This is father-hood

It is 16 hour days split between two jobs; a classroom full of teens, and a milieu full of crazy--schizophrenic patients to be p.c.  It is a toddler who was a preemie, who you can't say no to, even when she says 'ma-ma' with a French accent repeatedly.  It is 25 minutes in the morning, 50 minutes in the afternoon, and about  40 minutes past 11, smoking wonderful cigarettes behind the drivers seat of a 99 Cadillac, riding.

This is father-hood.

There is no such thing as time off, no such thing as true rest, no such thing as me time.  It's no longer about me.  It's about the girls.  By the time old number 19 rolls in right after 20, there will be three. Two under 2, one over 18 (have no worry that's the beautiful wife), and my old ass, the only man in the house, with locs graying with each giggle, thud and diaper change.

This is father-hood.

The house is constantly rockin',  me up at 6:30 (if lucky), gone by 6:55; Mom coffee at 7:15 (if lucky) then it's toddler time.  PT, OT, up the steps, down the steps, waddle waddle waddle, play-date, lunch time, laundry, and if she's lucky, the toddler naps.  There are texts at lunch, sometimes a call, sometimes face-time on the road to "crazy", but rarely there is time for us.  I miss her, and at times thinks she misses me, when she has the time; we play dominoes sometimes, and other times shadows touch gently behind closed doors.

This is father-hood.

There is Saturday morning when she gets to wake up, and I am there.  The soft da-da wrapped in a toddling French accent is there, bright and early on a day I could sleep in.  But I haven't heard that da-da live in 5 days, so it's like ice cream for my ears.  I am always happy to hear that sound. Usually tired, usually wanting more sleep, or time alone, I am happy to see her face, and have coffee with mom.  Time is like a T-Rex bone, you don't run across that shit every day.  Saturday mornings are good times.

This is father-hood.

It is ensuring the roof, the lights, the heat, the floor, and fluffy blankets (more for comfort than warmth), are there.  It is enjoying smiles other than your own, all under one roof.  It is knowing things could have gone another way; being happy it didn't, even when times are bleak, or when emotions are angry.  It is missing mom and baby's face, as pay days create waves that bring us closer to "forever houses".  It is easy and not, responsibility and being silly, learning for her, mom, and me; it is joy.  It is something I thought I knew but never had a clue.

It is the best position I will ever hold.

This is fatherhood.