When our son, Grant, was born people told me this was the start of something big, a trip of discovery, a miracle to share. You have to expect people to say those kinds of things to families of a new baby.
Maybe they didn't know they were saying them to a guy who never really planned to get married. A guy whose idea of fun is not infant activities but hiking solo in the woods for a week. I had been around normal babies enough to know that I liked not being around babies all the time.
But something was different about Grant. His diapers still stunk, but somehow they weren't as bad to change knowing it was his stink. He still cried like a coyote, but it was me he was crying for. And then he would do this thing where he would rub his miniature nose on my shirt and fall asleep on my chest. I love that feeling better than anything.
At the other end of the hospital from the baby wing, a friend of mine works in the emergency room. He talks to people after fires, strokes and car wrecks. Faced with death, he says people almost never talk about the size of their homes or the length of their job titles. They don't regret not buying a bigger car, they regret not being a bigger part of their kids' lives.
So maybe I'm starting to sound like a Hallmark card too. Still, I would rather stick it out with the worst of diapers and drool than live with regrets.
Bryan Taylor is President of EduGuide and the father of two young children.