Baby Daddy

One summer Sunday, I told Tim he was going to be a daddy.  When I managed to convince him it wasn’t a joke (which took some effort), he said, “Woo hoo!” and took me out to eat to celebrate.  He was so happy. 

He came to every single prenatal appointment, and smiled like it was Christmas every time we got to hear the baby’s heartbeat.  When he found out we were having a girl, he bought a cute elephant blanket and matching toy.

Tim choked up a little at our wedding, but I never saw actual tears escape his eyes until he looked out our daughter for the first time.  He said, “You made a beautiful baby,” and didn’t leave her side for hours after they whisked her from the birthing room into the NICU.  He gave Squiggles her first bath, and from the day she was born, he has been heavily involved in her care – changing, bathing, cuddling, rocking, singing, feeding, dressing, educating, reading, playing, and laughing.  It melts my heart every time I hear them laughing or find them asleep together.

I’ve read dozens of studies regarding the the importance of fathers in their childrens’ lives, and I’m so happy that I don’t have a worry in the world in this area – my daughter is absolutely adored by her father, and he would sooner forsake everything else in the world than neglect her for a second.

We have all been incredibly lucky because Tim’s boss let him take Fridays off for the last year, so Friday has been Daddy-Daughter Day.

A couple weeks ago, as Tim was dressing the baby after her bath, I overheard him singing to Squiggles  a song that he was making up as he went along.  He sweetly sang (to the tune of One Enchanted Evening), “One enchanted evening, when you find your true love, I will chase him away with a shotgun, and you will be my girl forever…”

We love you, Tim – happy Father’s Day!

Long Beach

It turns out that Long Island is actually an island that is… well… long.  Meaning, lots of shoreline.  We skipped the touristy big beaches and opted for Long Beach, where we ran into very few other people.

I find the ocean beautiful and breathtaking and such, but unlike the Rocky Mountains, the red-rock desert, Tony Grove, and large portions of Japan, I feel no ownership of the ocean – I know I am visiting somebody else’s briar patch.   I’m a bit nervous about riptides and sharks, and tend to stay close to the shore when swimming.

But… I love it.  I love the sound of the water and the feeling of the sand shifting under my feet with each new wave.  I scan the shore for treasures (pretty rocks or shells), and try to get to them before the next wave buries them again.

Tim enjoys the beach just well enough to humor me when I request a trip.  He burns easily (being Irish and all) and stays covered up for the most part. 

Squiggles had a mixed-emotion day at the beach; laughter, crying, exhilaration, and anger.  We went to the shore last summer, but of course she doesn’t remember that.

She didn’t mind walking on the beach, but hated falling on it.  She absolutely refused to use her hands to get herself back up.

So Tim took pity on her.  She was excited about the water, but a little nervous about going near it.

She decided it was okay, and squealed with hysterical delight if when we swung her over the water or ran along the shore splashing and jumping over the waves.

We tried to help her build a sandcastle, but she was NOT on board with sitting in the sand.  This photo is for Marsha, who has asked me if she ever cries:

Her attitude improved drastically when we sat her on her towel with some snacks.

Overall, a lovely day by the shore.