Apparently, I’m going to become a father today. 
 
No, my partner isn’t on the way to the hospital, or pushing a baby out in our bathtub.
 
This is going down in a way I never imagined. 
 
In fact, my internal barometer as to whether I really, really wanted a kid, at any cost, has always been my willingness to adopt. And as a mostly single (not anymore), middle-aged (still happening, unfortunately) guy, every time I swung that particular hammer, the barometer did not respond with the winning ping of a state fair Ring The Bell game.
 
And yet here I am.
 
Adopting a kid.
 
The circumstances aren’t what I ever imagined, either. I’m not traveling to another country, following the media-blessed, choreographed tracks of Angelina Jolie or Madonna, to rescue a newborn. Nothing against that, of course. And I haven’t been on a waiting list here in the U.S., checking in at increasingly short intervals to see if a baby has been tagged for me. Nothing against that, either.
 
We need more good parents willing to do the work.
 
But for me, the scenario has unfolded a little differently…as have most things in my life: the result of my choices, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. I’ve been lucky, in that I’ve been able to set my own course for most of my days, and as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to accept the consequences. 
 
Today is no different. We’ll be going into court in front of a judge, to confirm that I’ve made a choice, my partner made a choice, and her 13-year-old girl is making a choice.
 
But here’s the thing. 
 
I’m not really becoming a father today.
 
I already made that choice, when I married her mom.