18 Comes on Swift Wings

You tell yourself when the doctor hands you the little bundle of screaming joy "I've got to keep you alive for 18 years, that's the goal". It's a response that just kind of slips in there. ... as humans we need some kind of goal, some kind of finish line to aim for; the weekend, 5 o'clock, $100k, a house, 3rd base. So when the doctor hands you your first child it's natural to add some kind of end line to that as well. The next few weeks you quickly learn that you don't want an end goal so you push that aside, but the magical number 18 seems to find it's way in to your thoughts none the less, but usually as a negative - "18 is when they leave me", "18 is when they're grown up", "18 is when I'm 46!" Last night we went to Gina's cousin's 18th birthday party. This is why I reflect on the number today. I came into the picture about 8 years ago when she was 10. ... now she's officially an adult. It's crazy how quick that happened. Crazier yet is how quickly it happened for her parents. I see a 10 year old, they see a newborn. And I'm sure it flew by even quicker for them. As the room sang out "Happy Birthday" and I wondered how my little ones were still even functioning at 9:30 pm, another thought snuck in. ... they're already 1 and 1/2. ... in fact, they're already on the backside toward 2. Now THAT was fast! Please tell me I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and have two 18 year olds in my house. While that may have been the original goal I don't want it that badly. I don't want them to grow up, leave me and vote (well, I want them to vote, but not the other two). I know a lot of people supplement by just having more babies, and we'll get there too I'm sure, but it's not just about "babies" it's about them. I don't want to replace them, I want the original forever and ever and ever. It doesn't make me selfish. ... it makes me Dad.