When my wife fell pregnant with our first child, I spent hours imagining what my life as a father would be like. What would it be like to meet them? To hold them? To raise them?

But these thought exercises failed. Because I couldn’t do it – I couldn’t picture what was heading my way.

Then he arrived, and as I held him for the first time, I couldn’t remember my life without him.

Strange, no?

Years later, my wife fell pregnant again with our second. The same thing happened – I could not picture my life with another baby in it, even though this was not my first rodeo, and I knew what to expect.

Except I didn’t. I had forgotten.

She gave birth to another son! I was smitten. And I experienced the same instant shift in my psychological configuration; I was transported to a place where I couldn’t imagine my life before.

Now, when I look at the baby, I try to imagine what he will be like as a toddler or as a pre-schooler the age of his big brother (who has just started school) or what both boys will be like when they grow up.

But I still can’t do it.

So, I’ve vowed to stop trying. I’ve learnt this is yet another illuminating reminder of the need for presence.

Sure, it’s fun to think about the future every once in a while, and I’m a card-carrying advocate of planning for the long term. But if I can’t imagine it, what value is there trying? Surely my time is better spent elsewhere rather than on fixating on something that isn’t.

So, I focus on where my children are at today. And I try and stay there. Until there becomes somewhere else.