Dad Life with Josh Zimmerman: a love letter to Cleo on how far we’ve come, in my final STM column

Dear Cleo,

Don’t worry: this is the last one. I’m packing in the columns so that you can be left to grow up in total (as opposed to near total) obscurity.

Yesterday — under my supervision — you tumbled down the driveway in your enthusiasm to hug the wheelie bin and grazed your head and nose.

Your mum came rushing out when she heard you crying to scoop you up and read me the riot act.

Your father is now committing the anecdote to paper in the hope of a few cheap laughs. It’s a pretty good metaphor for the first year of your life, really.

And what a first year it’s been. You arrived cheeky and full of energy and you’ve only grown more chaotic (but also adorable) with each passing day.

As you can probably tell if you’ve read these pages — if you’re interested, your Dedo has the entire collection in hard copy (you might have to google what “hard copy” is) — your mum and dad were a touch slow out of the blocks when it came to the intricacies of parenting.

Well, your dad certainly was. Thankfully your mum is a superstar and held down the fort in those early days while I was accidentally syringing colostrum into your eyes and YouTubing how to fold a swaddle every three hours.

We’ve come a long way as a family since then. Your mum is still a superstar but I’d like to think your dad is slowly making progress. I’ve even kept you alive — alone! — for six-hour stretches at a time.

Equally hard to believe — at least I wouldn’t have believed it six weeks in, frankly — is that there is nothing I enjoy more than spending time with you.

You have an insatiable curiosity and infectious enthusiasm that I’m certain are going to serve you very well when it comes to extracting maximum value from your time on this planet. Both for you and the people lucky enough to call you a mate.

Well, as soon as your vocabulary expands a bit. I’m not sure running around pointing at every single object that catches your eye and grunting loudly until someone tells you what it is is the best way to make friends.

Of course, like all of us, you’re still prone to the occasional moody period. Although these increasingly tend to coincide with a bout of constipation, which is probably something we can all relate to.

One thing you’ve definitely got going for you is an extended family that is absolutely besotted with you. (Harley the cat aside, but even she’s coming around slowly now that you’ve stopped pulling her tail).

They’re also dotted all over the world — from Geraldton to the UK — which is going to come in very handy when (and I get the feeling it’s only a matter of time) the travel bug bites.

Hopefully that day doesn’t creep up on us too fast.

Your mum and dad have so many hopes and dreams for you but we promise never to put those above your own aspirations.

I’m sure we’re going to make lots of mistakes along the way but I can also guarantee we’re motivated by nothing but wanting the best for you.

I’d love to impart some worldly wisdom but at the ripe old age of 33, I’m still waiting for it to arrive myself to be honest.

The one thing I’ve found is that there aren’t any shortcuts to anything truly worth doing and it’s best to learn to enjoy — or at least appreciate — the effort along the way. That certainly holds true for parenting!

I’ll love you always. Bear with me. Dad.