When I called my mom up on the phone to let her know that I'd had my first child -- a healthy, happy baby boy who just happened to be like four months old at that point -- she sighed. "Well," she said, "I can't say I'm surprised." It was about three weeks after the first time I met him, in the waiting room of the paternity clinic, and I had the test results in hand. They didn't surprise me, either. Even though the paternity had been between me and one other guy, from the second I saw that baby, I knew -- I just knew -- he was mine. Partly because the guy was Italian, and this baby didn't look Italian at all, but I'm still pretty sure the other part was some kind of paternal instinct. Either way, I was 20 years old and I was a father, and what I felt about that was about 80 percent terror.
This is how old you feel, being a parent.