A year ago today, I wrote how Jill had got me the most expensive birthday present I’ll ever get.
Today, as you can see from the photo above, I have it.
And it’s also the best birthday present I’ll ever get.
But I’m open to you trying to prove me – and her – wrong.
… my son was born.
Six months.
In some ways that is no time at all and yet in other ways, it seems like I can’t remember a time without him in my life.
To say becoming a father has been a revelation to me is an understatement.
I’ve written about this before, but it blows my mind how much I love being Otis’ Dad.
I always thought the fun would begin when he could talk and waddle along but I was wrong.
In some ways, I would love to keep him as he is right now.
Not because he has to go wherever I want to go.
Nor because he has to watch whatever I want to watch.
And it’s certainly not because I have an obsession with changing nappies.
It’s because I recognise this as a very special and precious time in his development.
You see right now, the majority of his development – poor bugger – is coming from us.
I get to see, in real time, how he is learning. Or what he has yet to learn.
Watching him realise those things at the end of his arms can do stuff is amazing – even if it means I get smacked in the face by them 10,000 times a day.
And watching him look at himself in the mirror and not realise it’s him, even though he sees – and recognises – his Daddy is wonderful.
It’s also a bit disturbing [I hope he doesn’t turn into a thicko] but it’s wonderful just the same.
Then there’s listening to him make sounds.
Not the ones where it’s a tsunami of shit entering his nappy, I mean the ones where he is trying to communicate with us.
I knew I would love that, but I never realised how much.
Seeing my son literally see and experience things for the very first time is a privilege I never truly appreciated until it started happening and now I never want it to end … which is another reason why I’d love to keep him as he is, even though I know at every stage his of development, I’ll be wishing he stayed just like that too.
But nothing – and I mean nothing – beats the feeling of sheer joy I get when he wakes up.
Apart from the fact he is a happy baby [he obviously takes after his Mum in that regard] when he sees me, he literally shakes like a mad man, excited to see me.
How do I know he’s excited?
Because he always has a massive smile on his face.
It is single-handedly the most beautiful, wonderful, magical feeling I’ve ever had.
That’s not to demean the countless other beautiful, wonderful, magical feelings I’ve had … but this is something else.
A few weeks ago, I came home very late and he was fast asleep.
I leant over him and said “goodnight little Oty”, to which his big, beautiful eyes immediately slammed open.
There he was, lying on his back, looking straight up at me. No blinking. Just staring.
There was a slight pause before his legs and arms started shaking up and down, left and right while making a bunch of weird – but delightfully cute – sounds while giving me a massive smile before he then reached out with his little hand and starting feeling my face.
How I didn’t burst into tears at that moment, I’ll never know – but it was a moment that will stay with me for the rest of my life.
Literally for the rest of my life.
Of course I know one day all this will stop – both because of his development and that he’ll go through a phase where he thinks his Dad is a stupid pain-in-the-ass – and that will make me very sad indeed … but even if I only received this single moment of happiness from him each day, I’d still say having him has been better than I ever imagined, so when you take into account all the other stuff he gives me, it’s no surprise I am so happy he’s here and why I am so proud to be his Dad.
So happy 6th month birthday my little Otis, you’re a wonderful, wonderful boy but please don’t grow up too fast, it’s already happening far too quickly for my liking.
Love you.
Daddy xxx
Otis hugging his Nonna
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Crap Campaigns In History, Crap Marketing Ideas From History!, Embarrassing Moments
So I saw this in Singapore recently:
No you don’t Olympus.
In fact, having read this, I would say you care far more about embezzlement and tarnishing reputations.
[Word of advice: Don’t read it. The CEO – who is the author of the book – comes across more as an egomaniac than a victim of corporate misdeeds, despite the fact he was most definitely a victim of corporate misdeeds]
And don’t even get me started on your tagline.
Your Vision. Our Future.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. What a pile of bollocks.
A long time ago, brands had a clear and concise positioning.
You knew where you stood with them because they made sure you understood what they stood for.
Now most of them go into this ambiguous-yet-meaningless, pseudo-Oprah, contrived life-and-lifestyle, passive bullshit.
And the irony is, it makes me want to NEVER buy anything Olympus.
NEVER.
Say what you mean and mean what you say.
It doesn’t have to be focused on what you make, it could be built around you approach or the attitude you have when doing things … but if you can’t even do that without falling into corporate talk blandom – obviously driven by the misguided belief that if you don’t alienate anyone, you will be attractive to everyone – then you can’t blame the public when they snort at you in derision and buy one of your competitors products.
You care about my health and happiness do you Olympus?
Well bring me a cup of coffee and a great documentary or piss off.
I can’t believe it’s been 3 months today Mum.
It seems impossible.
But that’s probably because I still can’t quite believe you’ve gone.
The amount of times I want to pick up the phone.
Send you an email.
Get on Skype.
As I wrote here, I feel being in China is in some way isolating me from the full pain of your loss.
I know you wouldn’t want me to hurt, but I don’t know if that is a good thing or not.
To imagine the way I am today, just 90 days ago, would be unfathomable.
On March 9th my World felt like it had literally fallen apart and yet now, 3 months later, things are ‘back to normal’.
Well, not ‘normal’, but the illusion of it.
Of course part of my ability to get on with things is due to little Otis.
He’s a lifesaver in more ways than one.
I wish you could see him.
He’s growing so big and developing so much.
He’s such a happy little chap … greeting us with a massive smile every morning.
Massive.
To see someone develop literally in front of your eyes is an amazing thing. I know you saw it with me, but I wish you could see it with him.
Maybe you can.
I’ll hold on to that thought.
I miss you Mum.
Rx
Filed under: Comment
I don’t want this to be some soppy thing, but I want to tell you how much I adore you.
I’ve felt that way since the day we met, but the way you handled the events of the past year – the good and bad with Otis and my Mum’s death – have been amazing.
I couldn’t have done it without and the fact you have been able to stay caring, calm, considerate and loving, regardless at what has been thrown at you [including me] is testimony to how special you really are.
You are an amazing woman and I am proud [and shocked] that I can call you my wife.
Happy, happy birthday my sweetheart.
Rx