I just really, really like being with them. They’re sweet, they’re so smart, and they love me. I want to hang out with them. I want them to come to the grocery store with me. I want to play games and have tickle fights and sing silly songs with them.

But my favorite thing is probably how funny they are. I write some of it down. Most of these happened when they were three.

 

“Did somebody draw us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like before we were real. Did somebody draw us to make us real?”

 

My son sees numbers painted on the sidewalk and asks if they’re letters:

“ABCDEFG. Is that from that?”

 

“What if it was someone’s birthday when they already passed away? That would be sad. Then they wouldn’t be able to eat their cake.”

 

My wife helps my son to use the potty, and she takes off his jacket first:

“Mommy, did you forget where my penis is? Did you think it’s up here? It’s not. It’s down here.”

 

After I read my daughter Rikki Tikki Tavi, which features a snake named Nag:

Daughter: “Nag is tall. Nag is as long as you are tall.”

Wife: “Is he five feet long? I’m five feet tall” Daughter: “Snakes don’t have feet”

 

When searching for the opposite of “inside out”, instead of saying “right side in” my daughter called it “un-inside out”, which I think actually makes more sense.

 

“You need to behave.”

“Ok. I’m being have.”

 

Finishing a long conversation with the cat:

“Next time I’m going to teach you to say words.”

 

My third child will most likely be born this week, and the thing I’m looking forward to most is late night feedings. People complain about those and I can’t sympathize. I love them.

There’ll be a day when I’d give anything to go back and relive those moments, holding my baby at 2am, singing them to sleep. It’s a perfect moment.

I was never that big on the idea of kids before I had them. I deeply, deeply value my independence. But this is good too.