well, i'm a month in to my daddy leave. it's been an adjustment for me. i used to concern myself with beer bottles, then wine bottles. now? baby bottles. however, i have tamed those twin evil monsters in the basement: the washer and dryer. i haven't ruined any clothes or flooded the basement (again) either, yet.
emmi is growing pretty quickly. or so it seems. just last week she was at the point in which we have to get her the bigger diapers. diapers go by weight, and there is really only one way to find out when it is time to switch, and it is not pretty. let's just call it, 'her butt runneth over.'
she's also moving around really well now too. when she first started to crawl, it was very slow and deliberate. now, i pull an effin' hamstring trying to catch up with her. she can pull herself up very easily as well. she's trying to balance herself and let go, and when she does she looks up at me with an expression that can only be described as half pride and half fear. it is this moment that i realize that she puts her full, complete trust in me. I had a similar experience with her as a newborn when we gave her her first bath. she had no idea how to react, and as kathy was washing her, she looked up at me with a look as if to say 'you got me daddy??' then as i smiled, held her hand and comforted her, she seemed to relax and let kathy clean her up. it's these moments that both make me proud, and scare the ever loving shit out of me. how do you balance letting her learn on her own, including falling and getting up and trying again, without making her think you aren't going to help? it's a balance; comfort her when she falls, but make sure she doesn't really get hurt.
i have a feeling that this is going to be a recurring theme.
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