Oh, I'm such a bad blogger. I've got two posts sitting in draft and October has just been so freaking crazy that I haven't had time to finish them up properly. And trust me, they are totally unreadable without a fair bit of editing. Not to mention quite dated by now.
But here's something I can blog about quickly.
My handsome redhead has recently become obsessed with being a dad. It's his thing. He wears pants with belts and button-down oxfords and takes great pleasure when folks notice and tell him he looks dad-like. He also spends a lot of time asking about the hows and whys of dadness. To wit, the following conversation, which took place in whispers when he was meant to be falling asleep.
"Mom, when I'm a dad, will you be old?"
"Yes." Since I'm nearly there now.
"So, when you're old, will I be a dad?"
"I think you get to decide when to be a dad."
"No. I don't get to decide that."
"Oh? Who does?"
"I think my birthday decides that."
"Okay. So how old do you have to be to be a dad?"
"How far away is that?"
"About 81 years."
"How many days is that?"
"Oh, sweetie, that's more math than I can do in my head."
"So it's really far away."
"Yes. But, you know, your dad became a dad for the first time when he was only 32. And your Opa, he was 27 when he became a dad."
"Okay. Then I think I'll be ... 31. Can I be a dad when I'm 31?"
"Yes, sweetie. You can."
And he's gonna be a damn fine dad, too.