Home > Adventures in Parenting > Archives > 2007 > April
April 2007
A moment to reflect
Monday is my day off; I look forward to it each week, as I am able to spend time in the morning, just me and my daughter, while my wife works. It is our “daddy-daughter” time.
Today, I was home with a sick baby. I spent the better part of the morning wiping her nose, which doesn’t make me her No. 1 buddy. It is frustrating when your child is sick and they can’t communicate with you. I desperately wanted to help, but I really didn’t know what I could do other than hold and comfort her.
As she was napping, I took a few minutes to check the Internet. It didn’t take long to learn of the horror unfolding in Blacksburg, Va., on the Virginia Tech campus. A gunman had laid siege to the campus, killing people at a dormitory and a classroom. It was chilling to read the account.
I could only think about what countless parents must be going through at the moment, as they wonder if their child might be one who was killed or wounded. I stared at my daughter; I held and looked at her. I couldn’t even imagine the pain those parents must be feeling. Suddenly, my daughter’s cold seemed much less severe.
As a journalist, events like today’s always leave me a bit shaken. It’s heartbreaking to see what man can do to his fellow man. The people killed today were someone’s sons, daughters, brothers, sisters and friends. I have lost loved ones, but now I am beginning to understand what it means to be a parent who unconditionally loves a child. I can’t begin to fathom what I would do if something ever happened to her.
Recently, my daughter has learned to clap and wave. Each day it seems she learns something new, and our lives become even more entwined. I’m her father and she is my daughter.
Over the past couple of weeks, I hope some of you have chuckled as you have read of my experiences as a first-time dad. Today, I hope you will take a moment to seek out those you love and let them know you care. I know I am going to be doing that. And hopefully, in between the wiping of her nose, I hope my daughter gets a glimpse of how much her father cares for her.
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A painful eruption
Eruption!
The word makes me think about the small container of ash I have that was collected by a family friend shortly after the 1980 event at Mount Saint Helens. I can still recall the television coverage of the ash plume rising thousands of feet into the air. The destructive force of the eruption was amazing and left a lasting impression on me as a 12-year-old.
I am learning there is a reason that dentists choose the word eruption to describe the event of a tooth emerging from the gums of a child. A new tooth certainly appears to be a painful and explosive moment in a child’s life.
As I write this, my daughter is experiencing the eruptive nature of numerous teeth. And, therefor, my wife and I are experiencing the teething process as well. The mini Krackatoa events are very distressing evidently to my little girl. They keep her from sleeping and have her chewing on any of the number of teethers - or anything else that will fit in her mouth - around our house.
We have done all we can to ease her pain - from Orajel to baby Tylenol and Motrin. We have even tried popsicles and ice cream, but the little one isn’t real keen on cold things yet. Nothing we have done really seems to take the edge off the teething. Then again, I guess pointing a fire hose at a volcano wouldn’t do much good either.
On one especially long evening, my wife looked at me and asked if I had ever had tooth pain so severe that it kept me awake. I can’t recall any moment in my life - even when I had my wisdom teeth removed - that I couldn’t sleep because of a toothache. As an adult, I have given little thought to my teeth other than to brush and floss several times a day. I now look at my teeth in a much different way.
I am not sure how many teeth my daughter already has. It’s tough to get her to sit still and open her mouth long enough to count. But I know she is going to have 20 of these eruptions in order to have a full mouth of pearly, white baby teeth. That must mean 20 agonizing moments for her. So, we will have at least 12 more mini Mount Saint Helens’ moments in our home.
This thought made me sit down and ponder the Tooth Fairy. You know, the mythical creature that slips in at night, removes the child’s tooth and replaces it with some kind of prize. I have a better job for this dental pixy. How about slipping in at the dead of night and replacing that cute, gummy grin with a bright, shiny - and painless - smile? Now, that would be truly performing a public service.
So, unless modern medicine - or the Tooth Fairy - comes up with a great way to deal with teething, we will keep plugging along. And try to comfort our daughter as each eruption breaks forth.
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My daughter is smarter than…
“My dad is bigger than your dad.”
“Oh yeah, well, my dad can run faster than your dad.”
“Well, our car is bigger than yours.”
On and on, it goes. Most of us can remember those intellectually stimulating playground conversations where everyone we knew and everything we had was better than the little boy or girl across from us. The exaggerations flowed freely.
I am not sure we ever lose that ability to stretch our version of the truth. As a teenager, the exam we didn’t do so well on was the hardest test ever. In college, the speeding ticket was because the meanest and most stringent police officer in the world pulled us over. I know some of you are smiling as you read this because it sounds just like words you have uttered in the past.
Is it any wonder that as parents our child is the best this or the best that? And what parent hasn’t had the next budding Tiger Woods or Florence Nightingale? I would like to think that my baby is the next Albert Einstein - albeit, I hope, with much nicer hair. And I think I have the facts to prove it.
As a Christmas present, my wife and I received an incredible stroller from my parents that as my daughter gets older can be converted into a tricycle. It had a brake mechanism on one wheel for that conversion. Well, on the second trip around the block in the new stroller, my daughter learned how to work the brake. We would push for about five feet and she would apply the brake. We would tell her no and in five more feet, the brake was back on. Five feet, pull the handle - smart one isn’t she?
So, her mechanically-challenged dad had to remove the brake. I wheeled the stroller right into her room and had her watch me while I took it off. She smiled the entire time - no doubt thinking of another way to best me.
Not impressed? Try this one on for size - at her first birthday party, we wanted each guest to see her open his or her present. It was obvious that she wasn’t going to do so as long as she had an open gift in front of her. So, I would hide the open gift and give her the next wrapped one so we could push on.
My daughter learned this trick quickly. How do I know? I am beginning to find books and toys hidden around her room. There are books under the crib or behind the laundry basket. You might find a stuffed animal tucked under a blanket or behind a toy box. I guess she is hiding so she can find them rather than me hide them.
Ok, so these things may not be signs that my daughter will discover the cure for cancer or develop an automobile that runs on alternative fuel. But maybe she will? And, if I am to be honest, your child might be the one who does one of those things. But until proven otherwise, I can proudly proclaim in my best playground voice, “My daughter is smarter than…”
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