I spent the day at home with Emmett yesterday, as a mild fever kept him out of daycare. It was mostly good times. Even now, the boy seems to have a good sense of humor, an observation based mostly on the fact that I can get him to laugh, heartily, without even trying.
Thing is, Emmett’s still really just a laughing lump with arms and legs. He can’t tell us anything. I can’t relate to him in any other way but to hug him or pat his head or do an insane jig while maniacally waggling my tongue to get him to laugh (ask Leah). And it makes me wonder what kind of dad I’ll be for him. I mean, other than slightly crazy. I don’t plan on taking him to any football games or on fishing trips or to car races…I never did any of that stuff with my dad. I guess it could be different now. I suppose it would be easier if I had some big ideas about the way Emmett should grow up, what kinds of things he should or shouldn’t do, but I don’t. I’m just eager to find out what he’s going to like, and I’m not sure how much to impose myself on his process of discovery. I can’t even decide if I want him to grow up to be just like me. I mean, what’s so great about me? I’m all full of contradiction and human weakness. Surely he can do better. Maybe the most I can expect of myself is to stay out of his way and not screw him up too badly.
