End Of An Era

It was a day of milestones around here -- NJ's last day home-free, my last day of juggling her and my new job, and the arrival of my first paycheck from the aforementioned new job. It's been a little bittersweet, but don't let this fool you -- I'm not as morose about the situation as I seem to be in this clip:




NJ was her usual stellar self, at one point spending an entire hour in her play pen, playing and hanging out calmly and quietly, when I got trapped on a long conference call. Then we ran a couple of errands, and her mood then is adequately captured in the photograph here. It's only now, as The Wife came home and promptly started fawning over NJ, that it's really hitting me. Even though we've known for more than a year that tomorrow was on the calendar, it's still a little weird. I know I'm going to miss things like opening the blinds after NJ's morning nap and turning to see her stretching and grunting in her crib, right before she smiles and goes "Daaaaaaaaaaaahh!" I most definitely will not miss working and caring for her simultaneously. Today was the worst day yet on that front, and it seemed inevitable because the days have steadily gotten busier and hairier. Today I had to finish one project that was late and complete another that was moved up on the calendar, and cram this all into the two hours of NJ's afternoon nap. What's worse, I had to walk away from the computer after the previously mentioned conference call, knowing these things were hanging over my head like Damocles' sword. (I guess two projects actually means two swords, right? His dress sword and his battle sword, I suppose. Or can two ominous things be described as one so the proverb is intact, with one sword representing the overall workload. Hey, look: I'm way off topic. Whoops.)

So here's hoping tomorrow morning goes smoothly. I'll probably be leaving home at the same time The Wife packs up the kid up for her first day of day care. The Wife is worried that NJ won't understand what's going on when she drops her off -- when she leaves her child behind -- but even if that upsets NJ, I don't think it'll last very long. She'll have plenty of new things to do, plenty of new toys to play with, plenty of new friends to make. And then, of course, she'll be freak-out delighted to see her mom when she picks her up at the end of the day, I always mention. Don't know if The Wife's buying it, though.

I am very, very proud of this little girl. I can't wait to sit her down one day and tell her about the best year of my life. It will probably bore her to death -- you know how these kids are today -- but I'll love telling it.

Baby's First Boyfriend

For the past couple of days, NJ has been crawling up to this horse, leaning in slowly and deliberately, opening her mouth and kissing it. Then she leans back, looks at me and (sometimes) smiles, then does it again.

It's just like a recurring nightmare I have, except in the nightmare she's 17 and the stuffed horse is an ex-con with a shaved head and three-fourths of his scalp covered with tattoos.

Outta my way, Dad! You can't keep me away from Brambles! You can't!

One Week To Go

This time next Wednesday, The Wife will be bringing NJ home from her first day of day care. We've been e-mailing the school about what we need to send to day care with her, gone over her current formula-to-whole-milk transition, and asked whether NJ will be at a disadvantage amongst her peers because she's not yet walking. We've been reassured on all fronts, and are looking forward to the center's picnic this Friday to meet all the teachers, parents and kids.

I've been working two jobs for 10 days now -- the job I started last Monday, and taking care of NJ. It hasn't been a picnic, by any means, but my new colleagues are understanding types and we're muddling through. From that one perspective, I'll be glad when day care starts. From every other perspective, though, I'm a bit wistful at the notion of, for the first time in more than a year, not spending the day with my girl. The Wife is a little wistful, too, because she prefers that her daughter be in the care of her husband over the care of people we don't know well. In particular, she's dreading that first day drop-off, when NJ will "think I'm abandoning her." And NJ is doing her best to make it tough on her parents by turning the smiling/laughing/personality-developing/fun-loving knob up to 11 lately. I'm looking forward to the day two weeks from now when our new routines will be set and this big change turns out to be fine, dandy and normal. We know it will end up being fine, dandy and normal, but I'll be happy to see it rather than just anticipate it.

Hey, why the long face? Get over here and lemme squeeze that nose of yours. And lighten the heck up, will ya? OK? Good. Now get me some more corn.

And much less importantly, I've got a week to come up with a new blog name and tag line.

Such A Beautiful Face! Why Hide It?

NJ was born a year and a week ago with a full head of hair, and it's been flopping in her face for quite a while now. When we put a barrette in to pin it back her first, second and third instincts are to pull this thing off her head (and usually put it in her mouth). So today she got her first haircut, and she was quite the trooper about the whole thing.

Before ...

... during ...

... and after.

When we left the house I brought a little plastic baggie to collect a nice lock of NJ's hair, but her new hair salon gets lots of First Haircut kids, so they were prepared. We left with a freshly groomed kid, a "first haircut" certificate with a lock of her hair clamped to it, and a small envelope containing even more locks of her formerly flowing mane. She went in looking like a '60s flower child and came out looking like mid-'60s Mia Farrow.

You're A Pal And A Confidant

NJ had a play date late last week with the lovely Olivia, who's one month older than NJ and apparently grew about six inches longer since I saw her last, just a couple of weeks before. Once Olivia stopped crying at the sight of the big, bearded doofus -- I think NJ put in a good word for me -- they had a grand time. Here they are smiling big for Olivia's mother, who has a knack for getting babies to really ramp up the cute.

International news reports indicated that yes, indeed, the whole world was smiling with them at the exact moment this photograph was taken.

Olivia's mom is a 5-foot-2 spitfire who was cool enough to bring scones and cookies from Seattle's best bakery, and she knows lots of things about many subjects (sadly, music is not one of them). She recently plugged Mrs. Mustard's Baby Faces, and The Wife immediately bought it. (I make a suggestion and The Wife might -- might -- get around to considering it several weeks later. This, she did right away: "Whatever you say, Olivia's mom!") I'm sure it's a delightful little tool for honing kids' emotional intelligence, but truth be told I find it to be a little creepy. What with the disembodied baby heads and all. If you ate a giant plate of dodgy Chinese food and then read several issues of some sort of Spy magazine for infants, your dreams that night would look something like this:

Yes, we're happy. Happy because we're plotting to kill you in your sleep.