Rock and Roll

It’s over. It’s all over. Our world of the contained baby has come to an end. For the past five months, we’ve been Finley’s sole mode of transport. Whether we were carrying her in our arms, in a sling or in a front carrier, she’s relied on us. In the car or in her stroller, one of us was always driving. But on Sunday, her five month birthday, our little girl got from “a” to “b” all on her own.

Finley rolled from her back to her tummy to her back. Then did it again. And again. If she could, she would roll out the door, down the stairs and up the street. As cute as it is (you can see for yourself in the Fin Clips) it just means we’ve crossed the big parenting threshold of keeping all eyes on baby.

Even though she’s pretty limited in her range and direction, it doesn’t mean she won’t figure out someway to get into something. Which means this weekend we’ll be shopping for baby proofing tools. Covers, guards, straps and whatever else they make to keep kids out, off, in or from. But it’s not just doors or latches. It’s checking the carpet for anything we’ve dropped, moving things from lower shelves, covering outlets and keeping cables out of baby’s reach. And that’s just the start.

Her rolling will eventually turn into crawling and crawling leads to pulling herself up on anything she can find. So shelves need to be secured into walls while coffee tables and couches need to be kept clear because she will attempt to grab anything grabable and put it in her mouth.

It’s not that we won’t be watching her, it’s just that one turn of our back to answer a phone or grab some laundry and she’ll be off. Even now, we have to make sure everything is within reach when we’re changing her or she’ll do her best to roll off the changing table.

We know we won’t be able to catch everything, but short of duct-taping her to a wall, I’m sure Heather will find everything we need to keep baby safe. I’ll be the one trying to figure out how it all works… And scraping the duct tape off the wall.

Which makes me wonder how I ever survived my childhood. We didn’t wear helmets when we rode our bikes. We bounced around without seat belts in the backs of the cars. Most of my toys were made of metal and had sharp edges. If you didn’t have a tooth knocked out or some sort of scrape on your knees or facial area, you weren’t a kid in my neighborhood.

But that’s all changed. I guess the kids my age and older were all the test subjects so OUR kids could have the soft, cushy toys. We got the concussions and broken arms so the big companies could charge big bucks for helmets and pads. Do kids even wear casts anymore? I can’t remember the last time I saw a kid with a cast. In fact, the last time I saw one, it was bright orange. A real cast was flaky white and covered with more signatures than a yearbook. Now you can probably get a cast to match what you’re wearing that day. Where was I? Oh yah, Finley is rolling and now she’s even rockin’!

Another big event of the week was a family outing to Finley’s first concert. Well, it was a concert for Mom and Dad, but since it was at the Woodland Park Zoo, we brought the munchkin along. The band, Pink Martini, played cocktail lounge tunes, while our little family spread out on the zoo lawn and had a picnic. It was a great evening. And Finley loved every minute of it. She was quite amazed at the amount of folks and is becoming quite the people watcher. She even had a “dance” in her dad’s arms at the end of the show.

I hope this is just the beginning of her awareness of music. She’s got the toys with the 90 different versions of “Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star” and I played plenty of Beatles for her while she was in the womb. But getting out and experiencing real music, especially live music is a new deal for her.

I’m hoping she not only continues to discover music, but finds the real joy in it. And I can’t wait for the time when she’s moved past rolling and crawling and can get up on her little feet and dance with her dad again.

PHHHHHHT!

On the verge of turning five months old, our little girl has gradually made mental and physical steps toward becoming her own person. The first thing she discovered was her hands. She figured out that these additional appendages could actually be used for grabbing things and, in a pinch, are a great pacifier.

Not too long after that, she started smiling. We’re talking real smiles, not the gas-induced kind. The squeals followed closely, as did the short, sharp yells. Those were just to make sure we were paying attention. Then she started she started figuring out how to sit up. She’s not quite all the way there, but she can get up and down pretty well.

But this weekend, Finley made a new discovery that vaulted her personality to a whole new level. And, I must say, I approve of this new method of communication she found.

Even in her early days, she had been a bubble-maker. That is to say, she would push her slobber out of her mouth and make bubbles while doing it. Over the weekend, she figured out that if she used her tongue in this endeavor, she could not only make more bubbles, but a cool, new sound. That’s right, my little girl knows how to do raspberries! And here’s the kicker… It’s all the mama’s fault!

You see, I awoke Sunday morning to find the two loves of my life sitting in the living room trading raspberries. First mama would do one and after a moment of studying, Finley would answer. It’s true. Heather actually encouraged her daughter to make that noise. I even have proof in the Fin Clips section on this site!

So, there they were… My two prim and proper ladies in a spitting duel and each loving every bit of it. And it is pretty great. Not only has Finley figured out how to use her tongue and mouth to have fun, but she watched and learned how to copy her mama. It was her first real playful interaction. Sure she was making a mess and a noise that’s not approved of in social situations, but she was taking turns doing it. She was sharing her fun.

Of course, the rest of the day Finley continued this new game. In the car, in her stroller and in the stores. It’s quite the scene when you’re walking through a bookstore and every few seconds the sound of a whoopee cushion fires off. And it’s even better when you see that the culprit is this little, smiling face with drool all over her chin.

I just wonder what’s next. I mean, I’m glad she discovered something that is actually pretty funny. I’d like to hope that she keeps finding the fun things. I know that once she gets mobile, we have to be on our toes for some of the other things she’ll discover. Some of which we’ll have to lock up or put up high. I also know that cuts and bruises are right around the corner as well.

I have a future of child-proofing and child chasing. A future filled with band-aids and cold compresses. I know I’ll be wiping scrapes and tears. So, for now anyway, I’m happy with wiping up drool from a silly little girl that keeps her daddy smiling.

Tale of the Tape

Last week was a very busy week for our little angel. If Finley could talk, there would be basically one thing she would say… “It’s hard being popular.” It’s true. Between her play sessions and her modeling duties and all her scheduled appearances a girl barely has time for beauty naps.

Last week, as I mentioned, was her first week of daycare. And despite a little trepidation from her representation, she had a successful first five days at school. The only real downside is that, at least for now, she’s not getting much sleep during the day. This is probably due to a combination of the new surroundings and the noise from the other kids. She does, however, catch up on her lost sleep at home which unfortunately means less face time with mom and dad. But we know that will change as she adjusts and grows.

Speaking of growing, our little celeb also had a doctor appointment last week. It was her four-month checkup (can you believe she’s four months old?) and we arrived bright and early to her pediatrician’s office. Dr. Zimburean and her nurse gave Finley her 14-point checkup which was more like measuring and weighing a prize watermelon or a super, super flyweight boxer. After a few minutes of poking, prodding and lots of notes we got the results.

Finley weighed in at 15lbs, 3.5 oz and has stretched out to 26-1/4 inches in length. According to the national average, she landed in the 80^th and 97^th percentiles, respectively, for babies her age. But it was her head that was a bit surprising. The circumference is 43.3 cm, which turns out is only in the 25^th percentile.

At first, that seemed a little small. But then we thought about it. We like the size of her head. Heather, especially, was fond of its smallness during labor. And it’s not like she has a pinhead. I even think her cheeks make up for what the rest of her noggin is lacking. We’re quite happy she doesn’t have some freakishly gigantic cranium, like dad. In fact, she looks pretty darned perfect to me.

Once we got the tale of the tape, it was time for the most dreaded part of the visits to Dr. Z’s office. It was time for four immunizations. It really is a terrible thing to have to go through. So awful, that mommy decides she needs to go set up the next appointment with the receptionist. That leaves daddy to be the pillar of strength that he is.

The hardest part of all of this is that you tell yourself the shots are for a reason and that they will only help her be a healthy and happy baby. But you know the truth. You remember the flu and tetanus shots from your youth. And if you were lucky like me, you wound up in the hospital with pneumonia when you were seven and they discovered that you had adverse reactions to the penicillin shots they’d been giving you for three days.

So, with those memories floating to the top of your 90^th percentile head you watch your daughter’s face as she grips your fingers and looks at you, innocently. Then you see the quizzical look on her face as the first needle goes in. It’s uncomfortable, but she’s more startled than hurt. Then number two goes in and she looks at you as if to say, “Okay, what’s going on?” And she cries a little. It’s not too bad, really. Not more than expected, anyway.

Then the nurse turns to me and says, “The third one always hurts the most. The medicine must have something that stings in it.” Thanks. And sure enough, Finley confirms her theory. I love my daughter’s high-pitched squeals when she’s laughing. But I absolutely hate hearing her cry in pain. It’s the worst sound, ever. Mainly because you know you can’t do anything about it except try to calm her down.

If there’s a bright side to shot number three, it’s that the pain of it almost covers the fourth and final shot. Almost. Four shots. Two in each tiny leg. I do have to say that my little girl is a trooper. It’s true she screamed and cried. But only for a few seconds. By the time the nurse had finished and I had her up in my arms, she had quieted to a couple of sobs. In fact, when I brought her out to mama, you would hardly have noticed that she had been injected at all. The rest of the day, she was lethargic as expected. She wasn’t her happy, excited self. But who could blame her?

Fortunately for us, she’ll never remember going through all of this. All of the sick anticipation, the sight of the needles and the need to get away. And that was just mommy and daddy. It turns out, as I’m sure it will in the future, that our little girl is stronger at facing the scary stuff than we are. We worry about her and don’t want her to have any pain, but the reality is that she’ll be fine facing it by herself. But that’s a long ways away. For now, I’m fine with just holding her when she cries.

All Quiet on the Home Front

This morning started out as most mornings. Mama got up first and then Baby, followed closely by the Daddy who would feed the girl. So far, so good. But this morning would be different. This morning the Mommy didn’t kiss Daddy and Baby goodbye. This morning Mommy and Baby left Daddy behind and went to daycare. That’s right, daycare.

Today was Finley’s first day at KinderCare and even though there are many, many good reasons for her to go, it didn’t make dropping her off any easier for Heather. It’s called “separation anxiety.” It’s hard to believe, but for pretty much every day of her four month life, one of us has been with her. And now, just as she is smiling at us and really recognizing us, we send her off. Which didn’t make things any easier for Heather. But, we know that every day will be a little easier and require fewer tissues than the day before.

I, to Heather’s dismay, got the good end of the deal. I get to pick her up. Yep. While Heather leaves her behind in a trail of tears, I’m the happy recipient of a glowing smile when she sees daddy come to get her (Don’t worry, Heather won’t let that last too long).

And as much as I prepped myself to not worry too much about her being gone, there was one thing I wasn’t ready for. The shattering silence. I’m lucky enough to work three days a week from home and while I was on paternity leave, I got used to working on the computer or doing housework, while listening for the telltale signs of discomfort or hunger. Even though she’s not here, I find myself pausing what I’m doing and listening for that little girl.

It’s not that she’s a noisy or loud baby, but it’s amazing how easily you get used to the sound of a batted rattle or the rustle of a ribbon in her little hands. There are toys that attach to bouncy seats and there’s the clock-like sounds of her swing. And as of late, you can’t go too long without hearing a coo or a shriek of delight. Except for today.

I knew I was going to miss her, but it wasn’t until I started listening for sounds that wouldn’t come that I realized how much. It’s very weird, because for nearly twenty years of my life, I’ve pretty much worried about myself. I don’t need to worry about Heather because she’s more together than I am. But I never imagined I’d worry about someone as much as I do that sweet little girl.

As I said before, we know that there are many good reasons for her to go to daycare. But I think the hardest part is that I’m afraid I’m going to miss watching her grow. We’ve seen her first smile and her first laugh. We’re watching as she learns to roll over and sit up. I’m afraid she’ll start crawling and even talking when I’m not around. But that’s the way it goes, I guess.

Somewhere along the line, she’s going to do things that one of us will see and the other will miss. The silly thing is that these are things that are so simple and easy to the average person. Of course once we see her do it, we’ll think it’s a miracle. Okay, so maybe it’s not THAT silly, but I also know that these little miracles will become work. Once she learns how to crawl, it will be harder to catch her. Once she learns to speak, she’ll eventually learn how to tell us “no.” And once she learns how to walk, we’ll be running like crazy. But as much as those things may seem difficult and tedious when they happen, they are things I won’t want to miss for the world.

The End of Tour of Doody II

So, we’re heading into Daddy’s final week of paternity and I’m not sure I really want to go back to work! Finley is such a good baby, knock on wood. Last week she slept 8 hours every night except two… when she slept 11 hours! She’s four months old now, which means she’s starting to settle into our routine… Actually, we’re settling into HER routine.

Of course, now that things are becoming a bit steadier, it’s time to rock the boat. Next Monday, Mommy will reluctantly drive the Princess to daycare. There she’ll meet a whole new set of friends, discover new toys and ways to learn, and as her mother likes to remind me, bring home new germs. I like to think of it as building resistance at an early age. Ask me what I think in a few months when I have some child-induced cold.

Yep, our little girl is growing up. Four months ago, she was this tiny, little creature just laying there and her only noises were cries or gas-related. Now, she’s fifteen pounds and figuring out how to roll over and sit up. And her noises vary from high-pitched squeals to raspberries and the occasional unintelligible shout. Oh, the gas-related noises are still there, too.

Everyday, she soaks in the world around her. After her feedings, we usually talk about what’s going on in the world or why we’re glad the Yankees are playing so poorly. It’s a pretty one-sided conversation, but she studies my voice and facial expressions. She wants to talk. I’m sure she has her own theories on starting pitchers; she just can’t quite get it out, yet. But she loves to hear us talk. She also loves to stick her fingers in her mouth. Actually she loves to stick anything she can get her hands on, in her mouth. But if nothing is available, hands will do.

This desire to put things in her mouth, inevitably leads to drool. And lots of it. In fact, she’s beginning to drool so much we’re wondering if she’s close to the teething stage. I worry that once her pearly whites begin to cut, our happy, lazy baby days will be over.

First we’ll have the joy of teething. Somewhere in the middle of that fun, she’ll learn to crawl. Then the words will start to flow. Before you know it, I’m paying for braces, additional car insurance and a dress for some prom with some boy I’ll need to talk to.

Okay, so maybe it won’t happen that fast, but those of you out there who are in it or went through it will say that it DOES happen pretty quickly!

The bottom line is that I don’t want her to grow up. Except for the fact that we can’t discuss the validity of the designated hitter, she’s pretty much perfect. I know I can’t keep her this way. I just don’t want her to break my heart. The thing is, she’s already started.

Every time she wakes up, whether it’s in the morning or in the afternoon, she’s waiting for us. She’ll coo or squeal and kick her legs. Then when we come into view, the world’s cutest smile crosses her face and my heart breaks. She’s so happy to see us. She’s thinking, “These people. They’re going to feed me. They’re going to play with me. They’re going to collect my poop. I like these people.” Even when she’s fussy and needing to go to sleep, those little eyes look up at me as if to say, “I’m safe with this guy.”

The problem is, we’re her entire world. The mama and the daddy. That’s it. And for her to grow and learn and eventually be a mama herself, she needs to go out the door. She needs to leave us behind… not right away, of course… Her world needs to get bigger. And our job is to prepare her. Let her know we’ll be here for her, but that she needs to figure it all out for herself. And that’s okay. I guess I can let my heart break a little bit.