My son turns one-year-old today.
Parents often lament about how quickly time passes. Children grow up so damn quickly.
This has never been the case for me. My son is twelve months old, and it’s felt like twelve months. Not in a bad way. Other than a propensity to bite my wife and an inability to sleep past 6:30 AM, Charlie has been a gem. An easy-going piece of cake. In many ways easier than his sister was during her first year, and she was a piece of cake, too.
But still, it’s felt like twelve months.
I suspect this might be because I write to my children everyday. Sometimes it’s simply a few photos or a video with a couple of sentences of commentary posted to a blog for them, and sometimes it’s more. But because I mark every day with something, the time doesn’t seem to pass by so quickly.
It’s been a glorious year with Charlie. Our daughter, Clara, has made it even better with her unbridled love for her brother.
Now that a full year has passed, I can say with absolute sincerity that I am most proud of the fact that my son has yet to pee on me. Parents of boys took great pleasure in warning me that getting peed on is a constant problem. Penis tents can be purchased to protect oneself from the unrelenting stream. But Charlie has refrained from urinating on his father and has only peed on his mother a handful of times.
That, my friends, is something to celebrate.
In addition to Charlie’s birthday, of course.
That’s good, too.
