My kid is only eight months old. But sometimes I find myself literally bouncing off the walls imagining who he’ll be and what he’ll look like when he’s five years old, ten years old, graduating highschool. I know that so much of the fun of having kids is watching them grow up and experiencing them change from day to day, but if someone offered me a photo of him at twenty-one, I’m not sure there isn’t a price I wouldn’t pay to sneak a peek at the man he’s going to become.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the other side, I wonder quite a lot about the sort of dad I’m going to become.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As I sit here typing this post, at the table next to me is a family eating lunch. Their seven year-old keeps complaining about the bagel he’s eating. He ordered cinnamon but now wants chocolate chip. It’s too hot. I want to spread my own cream cheese. His father is getting frustrated and threatening to send him outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My kid is still at the wonderful stage where all you can do is be awed by him, laugh with him, and get frustrated when he won’t stop crying. But I certainly can’t get mad at him yet – he’s still without fault. But how will I react when he’s older and on my last nerve after a long day?<\/p>\n\n\n\n