Birthday. Boy...

"Uhh. huh-huh."

That was all I could muster. Eight years ago today.

Before I become your dad, I envisioned the day in so many different ways. Sprinting down the hospital corridors, high fiving strangers and passing out cigars; clutching you close to my chest (in black and white, of course) while doing the "I must have allergies" man-weep; hoisting you proudly above my head for the throngs of well wishers to behold, a la Lion King.

But the Beavis and Butthead brain fart? Never. I gotta be real with you, kiddo. I didn't know what the hell I was doing.

But somehow, some way...

Elmo turned into Power Rangers turned into Mythbusters. turned turned into turned into YouTube (supervised, mind you).

Baby Einstein turned into Wiggles turned into Blink 182 (bypassing Mylie, Justin Beiber and the gang entirely, for which I will gladly buy you ice cream).

Legos sets turned into... more Lego sets... turned into "oh my god expensive!" Lego sets.

Crying turned into whining turned into employing the Socratic method to make dad's argument implode before his very eyes (qualdruple negatives should be outlawed in parent-child discourse).

Diapers turned into "All done... wipe!" turned into "Can you get me a comic book, this is going to take a while."

My baby turned into a toddler turned into the beginnings of a young man who will never cease to amaze me.

But you know what? You will also never cease to be this little guy in the video below. No amount of Axe body spray will ever mask that fresh baby smell when I kiss the top of your head, little Simba. Happy Birthday, son.