Another year has passed; it’s our seventh year as parents. As I write this I keep looking at her past my laptop screen. She’s still happily playing with her doll house with a nature documentary playing in the background (her choice, the apple doesn’t fall far).
Once upon a time, a toddler version of this little girl didn’t want much more than to lay down on my chest and have me read The Grouchy Ladybug for the thirtieth time. I swear, Eric Carle’s illustrations might as well be kiddie cocaine.
I don’t read to Lyd like I used to. She’s a first grader, she reads to me. It doesn’t stop her from asking me to read to her. And I try to honor that request every chance I can. I used to feel closer to her. I’m not saying we’ve grown apart. It’s just that we used to be inseparable best buddies. Now she has friends, her school, an independent life that still depends on us. Annie and I are no longer her entire world.
It does sting a little, I won’t lie.
I know who I am, I know how I operate and I have always been pretty comfortable with leaving my nest to go see the world. If I wish to maintain moral honesty, I must become more willing to let her run around flapping her wings.
But I can’t, not yet. I want to hit a reset button and have her become a little toddler again, laughing at my goofy faces as she tugs on my whiskers. I would love to feel those tiny arms wrap around me again, I’d love to be able to make her disappear in my arms again.
I want to fiercely fight all the fights that are technically hers. I want to find the first person who will break her heart and threaten them—right now. I want to have words with any kid who makes fun of her, I want to put her on the swing with the seat belts “Daddy! Those are for babies!”.
“I know they’re for babies! You’re my baby!”
Then I was bumped back to last week, staring at her on her bicycle, ready to go to school. “You…you’re not a baby anymore. Are you?” She suppressed a giggle.
No you’re not a baby. You’re taller now. Your face is a little less cherubic. Your baby fat is yielding to longer, leaner muscles. Your once-chubby legs have become more foal-like. You’re giving me the first little clues of what you will look like as a young lady—My God you are beautiful

I sighed sadly, helped Regina onto her tricycle and the three of us took off to school. Lyd was going for speed that morning and before I knew it, she was nearly a block ahead of us, beyond shouting distance. “Please stop at the crosswalk, please stop at the crosswalk…” I whispered. She stopped and waited for us to catch up.
Just as we began crossing together, she saw one of her best friends ahead of us. I watched her become a little torn. Stick with Dad and Reggie? Or catch up with her friend? “Go ahead Hun, go catch up with her. We’re fine. I’ll see you after school?”
She grinned, showing off her missing-teeth, gave me a hug and a kiss and took off. “Love You!”, She yelled over her shoulder, “Love You Daddy!”.
“Love you too Lyd!” as she rode away from me. “Keep coming Home.”
Happy Seventh Birthday Bug!