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.