Most of my friends were fathers long before I was. I remember how they would tell me with great enthusiasm their little milestone stories - their kids' early attempts at language, the awkward dancing, all the funny and surprising stuff a child does. But the magic of their moments was mostly lost on me. I couldn't quite relate, so I'd smile or chuckle politely at the cuteness of their tales, and that was it.

These days I could probably sit around with friends and talk toddler for hours over a few beers. There's a lot to cover, with the almost daily transformations taking place. I like that my daughter insists on feeding me about half of her Cheerios, like they're a treat that must be shared to be enjoyed. In particular, I'm happy that her favorite word seems to be "book," or more accurately, "bookabookabooka." She demands that we read to her every day. She likes to point out all the kitties in "Goodnight Moon" - she'll pick up the book and hold it up high and demand, "bookabookabooka!" Then we know it's time to find the kitties again.

And I must say, there can be no moment of pure joy quite like the moment when I walk through her door and she says, "dada" with her arms outstretched and as real a smile as there ever existed on this Earth.

Before she came along, this sort of talk would have bored me to distraction, so I have to figure that if you're still reading this, you must be a parent, too. Way to go.