I love special days. Especially ones that celebrate me. Like birthdays. I don’t mind if you want to make a fuss over me, I won’t stop you. I might pretend I don’t want anything or a big deal made, but secretly I really do. I just don’t want to come out and say it. But since becoming a father, I’m finding I get a lot more excited for Father’s Day than I do my birthday.
For a birthday, all you need to do is be alive for another year to celebrate. Anyone can do that. But for Father’s Day, I feel like I earn my gift. All the diaper changes, meals cooked, baths given, stories read, forts built, art classes, story time, picnics, play dates, playground time, meltdowns soothed, being spit up and puked on, I deserve it.
For Father’s Day, I have no problem announcing exactly what I want. And as far as gifts go, I don’t have big wants. I’m just talking “I want to go to a brunch buffet and eat until it hurts,” or “I want to go out for ice cream!” I’m pretty simple. It’s really just food I want. But this year, I’m asking for something even more simple. All I really want is some peace. You know, when I “have to go.” Just a little privacy. A little poop in peace, or P.I.P. as I call it.
