I’ll be thirty next month. I truly can’t believe it. Didn’t I just rent my tux for senior prom? This is madness. My first twenty years definitely just crept by. Waiting to be thirteen so I was officially a teenager, waiting to turn sixteen so I could drive, and anticipating turning eighteen so I could… you know… I guess just be eighteen. I like eighteen. Can’t we all just be eighteen.

But, I swear these last ten years have moved with gale-force speed, taking my heart by storm. I am blessed. Again, I AM BLESSED. Blessed beyond measure and blessed beyond what I deserve…

By the time I turned twenty, I had already celebrated two remarkable years of marriage. It was just us, doing whatever we wanted whenever we wanted. No parents, no rules, and no money. Back when the only bills we had were rent, water, and power and sleeping till noon was the norm.

Since then I’ve experienced the rapture of learning I was going to be a Daddy for the first time. I’ve witnessed the joy on the faces of my parents who learned their baby was having a baby.

I’ve felt precious life move inside my wife’s body. Kicking and rolling inside her perfect, warm, stretch marky tummy. Thinking what have I done to be entrusted with this monumental responsibility of raising tiny humans?

I watched God himself come down and grasp mine and Erica’s hands during the battle cries and wailing of labor as she pushed those four little lives out of her warrior built body. I’ve counted forty fingers and forty cheesy toes through tear soaked eyes. I remember her every push, every cry, and every cup of ice. I’ve held 6 pounds of fresh, warm innocence in my arms, four times. Instantly becoming consumed with their every move, every cry, and every stained onesie.  From the intoxicating smell of fresh baby to the midnight wake up calls from bad dreams and throw up. I am obsessed with them. I am them.

I’ve experienced loss, grief, and the “whys” of death. My heart has been shattered and the silver lining ripped out only to scab over with grief, memories, and reality. The first woman I ever loved, kissed and called Momma was taken too soon from me. Losing her was the end of my beginning and the beginning of her end. Despite her physical absence I still try to take her everywhere. Whether it’s having her eyes, her grandchildren, or running my mouth too much… nine times out of ten she always shows up. Without fail she always represents. These are the only ways I can have her now. Most days it feels I’m still hanging by a thread. But on those hard days when the strand of grief is scorching my hands and I’m losing grip… I just let go knowing she’ll be there. And nine times out of ten… well… you know the rest.

Being a Dad has been my biggest, most demanding, most rewarding, most tiring role I’ve ever laid claim to. In the last ten years I’ve called poison control, done the Heimlich, slept sitting up, slept standing up, searched for pacifiers, swept up entire waffles, changed 4.3 billion diapers, and watched a kid poop on my kitchen floor. I’ve boiled enough noodles to feed the universe, and eaten enough leftovers to sink a boat. I’ve washed clothes I wasn’t sure were dirty or clean and taken showers with Hello Kitty and monster trucks under my feet. I’ve kissed boo boos and watched peroxide bubble under Barbie band aids.

In the past ten years I’ve realized that I am human. I’ve lost my temper and said hurtful things. I’ve held grudges and cursed my circumstances. I’ve made bad decisions that had repercussions and I’ve been ungrateful for great things. I’m human… and I mess up.

I’m only thirty years in, but this I know for sure… I’ve loved another with all my heart. We gave up sleeping in on Saturdays for breaking fevers under superman pajamas. We traded real dinnerware for Styrofoam, sippy cups, and Barbie spoons. We’ve adored, screamed, ate, threw up, spread germs, wished, hoped, grieved, and loved one another more than humanly possible.

I sure hope God’s got thirty more planned for me.

My calendar’s filling up fast.