On previous camping trips with friends, I was always the guy without children. I would listen to my companions tell their stories, the good and the bad, trying to imagine what it must be like and believing to my core that I was glad to be childless, that my time was more my own. But this morning, as we sat eating breakfast around the cold campfire, my friends started telling their kid stories, and I can’t deny feeling more a part of the group. I had been a step removed from them, for better or for worse, and never thought much about it until I had taken that step. I felt a sense of relief (not the right word, but close) upon realizing that I was no longer the childless one around the campfire.
245 days old