My wife and I tuck our kids into bed each night.
We each take a turn to say good night to the kids, chatting about the day's events, what's going to happen tomorrow, etc.
Wednesday night, I mentioned to my daughter that her birthday was 2 weeks and 1 day away.
"You're going to be nine," I said. "It seems like just last month you were turning eight." She nodded. She knows me well enough that when I start talking about how fast she's growing up, chances are that I'm going to get sappy.
"That means that you'll be here with us for just nine more years, and then you'll be off to sleep-away college. You'll probably be so sick of us that you will be happy to go. It's okay, everyone gets tired of living with their parents by the time they turn eighteen."
Then it hit me. I'm at the halfway mark. Have I held up my end of the promise to be a good father? I think so. But as fast as the first nine years went by, the next nine years will be on such a fast, curvy track, that I find myself suddenly unsure of my Dadly abilities. Is she going to be a good kid, a good girl, a good person? It seems that in this day and age, the margin for error is very slim.
I told my wife about my epiphany. "There's not much time left with her," I said. "We need to take more trips to Disney. We need to enjoy her as much as we can."
Time flies when you're having fun.