Finding Her Voice

Two weeks down and two weeks left of my paternity leave. So far, I’ve changed at least sixty diapers and given around ten baths. I’ve warmed up about thirty bottles and been spit up on that many times, as well. Remember that’s only a two-week stint.

The daily routine begins when Finley decides it’s time to get up. Lucky for us, that’s been anywhere between 6:00 am and 8:00 am on the average. Usually mommy is getting ready for work while I give Finley her morning meal. After a quick burp and a change, it’s play time. For the both of us.

We try to mix up back time with tummy time. She spends so much time on her back sleeping and sitting that any time on her tummy, lifting her head, is a bonus. It not only gives her a different perspective of the world, but strengthens her neck and arm muscles and gives her a chance to learn how to roll over. A trick she’s beginning to figure out. She’s not quite mastered it yet, but she’s learning.

Then there are the daddy-designed exercises and gymnastics routines. And although these are created by the daddy, they are not necessarily recognized by the U.S. Physical Education or Gymnastics councils or by mommy, for that matter. But, she smiles a lot and is beginning to realize that the laughing and squeaking noises she hears are coming from her. In fact, as every day goes by, Finley is discovering new and unusual sounds and practicing them on Mommy and Daddy.

It started out quietly enough as little squeaks. She’s been squeaking since day one and her laughs are punctuated by the little high-pitched sounds. Then she moved on to this little growling noise. It’s mostly a sound related to frustration, but she’ll pull it out of nowhere sometimes. Every once in awhile, especially when she’s settling down, she’ll come up with a raspberry noise. She likes to make spit bubbles, so it was inevitable that the raspberry was next. But the noise that she is mastering the most is the one that makes Heather and I look at each other and laugh. She is learning how to scream.

It’s such a high-pitched shriek that it almost sounds like a whistle. At first she started doing it for pretty much no reason. Out of the blue, we’d hear this screech. But now she’s starting to associate it with a bit of anger. When she’s tired of being in the same place or just not happy at all, she’ll blow her whistle, just to let us know she’s in charge.

Something tells me this is only the beginning. The beginning of the noises, the frustration and the reminder of who’s the Princess. She’ll be discovering her voice as she sings, cries, yells and because I’m her dad, make many, many more interesting noises. And I can’t wait.

Daddy’s Day

Yesterday was my first Dios del Padre and I have to say it seemed pretty weird to be on the receiving end of the Dad’s Day cards. I was lucky enough to get a nice card from Heather and one from Finley. Plus, I got a couple of kid/parent CDs featuring David Grisman and Jerry Garcia and one featuring They Might Be Giants. I guess the hip thing for artists to do these days is to make CDs that both kids and parents can listen to. Well, at least CDs that won’t play the same nursery song over and over and over.

But the best present I got was a beautiful silver frame with the words “Father’s Day 2007” etched across the bottom. Inside is one of my favorite pictures. It’s Finley and me from the first round of photo sessions.

There are two main reasons I really love this picture. One is because she’s looking up at me in wonderment. And the other is because of how small she is. When we took that picture she was just over a month old and weighed maybe eight pounds. Now she’s three-and-a-half months old and just under fifteen pounds!

It’s hard to believe how fast she’s growing, and we can see her develop every day. She’s gone from randomly flailing her arms to being able to rub her eyes when she’s tired. Her balance is getting better, she’s sleeping longer at night and her smiles are bigger and brighter.

I love watching her mind work as we talk and play with her. She furrows her little brows as if she’s trying to figure out how we’re making those noises come out of our mouths. She tries to talk, but she’s limited to gurgles and some pretty funny high-pitched shrieks of joy.

The best part is how Heather and I react. It’s like we’ve never been around kids before. Every squeak or squeal is the cutest and funniest thing we’ve ever seen. I’m sure this is the way it is for all first-time parents. It’s obvious that having kids is a huge undertaking that can bring couples even closer together and I’m seeing that happen, first-hand. Heather and I used to make each other laugh and now there’s a third person along for the ride.

So, on my inaugural Father’s Day, I sat down and took in all of my gifts... Not just the CDs or the picture, but my two greatest gifts; my two girls. I couldn’t be a daddy without them.

Separation Anxiety

In the days before Finley (B.F.), Heather and I were quite the upwardly mobile couple. It seemed like every week there was some sort of event or show on our calendar. A concert here, a movie preview there… There was a rum and salmon tasting party last summer and an oyster fest in the fall. We went to the openings of musicals and the occasional quiet romantic dinner on our own. Oh, how things have changed.

These days there’s still some salmon, but not nearly as much rum. The concerts are performed by the “Baby Einstein” orchestra and movies are definitely not previews… they’re pay-per-view. And the quiet, romantic dinners aren’t as quiet or romantic… in fact, they’re barely dinners.

For better and for not so bad, we have been sequestered to our condo. And unlike Paris Hilton, we get to stay in our at-home detention facility. But it really isn’t that bad. We’ve got our hands full of Finley and in the long run, it’s much more entertaining than oyster shooters.

So, for the past three months and one week, we’ve adjusted to a life that is all things baby. Obviously, everything we do revolves around her. Eating, sleeping, shopping… You name it. Whatever we do involves at the very least an extra diaper, a stroller and a bottle or nursing paraphernalia. It’s all a routine. We’ve got it down. So what did we decided to do after twelve weeks of routine? That’s right. Change it up.

Since our first day home from the hospital, Finley slept next to our bed in the wonderful cradle my brother hand made for us. We could hear her little breaths and cries and gurgles. If she got to stirring too much, we could just reach over and rock her back to sleep. Until last week. That’s when Heather decided (and I agreed) that it was time for Finley to move to her crib. In her own room.

Modern technology allows us to monitor her every breath, cry and gurgle through the magic of radio waves. Basically we plopped down fifty bucks for one-way walkie talkies, but the comfort factor is there. And even with science on our side, Heather insists on having the nursery door AND our bedroom door open. I’m not exactly sure why both doors need to be open, but that’s what she wants and I’m not allowed to argue.

The thing is, even with both doors open and the walkie talkies, those first few nights were tough on Heather. At first it bothered me that I wasn’t more worried, but I think it’s because I knew that Heather was basically channeling concern for the both of us. There’s no need for two sleep-deprived parents.

As far as Finley is concerned, she has no clue. She’ll sleep anywhere. Give her a blanket and something soft to lay on and she won’t complain. So she’s actually fine in her own room. Which will be good for everyone down the road. It’s been a week and Heather is sleeping much better. That’s probably because both doors are still open.

Our other foray into changing the routine was an attempt to reclaim one of our past indulgences. We had a pair of tickets to The Police reunion concert, which meant, gasp, we needed a babysitter!

Luckily, Heather’s best friend, Gina, was up to the task. I’m not saying Heather was too worried about leaving Finley behind, I’m just saying that while Sting and the boys were rolling through the old hits, she had a firm grip of her cell phone… the entire concert. Of course, everything was fine and FinleyWorld continued its rotation.

Now I’m starting phase two of my paternity leave, which means four weeks of Daddy/Finley time. (Well, three really, since my first week of paternity is Heather’s last week of maternity). But at the end of my three weeks, it’s all over. No more daddy time. No more mommy time. It’s daycare time. Talk about busting the routine.

We’re about to let Finley go into the big world without us. Okay, so it’s an accredited daycare facility and it’s less than a mile down the road, but we won’t be there! It’s going to be tough, but necessary. She’ll be able to get used to new people and meet other kids. Still, we’ll have to drop her off every morning. On the bright side, she’ll barely know what’s going on and at this point, won’t be able to call out our names. Because this is just the first of many times we’ll drop her off, send her out, let her go. For the next eighteen years at the minimum there will be sleepovers and campouts and eventually college or a new apartment. The tough and confusing part is that every time we let her go, it won’t get any easier. We may get used to it, but we’ll still worry. And that’s the joy of parenting.

What it comes down to is this: I’ve got three weeks of daddy time left, and I don’t plan on wasting any of it. That’s the other joy of parenting.

Cause and Effect

Three things happened this week that brought home the whole parent thing. (Which is appropriate, since Finley turned three months old on Sunday). And just like we were taught in scriptwriting, the golden rule of comedy is to deliver in threes... Two set up lines and hit them with the punch line on the third.

The first part of the set up happened Monday. We have this little play mat that allows Finley to lie on her back and look up at a few toys dangling from above. I rigged one of the rattles to hang just a bit lower and within reach of her little paws. After a few times of guiding her arms to hit the rattle, she paused, studied, then reached and smacked it. Now, you can argue that it was an arm spasm or even a lucky hit. Then she did it again. And again. And several more times. The best part of all of this was watching her learn. You could see the little wheels turning in her head as she realized SHE was making all of this happen. SHE was lifting her hand and SHE was smacking the rattle and making it swing. And as she realized this, it made her giggle. For the first time in her young life, Finley was playing. She figured out, on her own, how to play. And we were there to watch her learn.

Of course, in the world of the child, that lasted about three minutes and she was done. But in the days since, we lay her down on the play mat and she smacks that rattle around. (See for yourself in the Fin Clips)

Part two happened a few days later. For some reason, whenever we put Finley on the changing table, she gets happy. This doesn’t happen every time, of course, but she seems to realize that she’s about to get some relief from a wet or dirty diaper and that makes her happy. Happy enough to let out some soft squeals. But this time around, mommy and daddy took advantage of her good mood and induced some tickling. This led to the cutest little laugh/squeals EVER. (Check out the Fin Clips for proof!)There’s nothing better than the sound of a child’s laugh… Especially when that child is yours. In a quick few days, Finley learned how to play and started laughing. A pretty good week, so far.

But, what really made being a dad hit home happened this past weekend… Early Saturday morning to be exact. I got up with Finley around 5:00 am and sat down to feed her. Up until that point, Finley had been on a roll, going a good three weeks without a bottle. She had been nursing like a pro, gaining good weight and being an overall happy, healthy baby. So when daddy sat down with a bottle, things became a tad complicated. The term is “nipple confusion.” Finley had spent so much time nursing with mama, that a bottle was just a bit too different and difficult.

As to be expected, frustration led to fussiness, which led to a bit of a tantrum. And, with a little patience, I got her to calm down a bit and at least try to eat. But what I didn’t expect was what happened next.

In between her cries and her efforts to take food from the bottle, she lost her breath. Somehow her little gasps got messed up and she spent what seemed like way too long looking up at me without an inhale. Immediately, I started thinking back to the infant CPR class Heather and I took right before Finley’s birth. I gave her a little pat on the back, but nothing changed. As I look back on the episode, her face never changed colors, but there was this eerie silence between us as we both waited for her to start breathing again. The weirdest part was how calm she was. She didn’t struggle or fight at all. And as I’m looking at her, this little feeling started to grow in the pit of my stomach. I was getting scared. Really scared. She wasn’t choking, her breathing pattern had just been interrupted and it hadn’t kicked back into gear. So, I gave her a couple of more pats… this time a bit firmer. The last one startled her a bit and she took a quick breath before letting out a little, wimpy cry that turned into a more regular bawl. I have never been so happy to hear her cry. Because crying equals breathing.

A few minutes later her bottle was empty and I was laying her back down in her crib. That tiny, quiet, sleeping face had no fear and no worries. Unfortunately, I did. I do. I’m guessing that little feeling in the pit of my stomach will probably never go away. I’m guessing that this is what it means to be a parent. It means there are all these great joys we get to witness in our kids. It also means we will worry about them for the rest of our lives. There will always be that feeling pit in my stomach. The trick is to make sure there are more joys than worries. I’ve got my work cut out for me, but after hearing that laugh, I don’t’ think It will be as tough as it seems.