My first father’s day has come and gone and when my brother Kevin called me that day he summed it up best when he said:
Stella is now 8 and 1/2 months old and each day seems to be one of progress. From toothless to two teeth. From rolling to slow forward movement, stretching and sliding.
And she’s a talker. Obviously it’s babble now, but she has said her first babble with intent. Sometimes, when I walk into the room and she hasn’t seen me for a while she smiles and says:
“Da Da!”
I know, I know. I’m possibly imagining that she means me. She doesn’t respond to anyone or anything else the same way, so I’ll take it.
Put a fork in me. I’m done.
In the best possible way.
father at fifty 