Don't get me wrong, I love my son more than I love myself and I value him over my own eyes, legs and thumbs, but, there was a time, a very short, guilty time, when I didn't (Of course I LOVED him, I mean that sudden, rush of love. Mostly I felt scared). Now, they don't tell you this in books, and it's only during the last 20 or so months that it has become apparent that it's not just me, that it's quite common actually. There have been "oh my god, ME TOO!" moments during forum and face-to-face discussions with new dads that have made me feel better and a lot less guilty about what I am about to tell you, dear reader.
I had never been so proud of anyone in my entire life than I was of my girlfriend the day she gave birth to our son. She got to hold him first as he attempted to wriggle his way up her chest. She played with his fingers and touched his cheek. She cried, he cried, I cried. 9 months of being pregnant had ended with a baby. Who'd a thought it. Then it was my turn. I had held a baby maybe once before in my life, and it cried then. I held my baby properly without having to be told to 'support the head' and other such stuff. I've watched TV. I'm not an idiot. And he didn't cry. So there. In your face, Last Baby I Held.
I looked at him, this interloper, this uninvited guest, this meddler of relationships, and a thought took me completely by surprise,
"Hi, Leon." for t'was his name, "I was hoping to have Halo 3 completed before you arrived."
To go from 2-3 hours gaming a day to about that a week is a pretty major adjustment. I had to rethink a lot of my gaming habits of the last 25 years.
My son is ace. He is my little Pokemon. He levels up every day and so do I.
So this is my blog and I'm glad you're here. It's a personal journal about dadding and trying to fit in a little gaming while I'm at it. How hard can it possibly be...?