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.

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.