An Open Letter to my Daughter on Her First Birthday

Dear Lily –

Happy birthday, Mamalah! I can’t believe that it’s been a year since you were born. I can say without hesitation that this has been the most fun, exciting, fulfilling – and sometimes scary – year of my life.

Now before I get into the corny stuff, I have a confession. It took me about twelve weeks to “really” fall in love with you. Hold on, don’t be offended – it wasn’t that I didn’t love you right away. I did. It’s just that as an infant, you really didn’t do much. You slept a lot. Cried. Drank milk from a boob. Pooped. Slept some more. And just sort of laid there and killed time in between.

You were easy enough to hold in the crook of my arm though, so we’d sit on this new “glider” chair I had got that was supposed to be good for babies, and I’d read you books. You had so many books that folks had bought for you even before you were born. The Pout Pout Fish. Hop on Pop. An alphabet book about Noah and his Ark. Even a Spanish version of Green Eggs and Ham. Your mom said it wouldn’t make you bilingual, but I figured I'd give it a shot.

We also listened to a lot of music. And...well, that was about it. I had no complaints though. But as you can see, our interactions were pretty much a one-way street.

Until the day we were in the examination room at the doctor’s office waiting for Dr. Chou to come in for your three-month check-up. We had been sitting for about 45 minutes, and you were understandably starting to get a little fussy. Shoot, I was getting annoyed myself.

I took out my cell phone and opened up your playlist on Spotify. Well, it was actually a bunch of songs that I liked, but since they were kind of happy, upbeat songs, I called the playlist, “Songs for Lily”, and would often play it for you.

You were laying on your back on the exam table, and I started singing to you the first song – “I’m Alive” by Michael Franti. You had probably heard that song at least twice a day during your first three months. Maybe more.

But this time - you looked up, and you smiled at me. Yep, you looked me right in the eyes and gave me the most beautiful, wonderful smile I had ever seen.

I then took both your hands and moved them back and forth, as if we were dancing. And your smiler grew even bigger. I kept on singing and we kept on “dancing” through Ben Harper’s “Shine”, Prince’s “Starfish and Coffee”, and Matisyahu’s “Sunshine”.

And you kept smiling at me the entire time.

Lily, my eyes welled up with tears (kind of like they’re doing now). It was that very moment when I discovered what it meant to have a daughter. We we communicating. You were upset, and I was making you happy! The love and connection and protectiveness I felt was so overwhelming. I had never experienced those emotions so strongly before. It was as if my body didn’t biologically know how to process those feelings, and the tears were the release. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that moment.

Since then (and here comes the corny, cliché stuff). Since then, every day with you has been amazing. You are such a fast learner. From rolling over to sitting up on your own to crawling then standing to the first steps you took just a few days ago. It all happened so fast.

You like to “read” to yourself (and others) the books that we read together, and your babbling is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. You sing songs and hold “conversations” with almost anyone – including your dogs, Ginny and Gracie. You even smile and growl on demand. In fact, your teachers at day care gave you the nickname, “Lil’ Tiger” because you did it so much.

At this stage in your life, “happy” and “curious” are your default moods. You really only get upset when you’re tired, hungry, or in some type of discomfort. Or when we change your diaper. Not really sure why, but man, you hate having your diaper changed.

You easily show and give affection. You let your mom and I – and anyone else who picks you up – squeeze and kiss you at least a hundred times a day.

You also have a wonderful sense of humor. You do goofy things and then heartily laugh at yourself. You even know how to entertain others with never ending games of “Where’s Lily?” and Peek-A-Boo, or by offering to share the yogurt melties and organic veggie puffs your mom gives you to snack on.

I could go on and on.

And yet – and it’s important that you know this, Lily – even if you didn’t do any of those things, I would still love you just as much. My love for you is unconditional and absolute. It will never be defined or determined by your accomplishments or achievements or failures – nor by your beliefs or opinions, or the gender you identify with, or the sex or ethnicity or religion of the person with whom you fall in love. Your Dad’s love will be there, always, as a support, as a refuge, as a springboard, and as a companion.

And that’s the purpose of this letter/blog post. As you grow older, there will be times that we don’t see eye-to-eye. I may be the one in the wrong in many of those instances. I’ve been told that I jump to judgement and conclusions too quickly. I sometimes have a sharp tongue and a quick temper, and don’t always think before I say things.

In short, I tend to make mistakes. Some might even say I “eff up” every now and then.

I hope those times are very few and far between. But when they happen, I hope you’ll read (or reread) this blog post, and I hope you’ll forgive me.

In return, I promise to quickly forgive you every time you screw up.

Deal?

Happy Birthday, Lily. Thank you for being my daughter. You are perfect. You and your mother are the best things that ever happened to me. I love you so much, and can’t wait to learn, laugh and grow with you for many years to come.

Love,

Dad

PS: A few days after that doctor’s appointment, your Mom told me that I was messing up your motor skills by swinging your arms back and forth like that, but she let it slide because we were having so much fun. That said, if you can’t throw a softball for shit ten years from now, you need to take it up with her, because I honestly didn’t know ;)