It’s June, and our guy has completed his first year of school. He had started at one of the local private school’s early education/pre-K program back in the fall, joining the class late through a happy stroke of luck—another family had moved away, leaving a spot open in the class—right when we were coming to terms with him needing more support than two working parents could provide, and that we had really dropped the ball on seeing this coming and getting something lined up.

And so, the lad joined a class in November, just after his birthday. I had been concerned that since he didn’t really have any playgroups or anything early on, he would be behind socially. And sure, he took some time to warm up, but I needn’t have worried, it seems. He talks about his classmates, and even made a friend at swim class that he talks excitedly about going to see and play with.

He’s grown so much over the school year. Physically, sure; as noted in his first day/last day of school pictures, he’s added a couple of inches since the fall. But his personality, his confidence, his ability to speak and reason and understand have come so far as well. He recognizes places and knows where we are around the city; primarily when we’re near the Avenue in Hampden, because that’s where ice cream is. He knows, albeit unhappily, that it is not always his turn, and will ask for his turn. And perhaps most adorably, when he needs a little assist, he’ll come and say “need help dad.” It melts my heart.

Seeing all of that growth stirs up a lot of feelings. It’s, to some degree, a little bittersweet. I’m a very nostalgic person by nature. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing, but it’s a thing either way. I think back to and hold on to things, physically and emotionally. And it’s easy to get swept up in the day-to-day of raising a kid and let things pile up.

I was making coffee over the weekend, while Von and the lad were at swim lessons, and I looked at the childproofing locks on the cabinets, and then to some of the kiddy gates and things around the house. It occurred to me that he doesn’t try and get into this stuff anymore. And in the quiet moment, I took stock of all of the toys that are still kicking around from his infant and pre-toddler days. Relics of a baby that he isn’t anymore.

I’m know every parent grapples with being torn between excitement for the future and sadness for what’s passed. But man, it’s one thing to know it in your brain, and a whole other thing to feel the sucker punch in your heart. Parenthood means signing up for a lifetime of trying to balance looking backward and forward, with barely a moment to catch your breath to do either.

It’s not all tearful looking back, of course. I wouldn’t be so wistful for all that if being his dad wasn’t perhaps the greatest joy of my life, and the memories of the past two and a half years fill me with so much love and happiness it sometimes feels like I’ll burst.

Though I could do with less algorithm-suggested Instagram reels preying on me, saying things like “you only get so many summers with them!”