We were told about parenting, about kids, about babies. We'd even witnessed a thing or two with nieces and nephews. My brother called it dadding. A verb.
We wanted one. Maybe two. Three seemed presumptuous. After all, we weren't young and college wasn't cheap. Still, a person can dream.
We dreamt for a long time. Long enough that we saw doctors and specialists. And then longer still. So long that we stopped dreaming, stopped seeing doctors, and simply prayed instead.
But that was back in the day. Back when we were young. Back when our clothes weren't covered in spit-up or excrement. Back when we had time to spend, and we spent it frivolously. Back when our bodies were leaner, our minds were sharper, and our enthusiasm untempered by responsibility.
And then our dreams came true. Our daughter was born, and I was dadding.