The boy, 3 years, 51 weeks
...Peter's favorite phrase these days is "I love you," which never gets tiresome to hear. (Even when he's using it as a shield; i.e., "Who took out all the DVDs?" "I love you, Daddy.") It's hard to believe sometimes he's going to be 4 years old in just a week or so, that the baby days are well and truly over and ohmigod, he starts school in one year's time (kids start when they turn 5 years old here). He's in this phase right now where he constantly has to check that we love him and remind us he loves us. There are worse phases, of course.
One of the hardest parts of being a Dad for me has always been enjoying the "Here and Now," as I constantly find myself wondering what will become of the boy when he's older, what kind of boy/teen/man he'll be. I have a wonderful day with him playing squirt gun wars and hanging at the beach but in the back of my mind, I'm worrying he'll get in a car wreck when he's 16 because of something I failed to teach him now. I know, parenting is mostly worry. Last night I was helping him vomit into a bowl over some 24-hour flu bug, Tuesday he came home from day care with a big gash on his forehead he got chasing after some girl, today he put on a puppet show for me. You cross your fingers and try not to freak out, like, every second for the rest of your life.
I guess I'll do what I can, and store up all these "I love yous" for the not-too-distant day when he'll be aghast at the notion of affection between us and far too cool to tell his Daddy that. Meantime, I love you too, boy.