And now she's 11
All the feelings on my daughter's birthday.
We had just left the hospital maybe five minutes earlier.
The birth had been complicated, with my wife laboring for several hours before our daughter started to emerge.
“The umbilical cord is wrapped around her neck once … twice … three times,” our doctor said matter-of-factly, with a calm necessary to keep us from freaking out. Our daughter was breathing but her color wasn’t quite right, so they hooked her up to oxygen for a few minutes to be safe.
Within 10 minutes, everything was normal. Within a couple hours, we had moved into our overnight room. Within about 48 hours, we were headed home.
And that’s when it hit me. We were at a stoplight, about halfway home on the short drive from the hospital. It was early spring, but it was snowing. I was driving more cautiously than at any point in my life.
Our newborn daughter made a little noise in her car seat, and I turned to look back at her while the light was still red. And I had this ridiculous, obvious, terrified thought:
Oh my God, there’s a baby back there. Our baby.
We had bought all the supplies. We had taken the parenting classes. We had read the baby books. I had nine months to prepare for this and the previous 48 hours to start to get used to it, but now we were going home.
No nurses coming to check on us. No instructions on what to do when she cried. My wife, who grew up with siblings and was a babysitter as a teenager, at least sort of knew what to do, but I had never even changed a diaper in my life.
I had no idea what to expect. I had no idea what I was doing.
But I knew I was going to be doing it every day for the rest of my life.
That baby turned 11 today. She shares a birthday with my wife, who is … more than 11 today and has come to appreciate their birthday bond.
Everything has changed and nothing has changed in the 11 years since she was born.
The passage of time hits you hard at random moments and with surprising force around milestones like birthdays.
In searching for the photo to use with this piece, I started looking back chronologically to the hundreds (OK, thousands) we have taken in the last 11 years.
There she is when she was the same age her younger sister is now (8). There she is when she was the same age as her younger brother now (5), right at the outset of the pandemic.
There she is at 4, 3, 2, 1, impossibly small.
Spin the pictures back the other way and watch her get older. Learning to walk. Learning to run. Skinning her knee. Eating a popsicle. Halloween. Christmas. Birthday parties. Silly family fun. Riding a scooter. Riding a bike. Random quiet moments with her siblings. Vacations. Adventures. Friends. She is getting so big.
Being the best, most amazing version of herself every day.
Running up ahead, just out of sight, me running a little faster to catch up.
And now she’s 11.
All our kids’ birthdays hit me, but hers hits the hardest because she’s the oldest. We experience every milestone and age as parents for the first time with her, which also means we still know the least about what comes next with her.
There is still no playbook, no instructions. We’re figuring it out as she goes.
Being 11 means there is a lot of and in her life.
She likes to put on makeup and collect stuffed animals. She wants to watch scary movies with her friends and Bluey with her siblings. She wants to be independent and protected.
I can feel her life getting bigger and bigger, which again is thrilling and terrifying.
A month ago, I attended her middle school orientation and came home reporting all the things she was going to be able to do as a sixth-grader. I was maybe a little too excited, and she had to calm me down.
She already has a lot of great friends, but she’s going to make even more. She’s already involved in sports and other activities, but her options are going to grow.
All of her potential is right there. She’s smart, extremely funny, always up for adventure, everything a daughter could ever be.
I want her to have the biggest life possible, but I also know that means letting go bit by bit. I want her to be resilient but I never want to see her get hurt.
I want to reach out and keep her from making the mistakes I made along the way while passing along just the good things.
The milestones will just keep coming. Middle school. Teenager. Driving. College. Moving out of the house. A career. Maybe a family.
Grandpa? I can’t be a grandpa, I just became a dad. It was only yesterday. It was only … 11 years ago.
We were just at the starting line. Why am I thinking about the finish line?
I want to slow it all down at some points and speed it all up at others. I desperately want to rewind, and I’m very curious about fast-forward.
It all makes me wobbly and proud, disoriented and exhilarated.
The only thing that saves me from crashing is the present. She is 11 now, small and big, happy and sad, everything in between.
More than anything, she is leading the way. She is guiding us bit by bit. She is showing us what she needs.
And I am constantly reminding myself: This is her life. You can’t protect her from experiencing all that comes with it. All you can do is be there for her.
When I look back in the car now I see a tween who is probably about to humble me with a look and sarcastic comment about my terrible humor or taste in music.
I’d love to think I have a better grip on how to handle what comes next, though I doubt I ever will.
But I do know this: I’m so proud of who she is, and I can’t wait to know all the versions of her along the way.
Now you understand. Your words, your thoughts, your feelings are what I've felt all these years, twice, so the joy and anxiety you live with have also touched me, I dare say, in similar ways (which makes great sense as you know). Sure, you've been a dad for quite awhile now, but at certain points (like your current one), stepping back from the busy present and reflecting is awesome, in various interpretations of the word. Knowing you as I do, though, it's clear that your impact on your children is impressive. And, clearly, they have left impressions on you.