So much I could say here; four years since he arrived, so many milestones passed in this last year alone. I could write about how well he’s doing, how much I love him (more than I ever thought possible), and how much of a cheeky chops he is turning out to be (which shocks no-one less than his parents, trust me!).
I write to him every month (he can read the letters later) and it strikes me that without really realising it, we seem to be raising a smart, funny, kind boy. And regardless of his life path, as long as he isn’t a dick, I will be there to support him, cheer him on, stand beside him, and catch him if needed.
I still count my blessings that I am his Dad, still believe that he is the best thing to happen to me (after Becca of course, she was fairly fundamental to all of this!) and that I’m a better person for it. Better in that perma-tired way other parents understand, but I don’t mind that. It’s worth it for all the little moments when he smiles at me, or whispers “I love you too Daddy” when I put him to bed. I could do without the knee drops off the sofa onto my back mind you…
Four years already, gone in the blink of an eye. Hey, whaddya know, those cliches are true.
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