Six Month Mark

Here we are at 24 weeks and not too much worse for wear. It certainly seems like it took a lot longer to get to six months when Heather was pregnant than it did for Finley to make it to half a year. It really is crazy how fast things go. I was playing with her this past weekend and spent my time just watching everything about her, as intently as I could. I kept thinking that before I know it, she’ll be running out the door to go to a friend’s house and I won’t have this kind of Daddy time any more.

She’s at such at great age, right now. She’s figuring out how to get around, even though it’s just rolling. Her hand-eye coordination improves every day and she can grasp and hold things quite well. Of course every one of those things she grabs winds up in her mouth or close to it.

I like the fact that she still relies on us, for the most part. I mean we have to carry her from place to place and set her in her bed or amongst her toys. She has that great baby-on-the-arm technique where she can look around while you’re carrying her, yet still have at least one hand firmly attached to your shoulder. But the best part is how easily entertained she is.

Peek-a-boo is a favorite and any interesting or crazy noises seem to illicit a quizzical look, followed by her timeless, toothless smile. Much to her mother’s dismay, she likes it when I flip her around or toss her in the air (I’m building up her rollercoaster tolerance, so we can hit all the cool rides when she’s older). And she likes it when we sing to her. Actually, she pretty much likes everything do when we try to entertain her. Which is why this is such a great age.

Right now, I’m not just the only clown in her life; I’m the only boy in her life. And that suits me just fine! We won’t even touch that subject for quite some time. And I have a feeling I will be deferring to the Momma for rules and regulations on that front. In fact, I have a feeling that I will be deferring to the Momma for most of the serious and/or girl stuff to come.

I’m certainly not going to express my fashion-impaired judgment on my daughter’s wardrobe. Even though the first few years will be filled with tutus and some wacked-out princess dresses with jeans. It’s the time when she starts THINKING about what she’s wearing and what she wants to put on her face that will signal the exclusion of Dad on all-things girl.

I’ll still be around for anything tomboy or fixit related. I’ll buy her a baseball glove and teach her how to keep her weight on her back foot, and if she decides she’d rather spend her time swinging a curling iron than a bat, that’s okay. At least she will have had the option. And that’s really the best I can do… Give her options and guide her along with the ones that are down my alley. Otherwise it’s all Momma all the time and I’m just there for support.

All of that, of course, is way, way, way in the future. Well, most of it anyway. I know it will only be a matter of time before dolls or books or TV shows become much more interesting than Dad’s funny faces. There will be the times when she’d rather run around outside and have a tea party than hop on pop’s lap. And I know that the day will come when one, if not all of my goofy antics, will be met with a roll of the eyes and a shake of the head. It doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying to entertain her! In fact it may spur me on to try even harder. But by then it will probably be just Heather and me in the house and the wife will be the one rolling her eyes and shaking her head… Kind of like she does, now days. But, until those days come, I’ll be working the room with my best dumb jokes and funny faces because there’s a little girl that can’t seem to get enough of that.

The Tooth Hurts

It was bound to happen. I mean, she’s been such a good baby that I knew, eventually, there would be one bad evening. For all the good moods she’s been in and all the laughs and giggles we’ve shared, there had to be a melt down. But here’s the thing… Her “meltdowns” are probably pretty tame compared to other babies. Nevertheless, it was pretty dramatic to me. What am I talking about? I’m talking about the non-fun Finley and I had Wednesday evening.

Momma had to work late at an event, so that left the daddy flying solo. No big deal. A typical night with the daughter. Typical, that is, until she woke up from her nap at her usual 7-ish time. At first things were great. She was making a little noise and I went to pick her up and saw that great big smile she gives me when I’m within eyesight. I picked her up and talked to her a bit as we went to the changing table. She was still a bit sleepy, but responsive. But then after a quick diaper stop, it was more than her pants that had changed…. Her mood took a turn, too.

From what seemed out of nowhere, she gave a little whimpering cry and stuck that little lip out in a pout that said more sadness was on the way. But it wasn’t her typical, “I want something” or “I’m bored with this” cry. It was the cry I’d really only heard once and I didn’t like it then. It was the “I’m in pain” cry.

She had made this little screaming wail a few weeks earlier when she bumped her head in her crib and it was not a sound Heather or I ever wanted to hear again. And now, it was starting up, once more. It’s a cross between a scream and a cry and the more she does it, the more manic she becomes. It’s like she is not only hurt but scared and it’s very difficult to get her to calm down.

The first thing I thought was that maybe I had put her diaper on too tight or had accidentally pinched or scratched her. But as her cries began to drone on, it began to occur to me that she may actually be teething.

We had been noticing more and more drooling, as of late and the extra wetness combined with her age puts her right in the target area for tooth time. Which is a pretty crazy concept if you think about it. It’s one of those life events that happens early so we don’t remember how lousy it is.

I can remember being six or seven and messing around with a loose tooth or two. Twisting and prodding at it because of the curiosity of the pain. Then the moment of yanking it free or having it fall out only to spend the next several weeks rubbing my tongue in the left over flesh gap that remained. But having the teeth actually rise up (or down) out of my gums? I don’t remember. It can’t be too pleasant. Especially when you’re barely six months old.

I imagine it’s not unlike geology in your mouth when all this happens. Toothtonic plates are shifting and grinding, working their way up (or down) through the surface of the gums. Then one little peak peeks its way up like a volcanic eruption and, viola… Mount Cuspid. And if she’s anything like her old man was, she’ll have peaks and valleys like the Alps.

So, Finley’s mouth is the San Andreas Fault and I’m looking for every teething device we own. Some are in the fridge, some are in the freezer and some are who knows where. Then I remember two very important items I overlooked: Baby Orajel and Baby Tylenol.

A quick dab of Orajel on dad’s finger and it was if I had dipped my digit in chocolate. Then a little dose of Tylenol and we were set.

She started to settle down as I held her, but every now and then a few whimpers would find their way to break my heart. Before too long she had drifted off to sleep and I was able to stare at her as she lay in the crib, as if the whole night never happened. I wished it would have been that easy for me!

The whole event lasted less than three hours, with the main crying going for only about thirty minutes. But I was wiped. And like Heather would say when she got home… THIS, is parenthood. It’s not the feeding or the diapers or saying “no” or time outs or groundings or taking the car away. It’s seeing your child in pain and never wanting to see it again. It’s worrying. It’s having that feeling in the pit of your gut that will probably never go away. For me, it will probably mean getting a lifetime supply of TUMS.

But if we’re good parents… and I think we’re on our way… as she gets older and more responsible, that feeling of worry will lessen. It won’t go away. It will never go away. And as I think about it… I’m not sure I ever want it to go away. I’ll have it as long as she’s my daughter. And that’s a price I’ll pay.

Taste Test

It seems like, as of late, most Finley-related events usher in a new era. We’ve seen her develop her raspberry skills. She’s become mobile by learning how to roll. And because of her newfound mobility, we’ve moved into the world of baby proofing.

But every once in a while there comes a development that will create a chain reaction of events to last a lifetime. This week, we experienced just such an event. On Sunday, Finley had her initial foray into the land of solid food. Well, as solid as we could give her, anyway.

Momma mixed up a secret concoction that can only be described as rice cereal, formula and banana baby food. It was sort of a banana-rice frappe’. Needless to say, she wasn’t quite sure what was going on (You can watch it all happen in the latest Fin Clip).

In her 22 weeks of life, Finley has relied upon one thing to give her sustenance. A nipple. Whether it was real or synthetic, this magic font of food delivered liquid goodness to her awaiting belly. But now, the vehicle for her meals is a plastic-coated spoon. Unfortunately for her, this spoon does not allow the food to flow easily into her throat. No, she has to actually work at it. She has to get her tongue and gums to work together to get that stuff down the gullet. Not that easy, if you’ve never done it before.

We all take for granted how easy it is to bite into an apple or chomp on a burger. We would eat in our sleep, it’s so easy (And oh, how I’ve tried). That’s because we don’t remember the first time we tried eating. Plus, most of us have a full set of incisors, canines, bicuspids and molars to help us tear the food to pieces. Most of us aren’t limited to a tongue we’ve yet to master and gums that are only really good at gnawing at a teething ring.

Then there’s the whole taste thing. For the past five-and-a-half months, Finley has maybe experienced 10 or 12 flavors. There’s the regular tongue-in-the-mouth taste and the afore-mentioned two nipple types. There’s the flavor of momma’s milk and the flavor of formula. Throw in a few different types of toys and her personal favorite… her hand… and we’ve pretty much covered it. But none of those tongue teasers were really made for taste. None of them were designed and tested by babies in lab coats to simulate bananas. And let’s not forget the texture of mashed up rice and banana. That’s a new direction, as well. So it’s no surprise that when she experienced her first banana flavoring that it sent a shockwave of reactions to her brain.

The “B” drawer in the little file cabinet in her head opened up and a new index card was dropped in:

Banana: Tart. Mushy. Weird.

Over time, more cards will be dropped in and new notes will appear next to older cards, but it has begun. The enormous world of taste is now open to her. And, like the rest of us, the limit of what tastes good, horrible, sweet, sour, spicy and bitter is limitless. Imagine having your taste memories erased and you have to start all over again. Think about how many millions of tastes you’ve experienced in your lifetime and how many more you’ve yet to try. It’s a bit overwhelming. Now think about starting all that at 22 weeks of age. She has no idea what great and potentially disgusting things are headed her way.

“But what about this chain reaction?” you ask. “What about all of these other events connected to her first solid food?” Fair questions. And ones that have been much on my mind, as of late. The first thing that comes to mind is the combination of all this mushy food and the lack of dexterity in a five-and-a-half month old. In my daddy crystal ball, I see an increase in the amount of child laundry, and if she’s really good, it will correlate to an increased amount of parent laundry. I see the obligatory all-over body wipe at the end of meals and the occasional washing of the child’s hair. This, of course, all depends on how much actually gets into her mouth.

Then there is the inevitable change to the other end of her body. There’s no real delicate way to put it, but my daddy crystal ball is getting cloudy… as in stinky… as in a distinct change in the weight of diapers. Which means a distinct change in the content of the diapers. Yes, solid food in… solid food out.

All of this leads, of course, to the eventual land of potty training and the next thing you know, she’s off to college. Okay, so I’m ahead of myself a bit, but you can see how a spoonful of banana-rice frappe’ will change the world. And that’s okay, really. It just means our little girl is getting bigger. Which means I can teach her the glory of the potato chip, the wonder of peanut butter and the subtle nuance of sushi. But ultimately it means that she will join us for meals and the three of us will get a taste of what it means to be a real family. And that will be my favorite flavor of all.

Safe at Home

Now that Finley is mobile… or at least partially mobile... She can roll in one direction, but hasn’t quite figured out how to roll back. So, now that she is partially mobile, we hit the stores last weekend to find everything we could to baby proof the house.

If you think about it, it’s technically not baby proofing. That would mean we were doing everything we could to keep from having a baby. And, everyone can clearly see that we failed at that. In a good way. What we are really doing is creating a very large padded cell. It’s true. We’re not trying to keep Finley from getting hurt as much as we’re trying to keep her from hurting herself.

And it’s really not her fault. Just because her balance resembles some of my best nights in Pullman and her motor skills are as accomplished as a UW quarterback, we are supposed to cushion every edge and corner in the house. The accidental trips and stumbles are all a part of being a baby. But, if we can keep the trips to the hospital to a minimum, then we’re doing alright.

The real baby proofing is for when she gets curious. It’s for the times she decides she wants to find out what flavor a power socket is. It’s for when she wants to pull the bookcase down because of that shiny thing on top. And it’s especially for when she’s sure there’s candy in that cabinet below the sink.

The crazy thing about all of these “safety measures” is that most people think most of these curiosity calamities would only happen if we weren’t watching them. And who would do that? What kind of parent would I be if I wasn’t keeping watch on my baby 24/7? The answer is… A real parent.

As much as we like to think we have a handle on every situation, the truth is that those rug rats are wiley. That’s right. Those munchkins can move. You turn your back for two seconds and they’re halfway to Mexico.

Case in point: Heather comes in from work and I set Finley down on her rolling blanket. Again, she can only roll one direction and she’s new at it. Heather and I have a welcome home moment and the next thing we know, Rollergirl is under the dining table. I think I might have to put a heavy weight on one of her legs so she’ll just roll in circles.

But that’s the whole point. We’re not making the house safe for the times we’re watching her, we’re making it safe for the times we’re distracted. Even if it’s a load of laundry or a phone call, that dryer buzzer and phone ring is basically the starting bell at the track.

BZZZZZ! Clothes are done. AND THEY’RE OFF! Finley’s out of the gate, followed closely by “Let’s go under the coffee table” with “Penny on the Floor” right behind. “Penny on the Floor” is getting closer and here comes “Penny in the Mouth.” “Mom” makes a late charge and at the wire it’s “Mom” taking away “Penny in the Mouth” in a photo finish.

The reality is that we can’t be everywhere at once. We also can’t be responsible for every bump and bruise that’s lurking in the shadows. But we can take a few extra measures to make sure that those scrapes and scratches are minimal. We all have to learn from mistakes, but if we can avoid trips to the emergency room, those mistakes are a lot easier to swallow. Well, easier to swallow than a penny, anyway.