B-boy

Three years ago to this day, we put a little human on this planet. Well, I just supplied a starter spermatozoan. It’s only fair to say that my wife Heike did the real work there. I held her hand – which she squeezed pretty damn hard at times.

It’s crazy how time flies. Three years old now. He’s no longer larval. He speaks two languages, runs around discovering everything there is to discover, and – perhaps most importantly – no longer shits his pants. Three years sounds like nothing, but it feels like he was never not there, if that makes sense. At least I never want him to not be there anymore, and I suppose that does make sense.

These three years have been the toughest years of my life. Parenting is hard. Parenting far away from family in a new country is even harder. Parenting in those conditions in a pandemic is crazy. Parenting more than one, well, you get the point. Sometimes I just want to sleep, but I wouldn’t trade these years for anything.

Today, Rafa was our birthday boy, with an official daycare birthday crown. We ate ice cream to celebrate. Everyone asked him what he got for his birthday, and he proudly told everyone he got birthday muffins and a crown. They weigh heavier in importance than his birthday presents. It’s kinda cute. I hope he will forever stay that way: appreciative of the homemade, and not materialistic.

I also hope I will get such a beautiful crown when it’s my birthday! (And I want ice cream!)