For the first two years of Patrick's life, I thought I would take him to Disney World at some vague point in the future, like when I had gotten over my inherent cheapness (which will be never) or when he would actually remember it. I thought this age might be 5. I wondered, idly, what we would do if we had another child, because that child would not yet be 5. Then I started thinking about it, and I don't really remember much from when I was 5. In fact, I went to Disney World when I was 5, and 8, and then maybe 12 and then again a couple years after that, I think, and I worked there when I was 20. I don't remember much of it until I was 20. So THEN I thought, what the hell, we should take Patrick now; he would have fun in that moment and I would have fun with him.

My mom said, "Of COURSE, it's not about him, it's about you. It's about you enjoying him enjoying it." This seems like a no-brainer but it was a revelation to me.

The Disney thing is off for now because my inherent cheapness is shining through and holy shit but that place is expensive.

This comes up in the aforementioned putting Patrick to bed phase. He asks me to sleep upstairs in his bed. I do it until he falls asleep. He won't remember, and if he does, he'll block it out because it will embarrass him until he's much older and has kids of his own. Sure, I do it for him, in the sense that he's quieter and calmer and will go to sleep quicker (also a bonus for me) but really I do it for me. Because he's still little and soft and cuddly and usually he smells good. And it's just NEAT to watch him sleep all curled up with the blankets kicked off.