I’m legitimately a dad now.
For those of you unaware, Gabby and I had a small human about four months ago. She’s awesome and talkative and rambunctious, just like her mother. And she’s Merida-from-Brave ginger.
I guess, technically, if one wanted to split hairs, I’ve been a dad for about four months. Or perhaps four months plus the nine months before that, depending on definitions and when life begins and whatnot.
Regardless, that was just dad in-name-only; not dad in any real-life, practical application of it.
Well, the practical application of it kicked in late last week.
To preface this, I have been told by numerous people over the past year that dadhood would abruptly strike me at some point, whereupon I would stare at my small human, cock my head to the side like a golden retriever intrigued by a tennis ball, and say to myself, “Oh snap, I’m a dad now.”
All I have to say is this:
Lyla and I went to the shoe store to visit her grandma. We walked out with two more shoes than we had walked in with. Somehow, as if manifested by nothing short of the Divine Providence spoken about by our forefathers in the days of old, we had purchased a pair of RealTree Crocs in men’s size 9.
Oh snap, I’m a dad now.