New Dad

This started out as a Dad's perspective on my wife Katrina's pregnancy and a way to keep the family updated. Alina arrived in February 2006 and now it's more about our parenting adventures. Now we've added Evelyn in July 2008.

Saturday, February 02, 2008

Mini Therapist

Alina saw that her daddy was visibly upset. To make him feel better, she took him by the hand saying, "C'mon, Daddy. C'mon, Daddy" and brought him around the apartment to see all the pets. First, she led him to the fishtank and said, "Wook, Daddy. Fishies!" Next, she gleefully pulled him towards the acrylic enclosure that housed Ecko, the iguana. "Wook, Daddy. Ecko!" Then she tracked down the cat, Embers. "Wook, Daddy. Embers! Kitty!" She smiled. It worked. He felt a lot better.

The first time you save your kid's life, you feel grandiose. A true feat of heroism. She almost fell off the bed, afterall. Bad things could've happened had you not grabbed her ankle. After the 50th time you save your kid's life, you don't even think about it, except maybe to think, "I really wish this kid would stop almost dying. It's getting old." Your virtuous pomp is replaced by a nonchalant glaze. You could even do it while talking on the phone and carrying a plate of corn on the cob. "I'll take that Xacto knife, thank you very much."

Then there's that one time - perhaps #63. That one time when it's just too close and the results could've been worse than you can imagine. Then you can imagine it and you just lose it. Right there at the mailbox.

But ...

How can I be upset when I have all these pets? Right, Alina?

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