Coming home after two weeks of vacation will always be difficult. Job duties have piled up, certain dogs haven't got the message to go away, lawns are desperately in need of mowing, and all the other realities from daily life slowly fade back in to focus. But what surprises me most about making this transition is Liam's excitement.

When we left to head eastbound, he was irritable and cranky most nights. He was bored with the handful of toys we keep around. He seemed generally frustrated. But now that we're home, it's like he has a fresh take on life. Hello, building blocks! Oh how I've missed you so! Seriously, he walks around the house now, waving and screeching at all his toys. And the dog...well let's just say that Jonas can't stand still or else he gets bear-hugged. At least someone is happy to see that burger-stealing mongrel. I'm not bitter though.

I'm not sure whether Liam's behavior on vacation was normal (and we just don't see it since he's at daycare), or if he had a remarkable two weeks. But over the course of those 14 days, he's grown in leaps and proverbial bounds, developmentally. Just since we arrived at the beach, he:

• Learned how to say and use the word 'hot'
• Figured out how to slide himself off of furniture/beds, and then ask to get up
• Learn and use the ASL sign for 'done'
• Learn and use the ASL sign for 'thank you'
• Learned how to walk up steps by foot instead of crawling
• Learned how to throw a ball

It seemed like every day he did something new, growing older before our eyes. Sure it was tiring keeping up with his curiosity, but he understands so much now, even if he can't talk. He knows relational things like 'outside' and 'upstairs' and will go in those directions if you ask him. He knows where his room is. If you ask him to take off his shoes, he sits down and does it, or if you ask him to get his diaper changed he retrieves the changing pad and diaper and then sits on it (and throws the diaper away when done).

I know every parent goes through this, and I surely am not one of those awe-struck "my kid is extra smart" types. I know it's normal to do all this. But the real beauty is in watching him acquire the knowledge to become more autonomous. I think the biggest frustration I've faced as a father is having to look at my son when he's crying and say "I have no idea what you want!"

Last night I was in the kitchen cooking and he was chugging juice next to me. He tapped me on the leg and said "more!" (pronounced more like 'MO!') and made the ASL sign. I reminded him that he already had his juice and the cup was still full. He walked over to the refrigerator, pointed to it and said, "LLLKK!" (his way of saying 'milk'). And when I asked him if he wanted milk instead, he shook his head yes and repeated 'LLLKK!". Such a simple exchange, but yet still amazing to me as a parent that I can have a basic conversational exchange with him about his needs. And best of all, we avoided the crying because he was able to convey to me what he needed!

It was such a blessing to have those two weeks to see him experience everything, and to have him spend time with my parents. From the sand to the beautiful shop lights on the Boardwalk at night, to the passersby and the thousands of seagulls, he loved and screeched and clapped and pointed at it all. I didn't expect, going into this vacation, that I could care less if I relaxed. That was my number one priority. Funny how things change when you have kids though, because in the end I'm just happy for him instead.

I hope we don't put Liam in therapy with what we've done. It seemed great at the time, only in his best interest. But what the hell did we know? We were 27 and naive. Besides, no one told us not to.

I hate change, even though I oddly crave it. I think Liam takes after me, as he doesn't seem to warm too quickly to new surroundings. So what's the worst best thing we could do to a 13 month old kid who is perched on the precipice of developmental milestones of walking *and* talking? Take away his bottles. Make him switch daycare providers. Push him to eat mostly finger food. All in a week's span. GREAT PLAN, FAUST.

Before Liam was born we wrestled with the daycare decision, and ultimately chose a place that was kinda like Grandma's house: small, comfortable and they only took kids up to one year of age. We liked this and shrugged off the idea that switching daycares might eventually be difficult. Well, I'd like a do-over please.

This week he started at his new daycare, a place equally nice if not larger and less homey. Unfortunately he's the youngest in the room, the only one who doesn't walk, who's never slept on a cot instead of in a crib, the only one who's not yet on an all table food diet and definitely less developed in the talking area. I'm here to tell you that there's no faster way to make a previously level-headed parent feel instantly insecure about their child than to have them "not measure up" when placed in a classroom of other kids. God help me when he takes the SATs.

Needless to say it's been a rough week so far, one filled with hunger strikes and sadness. I give him credit though because despite his shyness and reluctance to adapt he still manages to dance to any music being played, even if he looks like he's on the verge of a breakdown. The most unfortunate part is I'm afraid all the progress we were making prior to Monday's switch might have gone on hiatus. We were only a few tumbles away from our first step (until we introduced mandatory shoes to his wardrobe), had just learned how to say "UP!" appropriately, and had just nailed the ASL sign for "more" in his high chair Saturday night. I just hope we didn't scar him too badly that he gives up walking and communicating until he's 15.

The one bright spot is that he's got a sweet pair of Airwalks out of the deal. Maybe we should try to get him on a skateboard and just skip the whole walking thing for now.

The alarm clock rolled over to 5 a.m. and I took another deep breath. I had been lying there listening to Liam breath on the baby monitor for a little while now, trying to record a video clip to be uploaded to my mind's private YouTube channel for preservation's sake. I just knew that as he made those soft noises, he was in his crib like always, curled up with his butt in the air, asleep without a care in the world. I had to chuckle to myself.

A year ago today I was watching the sun stretch and wake, peering through triple-paned hospital windows and feeling like I was an alien outside my own body. I was tense, sleep-deprived and oh-so-naive, the most peculiar mixture of curious, excited and terrified, like the first day of school except not even remotely close. A year ago today I thought the world revolved around me, and that my To Do Lists, projects and workout regiments were the non-negotiable expectations of my life. I even thought that I was a patient person.

A year ago today, my world changed when I became a father.

Over the past twelve months I've been to places emotionally that I didn't know existed. I love my friends even more as a result and see my own parents in an entirely different light. My wife is my hero. I now understand why other parents give each other these knowing, understanding microglances because they too have had their share of public humiliation due to vomiting and nights that you swear the clock is vindictive and moving backward instead of forward. They too understand they had no idea what they were getting into when they signed up.

Parenthood is like that one test in school where the teacher swore it would be 20 multiple choice straight out of the text and you show up to find that it's 8 long-form essays on a book you were never assigned. Written in Spanish. Castillian Spanish. You look around to see that at least everyone else is paralyzed with fear. It doesn't matter how gifted you are or how much you prepare ahead of time, you're going to get rocked on this. But strangely, just going through it feels exhilarating, even if all you can do is draw sketches in your blue book because you have no idea what you're doing. At the end you're going to turn it in with a simple, apologetic letter to the professor and giggle to yourself at the absurdity of the situation.

As I lay there in bed this morning, I wondered how I got to a point where I have a son who gets books as presents instead of pacifiers and aspirators. Bleary-eyed, I got up and tiptoed past the nursery and down the stairs to make coffee, almost tripping over the toys in the battle zone that is our first floor. And I actually did chuckle to myself.

Here we are a year later, and I'm still a little tense and a little naive. I'm still a mixture of curious, excited and terrified about what's to come. I'm still not prepared for this test and have no idea what I'm doing as a parent, but I finally realize it doesn't matter because I don't really care about how I score on it. I can only think about being in the middle of it, with Liam pounding on my head in glee as I carry him on my shoulders around the house pretending to be Giant Daddy.

So this is my apologetic note for being so woefully unprepared for the parenthood test. I hope down the road Liam comes to see that I didn't just turn in a blank booklet. I had fun drawing in the margins anyway, even if I didn't answer the questions.