Hippopotamus Samurai a fortnight on...

Tread lightly in this age of wandering steel, my son.

For no matter how strong and true your blade is, your enemies seek not to shatter the sword...but your warrior spirit.

Working a broom through the cobwebs in my head in the wee hours this morning, while simultaneously in the midst of battling against not only my son's intrinsic hatred of the changing table, but fighting off his stream of urine seemingly fired off in self defense...I decided a status report was in order.

Let me tell ya, you truly haven't lived until you've sung the Violent Femmes to your son while he pisses on you during a diaper change at 3:00 am.

That wasn't in the brochure.

Two weeks on, and what seemed to be the height of my emotional outpouring for this little bundle of poo making wonderment has revealed itself to only be the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

As frightening as the concept of fatherhood once seemed a lifetime ago, with diapers and daddy the order of business, that fear has given way to absolute amazement at this Scout, this son of mine.

Diaper mastery was not the impossibility I once expected and although the sheer decibels of this boy'’s flatulence can still catch me off guard at times, that's nothing next to my ‘'soothing'’ warbling in the middle of the night.

come on dad...give me the car tonight.