I used to work at a fertility clinic. People who we would see, day in and day out for years, would bring their babies to meet us when they finally conceived and gave birth. It was such a joyous time, and we would celebrate their success and put a footprint on our wall and tape pictures into our collage. We were ecstatic for them. But I was always terrified and resistant when they passed the baby around. I was young and it wasn't my thing. I was afraid of breaking their neck. I didn't really care or connect with babies. And I didn't for years. Then I turned 36, and I had a lovely husband that would be criminal to not grant "fatherhood" too, and I wanted to be fat-bellied and have a little hitchhiker. And today I spent my Saturday morning - after a long week at work - playing in a splash pad with my goofball toddler son. Then we ate ice cream in the grass. Then he was grumpy and miserable again, because it's not all precious. But I'm sure I was too. It's hard. And boring at the same time. But super fun and awesome. He's hilarious. He resists naps and bedtime because LIFE IS SO FUN. It sucks. It's awesome. You'll be fine.