You were frustrated. Your vocabulary, while expanding rapidly, was inadequate to express your feelings – so you lashed out at me and hit me in the face. You knew you were wrong. I could see it in your eyes as I told you “No! We don’t hit.

And then I added something I haven’t had to add before… “You are getting a timeout!”

I picked you up and placed you in the nearest corner. I wondered how you would react. Would you stay there? Would you understand what was happening? I needn’t have wondered, however, because even at 20 months, you seem to understand everything. You sat there for the duration of the timeout – which was only about a minute but seemed so much longer.

When I told you that timeout was done, I picked you up onto your feet and it was clear that you wanted to make amends. Your mother was sitting nearby and you sought comfort in her arms and then you turned to me and toddled into my arms and gave me a hug and then a kiss. You were sorry.

And so it begins. For me, I am sometimes torn between what needs disciplining (although in this case, hitting was clearly deserving of punishment) and what needs to be encouraged. For instance, you run away from me often, laughing mischievously as you escape my clutches.  You throw food onto the ground when you don’t want to eat it and you sometimes turn a deaf ear when you don’t want to hear what I’m saying.

And while I am contemplating what to do, I am often reminded of the saying, “Well-behaved women rarely make history.”  I am keenly aware that how I shape your reaction to authority will have an impact on who you become. Yes, I want you to be polite and courteous, but I also want you to feel comfortable challenging authority and following your heart rather than following someone else’s plan for you (and every other child). You are unique. You are special. You can be anything you want to be, little girl. I want you to be sure of that.

So let’s hope this timeout only prevents you from hitting people in the face.

GirlyGirl,

I have been able to spend a lot of one-on-one time with you the last few weeks. Between your daycare provider going on vacation, you being sick, me leaving my job, there’s been a lot of opportunity for us to bond even more. This is making me feel so incredibly good because I never did take a paternity leave with you like I did with your brother and sister. Circumstances made it difficult and I regret not taking that time. But now I have the time and it’s been an incredible experience to not only get to know you but have the opportunity to feel like I’m contributing to your development.

I have been playing with you a lot these past few weeks and it is amazing to me how quickly you absorb information. It hasn’t been all that long since we’ve begun reading nightly bedtime stories but you can now help me finish the rhymes on your favorite book, “I know a Rhino.” At first I thought it was coincidence that you were making sounds that were similar to the words but now I know that it’s deliberate. You know the rhyme and you say it with me, which is pretty damn cool.

You also know the names to the facial features as we get dressed after a bath, you lie on the changing table and point to my hair and say “hair” in your cute 19-month voice. You point to my eyes, nose, ears and teeth and repeat these as well. And then, as I blow raspberries on your freshly-washed belly, you laugh and point and say, “Belly!”

And finally, you love to sing. If you have heard a tune a few times, you will sing along to it, reciting lyrics only you know but it’s clearly in the tune of the song you’re either listening to or just heard. Today, we had a good time singing “The more we get together” as I readied you for your nap. After we had stopped singing together and I gathered you to put you in your crib, you continued your own little solo. Your smile as you sang lit up the room.

You are growing up so fast and learning words at a dizzying pace. You have an outgoing personality and a smile and laugh that is intoxicating. You give kisses and raspberries and hugs. You wave and say “bye-bye” emphatically and, if the person is really special, even blow kisses.

I love the little girl that you have become, sweet one. And I’m equally glad that I’m here to see it.

Love,
Daddy.

“No.”

It’s your favorite response to a question. Even questions that one would normally say “Yes” to. “Do you want a cookie?” I ask. “No.” You reply.

This is my favorite part of your ever expanding vocabulary. You recognize speech patterns and identify that questions are being asked of you. You just aren’t sure how to answer them.

Although, now that I think about it, your confusion of the word “no” is probably not your fault. Like your brother and sister, your mother and I have tried hard to avoid using the word no with you. It has been our experience that this will greatly diminish your use of the word when you get into the terrible two stage. Perhaps, through our infrequent use of the word, you have become confused by its true meaning.

In fact, it seems that you really think that No means Yes. Or maybe you think that No is a word that has a good chance at being correct for any question that is asked of you. Either way, it’s pretty darn cute.

I also love that you have different ways of saying the word. Sometimes, it comes out in a very short, staccato-sounding “No!” – as if you are certain that is the right way to answer the question. Other times you say it in a sing-song “No-oooo” with the last part of the word dropping an octave or two that almost signals resignation or sadness at responding to the question. And other times still, you say it while shaking your head and looking at me saying, “Nooo” without any variation of tone at all.

Yes, you know the word. But, no, you don’t really know the word.

Do you?

You only look back when I call your name.

And even then, as I call out to you to stay close, you look back at me and laugh… and then run faster in the other direction, your little 18-month-legs churning furiously beneath you.

It has become a game to you. Run away from Daddy. And while I chase you down, whether it be on a sidewalk, a field at the park or in our own house, you laugh deliriously at the thought of running away from Daddy.

I always scoop you up and plant kisses on your soft, chubby cheeks and admonish you for running away from me. But deep down, I like it. I like that you have a sense of independence that gives you the confidence to wander freely on your own. You explore and relish the opportunity to break out on your own and I can’t help but hope that this trait continues into your adulthood.

Your brother and sister were never like this. I have many memories of one or both clinging tightly to my legs in new situations or even recurring situations like daycare or camp while crying and begging me not to leave them. But not you.

No, you seem to embrace your independence. You seem to embrace the chance to strike out on your own. And I hope you know that while I will always be here to cheer you on as you explore your freedom that I’ll always be ready to pull you back to safety and give you kisses and playfully admonish you for running away.

But secretly loving it.

I am settling GirlyGirl into her car seat after we have seen Swee’Pea and TheMonk off at the bus stop. It is cold and my fingers struggle with the buckle and GirlyGirl begins to become restless until she notices herself in the mirror that is positioned in front of her that allows me to see her from the driver’s seat.

She points at her reflection and says, simply, “Pretty.”

I smile at her as we make eye contact in the mirror. “Yes.” I reply. “You are very, pretty.”

Of course, she’s heard this from me before. I feel it is my duty as a father to my daughters to impart a feeling of self-worth. Yes, this should be focused on intrinsic characteristics like kindness and self-esteem but I feel it’s equally important for my daughters to feel pretty. Too many women in our society grow up thinking they are ugly. I have personally witnessed women struggle through eating disorders or body image problems because they don’t feel they are pretty or don’t measure up to what society dictates beauty to be.

I may be naive to think that I can counter all the media and outside influences my daughters will face as they grow up into women but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do my best to make sure my daughters feel beautiful – both inside and out.

Pretty.

Hello my littlest one.

You are almost 15 months old and I cannot believe how the time has flown. In the past few months you have gone from baby to a toddler and the changes are almost too numerous to mention. But I’ll try.

You have five teeth now and four of those five appeared within a week of each other. I was certain you were going to end up looking like a baby great white shark with several rows of teeth at the rate you were popping them out. Lucky for you and for your dentist, your tooth sprouting has slowed considerably as of late.

What hasn’t slowed down is you. You have gone from the fastest crawler in the West to a daring but not-quite-graceful walker. You stagger around like a drunken sailor with a smile to match. If you go particularly far, you recognize this achievement by plopping down on the ground so that you can give yourself a hand. You clap in a way that only a 14 month old can. Your joy is contagious and, pretty soon, your brother, your sister and your dad will join in the applause.

When you’re not clapping you’re waving bye-bye. While I’m not certain, the pleasure you get from waving bye-bye to everyone you meet – including complete strangers – is that you’re saying to them “So long, suckas!” I could be wrong, but your devious smile suggests otherwise.

You are beginning to talk now. You get pleasure when we realize you are saying words. To be fair, you aren’t the most articulate person in the world so sometimes it’s hard to understand what you are saying. For example, you say “Abba” a lot. I’m fairly certain you’re not asking for me to play Dancing Queen so maybe someday you can enlighten me on what that means. What I do understand is “Dada, Mama, Nana (banana), kitteh (kitty), ball, and your sister’s name. I’m sure your brother would love it if you could say his name but he seems to be accepting the fact that you know everyone else’s name but his.

At daycare you are learning to sit in a circle, share with others (not your strong point. I’m just saying), and do art projects. You really seem to love coloring, painting and tasting the occasional crayon. You have really blossomed with your personality since you started daycare a couple of months ago. You are getting comfortable around strangers and you smile and laugh all of the time.

Your favorite games are peek-a-boo and “where’s GirlyGirl’s belly button?” Believe it or not, it’s always in the same place.

So, my littlest one. You are growing and have blossomed into such a joy and wonderful little girl. I may be biased, but you’re such a joy to be around.

I think I’ll keep you.

Love,
Daddy.

You came late in the evening on a Wednesday. You had tortured your mother for days prior to making your entrance and based on the stubborn way you stayed five days past your due date and the dramatic conclusion to you arriving in this world, I had you pegged as one that was going to test me like no other.

But I was wrong.  The only thing you have tested is my capacity to love someone as much as I love you, little one.

It has only been one year and I already cannot remember what it was like before you were here.  You are such a sweet baby and your belly laughs and cute smiles melt my heart each and every day.

I love how you interact with your brother and sister.  They weren’t sure what to think of you when we first brought you home but ever since you began acknowledging them, they have loved you so, so much.  They are both vigilant watching what you put in your mouth – even if they were responsible for leaving the baby death traps on the floor in the first place.  They eagerly hold you or play with you when needed and they love teaching you the finer points of silly face making.

You are louder than your brother and sister at one year.  I chalk that up to the fact that if you want to be heard in this house, you better speak up.  And while your vocabulary is limited to a few words – Mama, Dada (infrequently!), kitt-eh – my favorite is the one that I recently taught you: “Uh-Oh.”

You drop things on the floor and I smile at the inevitable, “Uh-Oh.”  Lately, you play the “Uh-Oh” game by dropping things on the floor while Daddy fetches them for you.  I am fairly certain this is your favorite game.  But you don’t just say it when I am around.  Just this past week, I heard you over the baby monitor before you fell asleep utter aloud, “Uh-Oh.”

I’m not sure what that one was about but one thing I do know.  There was no mistake in our decision to have you in our family.  I love you with all of my heart, little one.  Happy Birthday, GirlyGirl.  May your second year be as amazing as your first.

“Uh-Oh”

The beginning and end of your day are two of my favorite daily moments.  As I pick you up out of your crib in the morning, you are always happy to see me.  And as I embrace you in a morning hug, GirlyGirl, you always drop your hands to your side and burrow your upper body and head into my torso and neck.  It is clearly your version of a hug and, in the early morning, before the day picks up into a frenzied pace, I get one moment where it’s just us, baby and Daddy, together in a sweet, tender, loving moment.

By the time the day ends and I have endured work, and corralling your brother and sister into jammies, brushing of teeth and bedtime stories before I turn my attention to you and our little own bedtime routine.  As I hit “play” on the iPod docking station that plays your lullabies, we sit in the darkness as I feed you your last bottle of the day.  You take the bottle while looking at me in the darkness and you never fuss.  And, unlike in the early days, once the bottle is done, you seem to understand that it’s bed time.  I transition you to hold you against my upper body as I gently rub your back until you burp.  Then, to make sure you are ready to be transitioned to your crib, I hold you for about five minutes.  It is then that you, once again, drop your arms to your side and burrow into my body.  You rest your cheek on my shoulder as I inhale the baby smell of your soft, curly hair.

Eventually, I lower your tired little body into your crib, kissing your soft, chubby cheeks as I do while wishing you sweet dreams.  Most nights, you leave your burrow and practically dive into your bed where you burrow your upper body into the mattress as you get comfy enough to sleep.

I leave the room, the sounds of lullabies wafting towards the door and I’m already looking forward to the morning.  For my good-morning burrow.

GirlyGirl is almost 10 and a half months. Time flies when you are outnumbered by kids. Milestones are flying at us at a rate that is hard for this old man to keep up with. Just this week GirlyGirl went from zero teeth to three teeth and is not too happy about it. Her refusal to nap, one would think, would leave her cranky and bitter but that seems to only have affected her parents.

It’s hard not to compare but with the twins they were napping twice a day. Nice, long naps. Naps that meant Mommy and Daddy could have a little respite from babydom for just a little while. I was the only reason we showered, I think.

This one, however, has a mind of her own. Schedule? Nap? If I damn well say so, she says. It’s times like this that I have to remind myself that we chose to have this one.

Another milestone that is creeping up on us is crawling. She has been combat crawling for a number of weeks now but is clearly ready. However “clearly ready” to me is clearly not “clearly ready” for GirlyGirl. Her personality seems to be such that she is measured in what she does and will only attempt something new if she has practiced and practiced and practiced. The girl can climb stairs but won’t crawl on hands and knees.

In spite of the speed that we are traveling down baby #3, I am aware that I’m going to miss all the things I’m complaining about. Someday, too soon, she won’t need me to give her a bottle and rock her to sleep. Someday too soon, she’ll be almost seven, complete with attitude. Someday soon, she’ll call me Daddy and the little embraces I get will be a thing of the past.

Milestones are cool but I’ll take them a slower pace, please.

GirlyGirl has been a roller.  Much like TheMonk was as a baby, GirlyGirl’s preferred method of locomotion has been rolling herself where she wants to go.  This method of transportation can be tedious and inexact at times and it was only a matter of time before GirlyGirl began contemplating other modes of travel.  And while it has been reported that she allegedly wanted her first trip in a straight line to be in a silver 1956 Porsche 356A Speedster, reality hit hard when she realized that not only could she not drive, her old man couldn’t pay for a 1956 tricycle.

So, she did the next best thing.  Combat crawl.

That’s right. GirlyGirl is a girl on a mission.  She sees what she wants and she’s off.  Knee, knee, elbow, elbow.   Knee, knee, elbow, elbow.   All she’s missing is a combat helmet and an assault rifle.  She skims across the floor, her baby belly cleaning the floor of dust and potentially lethal antique food items.  She has no fear.

Her parents, on the other hand?  Oh, yes.  Fear. Definitely fear.