Thank you for your kind reviews. Your support of this story means so much to me. Alanna: I love you. xo

I learned so much about being a parent over the course of Isabella's first year. The internet in the early 90s wasn't what it is now; I devoured parenting books voraciously, and had long talks with my parents and library group mommy friends. There are some things, though, you discover on your own.

Like the fact that rationalizing with a one year old is futile. You know this but you will try, and try again. And you tell yourself you won't give in to every whining whim but the truth of the matter is you will. One flutter of those eyelashes, one sweet sounding 'pwease, Dada' and you're handing over the moon without a second thought. Cuteness is a powerful, underrated thing.

You will do other things you never thought you'd do- like teach a little girl to pee standing up because the first time you sat her on the toilet she fell in, and since you failed to bite back laughter she refused to sit on the toilet again. And only when your mother catches her unsuccessfully peeing in that manner, urine running down her leg and puddling on the floor, do you admit defeat in the potty training department. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Things that would have grossed you out before don't phase you once you're a parent. I've picked boogers out of Isabella's nose, stuck a thermometer up her butt, and changed a wide variety of colored, textured, rancid smelling diapers, not to mention sifted through said diapers to ensure a swallowed penny made its way back out successfully (it did, in case you were wondering.) When you're a parent these are things you do without much hesitation.

Another given is that your precious child will embarrass you. A lot.

I remember taking three and a half year old Isabella swimming at the Forks Athletic and Aquatic club. Start to finish, it was a horribly embarrassing event. I took her with me into the men's locker room, forgetting guys strut around buck-naked with no qualms whatsoever. I'd always been modest with my daughter because it was weird for me to have her see me undressed. In the locker room I shielded Isabella's eyes and took her into a private changing stall. After I wrangled her into her bathing suit I had to get changed into my swim trunks. I tried to do it quickly but I wasn't quick enough for Isabella, who was right at crotch level.

"Daddy! What's dat?" She actually flicked my penis with her finger. No. Just, no. And of course she wasn't using her inside voice. I quickly shushed her.

"Why are you so hairy down there?"

Someone in the next change room snickered.

"Are you ready to go swimming?" I asked, praying she would shut up already.

"Yay, swimming!" She jumped up and down, huge smile on her face. Thank God for distraction - a parent's favorite trick.

Part way through swimming, I thought I should ask if she needed to use the restroom.

"Sweetie, do you need to go pee-pee?"

She shook her head, her wet ponytail swaying back and forth.

"I already went in the pool."

The family swimming next to us swam in the opposite direction. I tried not to laugh but she looked so proud of herself.

The public pool wasn't the only place Isabella decided to embarrass me. Once when we were shopping in Wal-Mart she spotted a white, frilly wedding-type dress. Isabella begged to try it on so I put it over top of her clothes. The drama began when I explained I wasn't actually going to buy it for her.

Meltdown.

Awesome.

By nothing short of a miracle I managed to get the dress off her. She stomped her feet but I'd won. Ha! Except Isabella decided if I wasn't going to buy the dress for her, well then, she wasn't going to wear anything. At all. She bolted away from me, stripping off her clothes as she went. Three year olds are surprisingly fast and agile. When I finally caught up to her she was scarcely short of a full monty. I dragged my half-naked screaming child out of the store while customers rubbernecked, my face red with embarrassment. It was something I learned to get used to.

Like most kids, Isabella had no filter. She constantly said things that left me red-faced and stuttering out an apology to whomever I was with.

Once, when she was four or so, we went grocery shopping. Usually the biggest problem at the grocery store was her wanting me to buy chocolate bars and candy at the front check-out. That unfortunate day, I had another battle – between me and Isabella's mouth.

"Daddy! She's bee-u-tee-ful!" Again, not using her inside voice, and with her finger pointing obnoxiously in the direction of the woman standing behind me in the check-out line. She was right - the redhead was attractive, so I used Isabella as bait.

"Hi, I'm Edward. Apparently my daughter thinks you're pretty."

Smooth, right?

"Nice to meet you, I'm Tori. Cute kid." She gave me a flirty smile that I returned.

"Thank you."

Isabella tugged my sleeve.

"Daddy, are you going to kiss her?" My child had watched far too many movies where kisses were exchanged upon first meeting, and the characters fell hopelessly in love. Tori laughed.

"Sweetie, he needs to ask me out for coffee or something first."

And I was just about to do that when Isabella piped up.

"Do you like swimming?"

Smart thinking, kiddo, get the hot girl into a bikini. That totally worked for me.

"Yes, I do." Her eyes locked on mine in some serious eye fucking. At least what I assumed was considered eye fucking - it'd been awhile since anyone paid much attention to me.

"Daddy, you should take her swimming!"

"Maybe I will. Why don't you give me your number?" I started loading my groceries onto the conveyor.

"Swimming is fun. You can pee in the pool – I do."

"Sweetheart, some things you keep a secret," I laughed. Isabella looked thoughtful. I should've known that wasn't a good thing.

"Is it supposed to be a secret that you're really hairy?" For added effect she pointed at my crotch and whispered, "Down there."

"Heh, heh. Kids." I playfully placed my hand over my daughter's mouth and smiled.

Thankfully, Tori wasn't scared off. I took her out for coffee the following Sunday morning while Isabella was at church with my parents. We hit it off.

This brings me to the next the thing you realize upon becoming a parent: you're mostly celibate, and not by choice.

Tori and I had been seeing each other for about a month. Dating a single dad, who still lives in his parent's basement and shares one tiny bedroom with his daughter, means having your girlfriend come over after your kid's in bed, you never get the luxury of having your date spend the night, and any sexy times are had on the sofa. I wasn't picky; I'd take what I could get.

Thankfully, once asleep, Isabella was down for the count, which was great because I wasn't quite ready to explain the birds and bees or the context of my relationship with Tori to my four year old. Except this one particular night. Of course. Tori and I were horizontal on the couch, getting acquainted, you could say. There I was, dry-humping like mad and sucking on her boob when little Isabella padded in. Those damn footed pajamas gave her the silent stealth of a pint-sized ninja.

"Daddy?"

I popped my mouth off the nipple. Tori screeched, scaring Isabella who started bawling. I didn't know if I should I cover naked boobs or console my daughter. I opted for boobs. Wrong choice. Isabella noticed the tent in my pants and her eyes bugged out.

"Daddy! What's wrong with your penis?"

Oh, shit.

Must distract.

"Why are you out of bed, young lady?" I adjusted myself while scolding. Meanwhile, Tori scrambled into her clothes.

"Why were you kissing her boobies? Does she have an owie?" Those big eyes were wide with concern.

"Yes! Yes! Tori has an owie. On her boobies. I mean, breasts. And that's why I was kissing them. I was making her, I mean, them feel better."

"Maybe she should kiss your penis and make it feel better. I think it might be broken."

I blushed. "Heh heh. Yeah, that would probably make it feel better. Okay, let's get you back to bed, sweetie." I mouthed an apology to Tori as I patted Isabella on the behind, scooting her back to the bedroom.

Eventually, Tori and I parted ways. Going in, we both knew our relationship wasn't going to be anything serious or long-term. First and foremost, I was a dad; anyone else in my life was a secondary character to Isabella. I was upfront from the beginning and Tori was okay with it. When we broke up, it was totally mutual and there were no hard feelings on either side. I have such fond memories of my time with Tori - she made me feel like a normal 21-year old guy...for a while anyway. Leave it to Isabella to remind me I was anything but.

My five-year old daughter was filled with useless information. Except quite often the facts she recited were incorrect. Like when she told her entire preschool class that Daddy ate vagina for dinner, but she didn't like it so she had cereal. She meant lasagna, which I kindly explained to Mrs. Banner when she called me in for a parent-teacher conference the very same day.

The other thing no one tells you about being a parent are the tears - yours. And not from frustration, though there are plenty of those as well. I'm talking about the tears that spring up when you least expect it. Like the first day of kindergarten. Isabella was vibrating with excitement and clutching my hand tightly. I walked her into class and the teacher invited her to join the others already sitting on the carpet. As Isabella's hand slipped from mine I found myself blinking back tears. She had been my sole responsibility for five years and passing the torch on to Ms. Volturi, even for half a day, was harder than I ever expected. I cried more than she did that first month or two.

I'd wait for her after school and watch her search for me in the sea of parents. When she found me, the smile on her face would grow and she'd sprint as fast as she could toward me, pigtails flying, and launch herself into my arms. I loved being her number one guy.

That's just one the many stories of joy being a parent grants you. My favorite times were spent snuggled in the old recliner in our living room. After school, with chocolate milk and cookies close at hand, Isabella would tell me all about her day in a long, convoluted way with busy hands and wide, expressive eyes. On weekends we'd scrunch together in the seat and watch movies, lounging in our jammies all day.

Every night before bed I'd read her a story, and Isabella would pretend to be asleep by the last page so I'd have to carry her to her room. I never minded. She'd wrap her arms around me, nuzzle her nose into my neck and giggle to herself because, once again, I'd apparently fallen for her trick. I'd tuck her covers under her chin and Isabella would magically wake up, rubbing her eyes and ask me how she got to bed. When I told her by fairy wings be she would act surprised. Together we'd say her prayers - thanking God for each other, for Grandma and Grandpa, and for a good night's sleep.

After tucks in, I'd kiss the tip of her nose and turn the night light on. Right before I'd close the door Isabella would murmur a sweet-sounding "I love you, Daddy" and together we'd say "To the moon and back."

Those moments made it all worthwhile. But nothing, nothing topped my college graduation.

After six years of part-time classes, after blood, sweat, and actual tears, I finally earned my business degree. It was Isabella's voice cheering the loudest when I walked across the stage to get my diploma. It's probably the proudest moment of my life.

"That's! My! Daddy!"

You know it, sweetheart.

The image of her standing up on her chair, grinning from ear to ear, frantically waving her arms and cheering for me - ME! - is forever etched in my mind. I hadn't failed her after all. Cue those damn tears again.

Shortly after graduation, I realized it was time for Isabella and me to finally move out of my parent's basement; make it on our own. Though I didn't know exactly what I was going to do, for the first time in a very long time I felt confident in my abilities and was excited to start our new life.

Just not in Forks.

A fresh start meant getting away from the small town I'd grown up in. I wanted what my friends had experienced - the thrill and excitement of moving away from home. My parents supported my decision one hundred percent.

I made a few solo trips south, checking out Seattle and the surrounding areas. I put a deposit and first month's rent on a two bedroom apartment I thought would be perfect for us. The Lord willing, I'd figure out 'what to do with my life' soon.

Two months post grad, just weeks before her sixth birthday, Isabella and I packed up a U-Haul moving truck and relocated to Edmonds, Washington. It was bigger than Forks, but not intimidatingly so. The move brought with it many tears, and more nostalgia than I anticipated, but it's a decision I've never regretted. After all, it's where I would meet two of my best friends, and where Isabella would grow into a young woman.

That's when life got really interesting.