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.

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.