I live my days as a typical 42-year-old girl dad.
Coffee poured over my morning routine fuels the flurry of all progress I sustain, until the rise and shine of princess angst barrels over the audacity I have to exist happy in my own home. Alas, I love them. All of them. Google Photo montages on que, quietly playing in my mind. Reminding me at all times of a cuteness still present. Sometimes now a days, harder to find.
Family growing up is family growing out. Out of old shoes, out of old clothes, out of old routines. Growing up is growing old.
We all progress forward. In the early days of diapers and dance parties, we celebrate the milestones with a lot more intention. Photo albums on lease, never truly owned.
Today I was the enemy. I don’t often, or ever, wake up planning on ruining someone’s life. These days of new, who knew, I do now. Apparently.
Milestones go unchecked a little more often. I suppose the memory of being a girl dad will adjust. One day soon and maybe even yesterday, at times, I’ll be a woman dad.
I live my days as a typical 42-year-old girl woman dad.
