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.