I am sitting here with a wet paper towel on my wrist, calming the burning sensation in my wrist that came about from reinstalling a car seat (anyone that has every put one in knows that the path of feeding the seat-belt behind the seat is fit for Hobbit hands) and I realized that this a part of becoming a Dad.

Being Daddy means that I never sleep during long car trips.

It means that I take out the garbage bag full of diapers.

I remember how I looked at my parents and it’s hard to imagine having that role in my daughter’s life.  I looked at my parents with fear and hope.  They were the problem and the answer.  They were superheroes.  They were always there.  And that’s what my wife and I have to be for our little girl.  She won’t know our fears, our doubts, or our flaws.

For a while I will be her hero.  Then a short time later she will think that I am an idiot and I have no idea what she is feeling or what she is going through.  Finally, I will be a resource, mostly for money and support.

I will help her move to college and relocate her umpteen thousand times until she graduates (and probably more after she does graduate).

Being Dad also means that I will walk her down the aisle one day.  And my job description will be reduced as I will be replaced by a newer model.  I just hope she’ll remember who was there first and always.