It has come to my attention that I may have painted too gloomy a picture of parenthood, and by extension, my little girl. That, let me assure you, is neither my intention nor the reality. Perhaps I don’t say this enough (or ever), but I do enjoy being a dad. There, it’s on the record.
Here’s the thing. Anyone who wants to see blissful baby moments can go scrolling on FB and IG for their daily dose (or overdose) of innocent chubby adorbs before a song finishes. What could I possibly add to that universe? Rather, I find it more meaningful and playful to broadcast some nuanced details, missing dimensions, and buried feelings between the snapshots.
The unintended consequence of such an undertaking is the imagery of a grumpy father with a monstrous kid. I understand that optics is almost everything in this day and age, so it’s assuredly not enough to say I’m not grumpy (any more than usual) and my daughter is not a monster. Ergo, it’s probably high time to turn the spotlight onto some happier things.
Baby Therapy
As a baby develops more “social skills” such as smiling, attachment, and vocal expressions, there comes a substantial leap in the reward as a parent. There’s nothing quite like finally being able to play with your own kid. It’s one of those things that unlocks a whole new realm of possible experience and changes your world entirely, like learning how to ride a bike or appreciating some fine peaty scotch.
These days, I could see myself spending all day having her lying docilely on my chest, her face pressed against my heart, and my hand rubbing gently across her back. If only the two of us don’t have other things to attend to. But a couple of times each day, we get to indulge in this mutually therapeutic activity. That’s right, I have a therapy baby.
Her peaceful countenance, chubby cheeks (all four of them), placid posture, and some other combination of ethereal qualities mix together in some incomprehensible mechanism that makes my heart flutter and compels me to hold and kiss her to no end. Thankfully, having read “Of Mice and Men”, I have a “George” on my shoulder telling me not to go “Lennie” on my baby.
Wakie Wakie
They say, “Don’t wake a sleeping baby.” I’m sure they are right, but my daughter has a working sleep schedule (thanks to my wife who found it and implemented it with wisdom and resilience), which places strategic limits on the length of day naps. That means I also “get to” wake her up sometimes.
You might guess that I am destined to be greeted by a disgruntled baby who is ready to lash out in tears, but actually no. What ends up happening is a series of events that are weirdly entertaining to watch. She would first wiggle and struggle, then wake up in confusion, and eventually look at me with a completely blank face. Finally, a big wide smile shows up, and that’s when my heart is irresistibly melted.
Girl in the Mirror
To my daughter, mirror is magic. I am not sure how far she can comprehend optical phenomena or self-awareness, but I can tell she’s trying. “Dad’s here, but also he’s there. Wait, who’s that baby in his arms? Why does she keep looking at me?” After some observation, I have concluded that she doesn’t know it’s herself in the mirror. The reason is that she often stares at herself in fascination for a dozen seconds, then suddenly buries her face in my chest with a timid smile. Look who’s shy!
Beard Papa
At a certain point, our baby’s sense of touch began to flourish. That was the time we introduced different textures for her to feel, like wood, paper, avocado, and those “ASMR-grade” crinkly fabrics. We even had play kits designed for every stage of her brain growth with an even more comprehensive selection of things for her to feel. Having tried all those, I thought, hey, why not dad beard?
Ever since our baby girl learned to recognize faces, she knew that dad had a beard and mom did not. But it wasn’t until she could control her arm movement well enough to reach and grasp that she finally was able to play with it. Not to brag (and a weird thing to brag at that), but I think she likes it more than any other textures.
Sometimes she gets so into it that she repeatedly reaches, grabs, and pulls on my beard with a single-minded focus. You can even read her dedication from the fire in her eyes, her protruded lips, and her labored breathing. I don’t think she has put that much effort into anything else so far.
Sorry, sweetie, I love you but I’m keeping it.
Fine Dining
Every baby reacts to the introduction of solid food differently. I know kids who want to grab everything from their parents’ mouths. I’ve also heard cases where they simply stand their ground with tightly clenched jaws. So when it was my daughter’s turn, I honestly had no idea what part of that spectrum she would be, especially when neither my wife nor I had any experience with this exercise.
Finally, the day came, and my wife prepared some gentle food with the secret ingredient of love. When it was finally time to feed, I was surprised that an eating experience could be so choreographed. As we both assumed our planned positions, questions scrolled through my mind like a Star Wars intro, “Does she know how to chew? Can she even swallow? What if she chokes? Do I know how to do the Heimlich maneuver? What if she’s traumatized by the experience and swears off solid food forever? Can she survive on smoothies for life?”
Spoon in, spoon out, and we watched. For a few seconds, she held the food in her mouth without moving at all. Then her face went through multiple expressions in a rapid sequence, eventually settling into a frown that is best captioned by “I don’t know how to feel about this.” Before long, the same food rolled out of her mouth untouched. So, basically how my first taste of cheesecake went down.
That’s my girl.
~ Du