Being a Dad

I’ve been a father for nearly seven months, but I still have little idea what I’m doing or what I’ve gotten myself into. It’s fairly simple at the moment. When she cries, feed her or rock her to sleep, and when she smiles, smile back and take a picture. I’ve kinda gotten the hang of it. Soon, however, begin new stages. Eating food (which translates into more earnest diaper odors). Crawling. Walking. Speaking. Eventually, Trigonometry. I suppose the truth is that I can never be truly “ready” for these events. How can I prepare for something that I’ve never experienced? At least in school you get practice questions to work on before you have to take an exam. If you know me, you know my penchant for being prepared. I was never a Boy Scout, but I could have easily slid into one of those dorky blue uniforms. Fatherhood, however, is something I just have to live. I am terrified that I will be a failure at this. I suppose a healthy dose of fear is good for the soul – it’s what keeps you away from grizzlies. But being a dad is something you just figure out as you go along, and that approach always makes me panic. And kids seem to take after tigers: if they sense panic, they will pounce and devour. I think my best bet is to sit my daughter down when she is about four years old and prepare her for the fact that her dad is gonna mess up sometimes. Hopefully it will soften the blow when I screw up. On the other hand, if I tell her that and I end up being a perfect father, she’ll think I’m a liar. I guess there’s no best answer. I’ll just promise to love her to death and hope that counts for something.