That's Life: Joy of fatherhood worth sacrificing luxuries of youth

It had all the elements of a wild college kegger. One partyer threw up. Another nearly passed out. In the end, the house was trashed and I was exhausted.

Yes, my daughter’s first birthday party was a big success. Dylan, 2, hurled his lunch. Five-year-old Rayne nearly passed out in the party’s final stretch. And although Jade, 18 months, was a little unsteady on her feet, we cut her some slack since she’s relatively new to the whole walking thing.

Juliet turned 1 on March 8. We invited friends and family to partake in what we now understand to be a rite of passage: watching your child fingerpaint her face with frosting in front of enough cameras to staff an Anna Nicole Smith press conference.

The event reminded me just how much fatherhood changes things. Parties morph from late-night screaming followed by embarrassing next days to midday squealing followed by toy-littered floors. There are still the childish antics — they just come from children and not the adults.

Those quick trips to the grocery store are now expeditions. Fetching a gallon of milk requires meticulous planning and a diaper-load of equipment. Stroller? Check. Diapers? Check. Bottle? Check. Sanity? Well, it’s overrated anyway.

I once dreamed of traveling the world as a foreign correspondent on the front lines of major news events, scribbling notes to a backdrop of gunfire in the latest conflict.

Now I dream of getting home from work in time to read Juliet her bedtime stories.

Who’d have thought it would be so easy to memorize “Goodnight Moon” and “Guess How Much I Love You.” After the first two dozen readings, it’s a cinch.

Before March 8, 2006, making plans meant deciding what to do with the weekend or which movie to see. Now it means saving for college and keeping a job with good health benefits. I’ve learned that 401(k) is not the model number for a new stereo.

I’ve always considered myself a risk-taker. I’ve been skydiving and paragliding. In college, I was the guy who would jump off a hotel balcony into the pool on a dare.

Such risks take on new meaning when someone depends on you to remove poop from her pants or climb out of bed. And for all the crazy things I’ve done, driving in traffic with Juliet in back can be far more nerve-racking.

When you become a father, you agree in part to quit being a kid yourself. That’s no easy thing.

No more staying up until 2 a.m. watching movies. That surround-sound system that so perfectly — and loudly — captures cars exploding and bones cracking seldom gets used to its glorious actionpacked potential. And going out with friends after work is no longer a spur-of-the-moment decision made on the way to the car.

As a nonparent, I never fully understood the reasons behind such sacrifices. Friends with children would talk about the joys of parenthood. “Oh, it’s the greatest thing,” they would say. But their smiles implied something insidious, like someone selling Amway or trying to win you over to a cult. “Oh, the diapers aren’t so bad,” was spoken with glossy stares and plastic smiles.

Now, as a one-year member of Daddy’s Gate, it couldn’t be clearer.

Juliet’s giggles and goofiness bring more entertainment value than my favorite reruns of “The Simpsons.” Playing with her on the floor might as well be a day of skiing fresh powder.

And yet I realize that if I traveled back in time to tell this to my pre-baby self, he would look at me with that same distrusting look. That, and he’d probably be freaked out by the whole time travel thing. Sure, the quick trip to the grocery store is no longer quick.

But it’s so much more gratifying to pick out your produce while making ridiculous faces at your own sprout.

After the birthday party, Juliet napped and I sat with my wife and parents amid a sea of pink and yellow wrapping paper, completely wiped out. I realized that I will very likely never see another party where Snoop Dogg and Lynyrd Skynyrd blare from ’80s-era speakers and the punch is scooped out of a trash can.

But I’m not complaining.

I’ll take my cake-covered daughter and her goofy ways anytime.

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