My super power is contradicting myself.
I often fret over money, but when I have to make dinner, my first instinct is to order a pizza.
Most of my friends know me as being really social, but my wife often needs to put on ear plugs to block out my whining as she drags me out of the house.
I want to live a long and healthy life, but will devour an entire bag of chips and chug a bottle of Coke in a single sitting.
I constantly remark about how Everett is growing up too fast, but then I’m suddenly eager for my son to quickly adopt his next skill.
I understand the reason for the last contradiction. We know a baby who is a month younger than Everett who is crawling and I wonder why my son isn’t doing it yet. Or I talk to parents that mention their child was walking before she was a year old and I panic about where my son will be.
This is my silliest insecurity.
Everett is very healthy and developing very well. The doctor has reassured us of that fact with every visit. But there is always an evil little voice taunting, “You’re losing the baby development race, and this means you’re a crappy parent.”
Obviously, my son being able to crawl has nothing to do with my parenting. It also isn’t like Everett is a comatose slug either.
He moves quite well. I learn that fact every time I lay him down so I can write, and then turn back to see he is on the other side of the room. He doesn’t do the traditional hands and knees crawling, but he does a very impressive body drag. To change things up, he’ll spin his body around until he gets to his desired location (like a human top). His current array of movements already goes about twice the speed of my normal pace.
If I’m not freaking out about my son’s development, then I harness my worry towards feeling that I’m missing out on his big moments. I start thinking that I should have taken a hundred more pictures and videos. I reflect that I didn’t really cherish the moments from a few months ago.
Then I stop drinking coffee for a few days and calm down.
My solution is to enjoy my current moments with my son. I play, laugh, and talk with him. I remind myself that I’m the luckiest father in the world to have Everett as my son, and I unconditionally love him for who he is.
