Inside the giant gift bag emblazoned with balloons and a festive flamingo, laid a trove of dollar store treasures my wife had picked out for our daughter’s 6th birthday. Among the items: a pair of 20-inch butterfly wings (with shoulder straps), two Slinkys, a Toy Story puzzle, a spiral notebook covered in cosmic swirls, and a pair of pink sunglasses—heart-shaped, of course.
My daughter took delight yesterday in the unboxing of it all (including a surprise from the Apple Store) which made me recall the joy I felt in my early days of dadhood as I looked around our home amazed by all the stuff required to take care of a tiny human.
Here’s a #FatherhoodFlashback from my “dad journal” dated August 10, 2014:
This is what it means to be a parent: you make room.
Everywhere I look in our condo, I see the presence of my daughter making itself visible.
In the kitchen, there’s a rack to dry her bottles and all their accompanying accessories (who knew there were so many parts and special brushes!)
In the pantry, there are two 24-bottle cases of Gerber Good Start formula.
In the living room, in the center of the table, is her travel bassinet, folded out in splendor as if a little Smurf has set up camp where a centerpiece used to be.
In the guest room, a bookcase with nine pullout baskets houses all her clothes; there’s also a pink hamper; a Baby Bjorn carrier; bathing supplies; and boxes of Pampers.
On my shoulder, a diaper bag full of necessities for caring for a newborn, including Desitin.
In my car, window shades to shield her from the sun, a car seat, and the ubiquitous “Baby on Board” sign with suction hook.
My Dear Daughter (DD) is just nine days old today, but I’ve been making room for her ever since I learned we were pregnant. Making room in my space, in my thoughts, in my heart. It’s a welcome intrusion, but one that takes some getting used to. After all, it used to be just me and my wife—now we’re three.
But each day, in funny moments (DD pulling the blanket over her head at Babies ‘R Us) and not so fun moments (DD being fussy, requiring nearly three hours of feeding, burping, changing…so much for making it to the gym), I’m reminded that she chose us to be her parents.
I wonder what lessons she will teach me about life? How will she make me a better man? Time will tell. I’m just honored to be her father and excited about the adventures that lie ahead.
In the meantime, I’ll continue to make room.
Happy birthday, my little Leo!
—
Previously Published on Fatherhood@40
—