I can’t get ahead of myself. I’m a literal guy.
For example, before our kids were born, I was excited, but I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like when they arrived. After 3B arrived, I could describe what it felt like, but I still couldn’t imagine what it would feel like when Jewel arrived.
I’ve always been this way, so when I was a little boy, watching my parents, I assumed that when I was 30–no idea if my parents were 30, but that’s how old they seemed to me–I would be like them. I’d wear a suit and go to work in an office somewhere. I’d be married to someone–it was a bit vague to me if she’d work outside the home. I figured that my wife would want to, and therefore would, but Mom didn’t. We’d have kids.
How little I knew.
It turns out that for awhile I’d wear a uniform to work that Mom said made me “look like a Boy Scout.” And on some days at that job, I’d dress up as a bear in blue jeans and a big hat. I am married to someone–but not just anyone. I am married to the most beautiful person, the most compassionate person, the love of my life. We met in Palm Springs, started dating in Madrid, traveled together through Morocco, lived in the Rockies and now Washington, D.C. We have two beautiful kids. My wife not only works, but makes more money than I do–makes sense, she does more important work and does it better than I ever could.
If you told me when I was a boy that any of that would come to pass, I’d laugh until I peed in my pants.
Speaking of which, another thing I didn’t picture was this exchange with my beautiful wife:
Mama: I’m putting Jewel to bed.
Papa: What do I need to do?
Mama: Read 3B his stories, brush his teeth, get him a lovie, put him to bed.
Papa: Where is he?
Mama: Taking a crap in his closet.
To clarify, he’s still in diapers, so it’s not quite as bad as it sounds at first blush. Sort of.
I’m working to make cancer history. Will you help me?