stage in my life, I was a college student with no clue what I wanted to do with my life after I graduated. Before that I was an aimless high school student, and before that, I was your grandparents baby boy.

I threw fits, I begged for toys, I tattled on my sisters, I made mistakes, questioned every decision I made, tried and failed, tried and succeeded, got lost, found my way, got lost again, partied too much, regretted it the next morning, got a job I hated, then one I liked,  lost that job, married your mom, got another job, and then before I knew it, we had you. And just like that, the entire world, and everyone in it looked different to me.

I still pout from time to time and make mistakes. And I’m still unsure of some of the decisions I make… I am after all, just a guy.

I know one day you’ll read this, and depending on what age you are, that last sentence might strike you as somewhat of a shocker. When we’re kids, parents seem like these amazing, all-knowing, all-powerful people. But the truth is, I wasn’t a kid that long ago. In fact, at this point in my life, I’ve technically been a kid for longer than I’ve been an adult.

And as for being a parent? Out of my 35 years on the planet, I only have two years of experience. In the grand scheme of things, that’s nothing. But in reality, these have been the best, most rewarding years of my life. And, in that short period of time, according to you, I’ve already learned to heal any wound you have with the touch of my lips, so I’d say I’m off to a pretty amazing start.

I won’t be able to fix every problem you have, or answer all of life’s mysteries for you, but I can promise you that I’ll always be there for you, no matter what.

Happy Birthday, my handsome little man! I love you so unbelievably much!





Up poo’s creek

Hey Arlo,

When you were first born, everything you did was cute. When you’d cry, we’d laugh at how adorable it was. When you’d poop, we’d nearly fight over whose turn it was to change the diaper; both of us adamantly claiming it was our turn to change you. Nearly everything you do is still completely adorable, but a few things have changed.

At your last checkup the doctor said it would be okay to try and feed you some solid food, if you showed interest. Your mom asked how much to feed you, but the doctor said not to worry about that, since you probably wouldn’t each much, if anything at all.

So that night we mushed up some bananas, scooped them up on a spoon, and attempted to feed you. As soon as you saw the spoon heading in your general direction, you lunged forward, mouth open, shifting your weight towards the spoon, desperately trying to gets its contents in your mouth.
I’ve seen parents having to play games to get their kids to eat, but with you, when’s food’s involved, you’re all business.

When we’ve asked other parents about the amount we should feed you, they say, “Just feed him until he’s not hungry anymore.” We’ve tried to reach that point, but so far you’ve failed to reach a place where you feel adequately full. You’ve literally eaten until you’ve thrown up, and then seconds later, started lunging and grabbing for the spoon once again. At this point, we’re more likely to feed you until we run out of food.

Feeding you is absolutely adorable. You get excited, but at the same time you have such a serious look on your face. You even grabbed your mom’s arm this weekend and pulled her hand towards your mouth, lunging at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she had in her hand. Your appetite is definitely changing.

A few days after you started eating solids, while holding you in my arms, I heard the unmistakable sound of a diaper filling. I retreated to your changing table and was shocked to find that something completely unholy had replaced your tiny-little boob-milk poos. I looked at you, horrified, and said, “Oh my god, that’s terrible,” as I began to gag. You looked back, looking concerned for a moment, then smiled and began to giggle.

Several minutes and 20-something baby wipes later, you were as good as new. I used to think when parents said, “You owe me, I used to change your diapers,” that they were saying, “You owe me, because I changed your diapers when you couldn’t do it for yourself.” But now I realize what they truly mean, which is, “You owe me, because I used to change your diapers after you filled them with the most foul-smelling baby-poops on Earth!”

PS- You owe me!

Know your role

Signing these entries, “Love, Dad,” is really strange. I’m technically not a dad yet, or at least I really don’t feel like one.

My dad is one of my best friends in the entire world. He makes me laugh, he tells me the truth even when I don’t want him to, and he’s always been there for me. I think that’s all you can ever ask of a dad, and I hope to be all of those things for you.

Mom’s tend to have a tougher job. They’re the ones to tell you to clean your bedroom, do your homework, and eat your vegetables. My mom thankfully told me to do all of those things.

I remember my mom sitting with me for hours helping me cram for a test I put off until the last minute. I remember her laughing at me for thinking she wouldn’t notice all of my clothes shoved under the bed, when I claimed I had just cleaned my room. But she would sit there patiently and help me refold everything.

That’s the thing about mothers, they have to be more patient that dads. Luckily for you, your mom is extremely patient—she married me after all.

We’re going to try and be the best parent we can be, but just remember, this is all new to us, so please be patient.