Lessons Learned

For those who don't know, my daughter is adorable.

I realized today that I've already lost my daughter. She's adorable. She's cute. She's funny. She's weird.

She's also smart, and playful, and extremely "independent" (I say independent, although, let's face it, without anyone to feed her, she'd... well... anyway).

She's a hit anywhere she goes. She's been on stage three times, once in an actual role. She lit up the stage in a song and dance routine, and was subsequently recognized for her role. She's been to the Big Apple, been a jet-setter for a proportionately large section of her life, and has written her own hauntingly beautiful sonata on the piano.

It's funny, because I'm so amazed at the wonderful person she is already. I know that her light will just get brighter and brighter as she grows, learns, and matures. But it's also a little sad. I miss the tiny, flailing, bleary-eyed munchkin we brought home from the hospital. I definitely miss that when we would put her somewhere and turn our backs, she wouldn't go anywhere.

It's the hallmark of any era that at its passing we mourn it, even if we move on into something greater. Penelope is becoming her own person. She has likes and dislikes. She prefers some people over others. Now, given a choice, my daughter will snuggle with my wife rather than with me. This is perfectly normal and nothing is wrong with that. But sometimes, I miss the little girl I knew before.

Being a father is bittersweet.

Of Bumps and Jumps and Things They Don't Tell You

Holy Santa Claus shirt, Batman!!!

Beth has popped.

See? Told ya. Her baby bump is no longer a meager paunch, it is a full-blown bump. We're both grateful because before it was hard for outsiders to tell if she was actually pregnant or just gaining weight. Now there's no argument. At least, no argument among those more observant than a dead sea cucumber.

In the midst of this bump, there've been some jumps. And some kicks. Oh, have there been kicks. Sometimes they come about as a response to my voice, which is kinda cool. I speak, and my daughter roundhouse kicks my wife's uterus. Goal achieved. Even without my help, Penelope is seeking to establish a reputation as an amazing pre-natal soccer star. And Beth probably has internal hemorrhaging from said kicks. The "guilt trip your child" list grows ever longer in Beth's favor. And these things are to be expected.

What I didn't expect were all of MY changes. And I don't just mean gaining ten pounds. Let me see if I can illustrate...

I've never been one to cry or get emotional. I mean, like anyone, there are times when I would be touched, especially by emotive music or spiritual things. But today I realized that I've been getting choked up quite a bit over the past few weeks. Over silly, trivial things.

I choked up thinking about taking my daughter to Disneyland. I choked thinking about her first Hallowe'en, or her first Christmas when she knows about and believes in Santa Claus. I choked up hearing the Star Wars theme and a Jason Mraz song I associate with Penelope now ("I Won't Give Up"). And I got choked up when I saw a little girl and her daddy at the Fiesta Olive Garden. I even wanted to use the word "cute" to describe her, all wrapped up in pink and frill. She was so tiny and cute. I felt like a estrogen-laden, tree-hugging sap. And that's putting it fairly mildly.

As it turns out, what they don't tell you about pregnancy could fill a few dozen books. One of these hidden facts is that when you are a guy living with a pregnant woman, you start to... change... Hormones and chemicals re-align. Your body starts pumping stuff it really shouldn't, estrogen being a case in point. These chemicals and hormones serve to forcefully calm down the macho manly man within said guy, and make him into a blubbering mess. It's possibly a process to help the man acclimate to being nurturing to an infant, rather than trying to play four-square with it.

Not, in fact, a sport involving newborns.

So now the slightest thing can choke me up. The Disney castle sequence before films. The Indiana Jones theme. Seeing a toddler babbling and hopping through a restaurant. Things that make me realize that I'm becoming a father, and that not only do I get to raise a child now...

I get to be a kid myself again.

... except, with more crying involved.