The Little Girl She Is Today That I’ll Miss Tomorrow

This is one of those blogs that I sat down with one idea. Changed it to another midway through. Then I decided not to use it at all because I heard my daughter singing while she sat next to me as she colored. It made me happy but at the same time sad because I know these moments won’t be here forever.  I put the original blog I wrote in my draft folder along with about seven others I have written, but decided not to send out (yet).

“Time Out!” – Zack Morris

There are moments in parenting that really stick with you, those ones that you reminisce on from time to time randomly. You're just getting through the morning bullshit and your kid does something so small but just very “her” or "him". These moments always feel like little reminders that time goes by too damn fast. I think these last few years that old saying, "The days are long but the years are fast" has been proving itself true in the most real ways.

I find myself holding on to these tiny moments more and more. They happen during the most ordinary parts of my day, and yet they end up being the things I think about the most. It’s like time tells me, “Hey. Don’t miss this part.”

“Time In!” – Zack Morris

Out of everything, the way she calls me Dada is the thing that hits the deepest. She says it with this lightness and trust in her voice. It has this innocence to it that I love and just feel good about. I see her growing so fast, doing more and more on her own, but the way she calls me is a link to her being so tiny.

That word reminds me that I’m her anchor. Her safe place. And there’s something sacred about that. I know one day it will shift to “Dad” but right now, I’m “Dada”. And that’s a version of fatherhood I never want to lose.

Okay, honestly, I can't lie. It can drive me nuts at times. Given that it’s just two syllables and rolls off the tongue, when she wants something, she machine guns it “DADADADADADADADA”. She does it so fast at times I can’t even think.

Stadium Tour

She treats the house like it’s her personal stadium tour. She walks from room to room singing whatever her brain is processing in real time, and she doesn’t even check to see if anyone is listening. I love that. That freedom. That confidence. That complete lack of self-consciousness that adults forget they ever had. She sings like the world is kind and doesn’t judge. She can turn anything into a song and honestly I find that very impressive. This five minute blog can take me a few hours of deep thought while she can develop a whole song and chorus while she brushes her teeth.

I’ll be in the middle of something and suddenly I hear her humming behind me. She isn’t trying to impress anyone. She isn’t performing. She’s just happy. And watching her float through the hallway in mismatched clothes and messy hair, creating her own soundtrack, reminds me that joy doesn’t need an audience. It just needs space to exist. Yes, I get annoyed at times and wish the house didn’t have to be so damn loud but at the same time I know this is the only time in her life she’ll have to do this. I can't take that away.

True Laughter

Her real laugh, the one she cannot control, is something that makes me smile just thinking about. It happened most recently in a photo booth where my friends and I asked her to pick the filter because she was the only one who could reach. There were about 5 of us packed in there. We assumed she would pick a normal filter but instead picked a monster filter that made us all look terrible. She thought it was the funniest thing ever and could not stop laughing.

That sound is pure childhood. It’s joy, the kind adults feel sometimes but then quickly bottle it in. I catch myself watching her in those moments, thinking this is what happy looks like before life happens. It’s kind of sad.

How do we know when dogs bark, they aren’t saying bad words?

Her questions come out of nowhere and hit me with both parts wonder and confusion.

· Who decides what is good and what is bad? She suggested she should make that call moving forward.

· Why can’t I remember being a baby? I really didn’t know how to answer this one.

· What’s the highest number I can count to in one day? I took a wild guess and said 575,000.

· Can any animal beat up a bear? Since she asked me this, I have thought about it a lot and imagined different fights.

Again, sometimes I get annoyed but then I remember I was the same. I always had questions and was genuinely curious. The world is still brand new to kids. They test every aspect of it, push every button, and try to make sense of all the things adults stopped questioning years ago. It’s their job.

Mismatched Outfits

When she dresses herself and picks some questionable outfits. Polka-dot socks with leopard pants and sandals. A Spider-Man shirt with a heart glitter skirt. In her world, matching is optional and vibe is everything. She knows they don’t match and when I ask her why she is wearing that she simply says because I like this and walks away. That’s actually brave and powerful, she knows what she likes, she knows it’s not the norm, but she sticks with it.

At first, I tried to guide her toward cohesive outfits. Then I realized something important, her mismatched outfits are her independence and her creativity. Her way of saying, “I get to decide how I want to be today.”

Why These Moments Matter More Than Milestones

These tiny pieces of her, the songs, the laughs, the questions, the clothes end up being the memories that stay with me.

I know she is growing. I know the world is pulling her forward whether I’m ready or not. But these little moments are the ones that slow everything down just enough to remember and to appreciate them while they are still here. And yes, a part of me wishes I could pause time but at the same time I am excited to see what the future holds for her. How will she look, what hobbies will she have, what will she pick as a career, what animal can rock a bear in a fight? The future is exciting but right now is where we are at.

Thank You

You know sometimes I think will my son and daughter ever read these blogs? Will they just say they are cringe and pretend like these don’t exist or will they read through these and understand the things I said and choices I made.  Sometimes when I am writing these, I feel like I am speaking to them in the future. It’s scary and humbling. They are the best part of my story and I hope they will always know that. I hope they will always feel that.

Thank you, truly, to everyone who reads, follows, and supports my little corner of the internet. Your voice notes, your comments, your shares; they mean more than you know. You make this space real and it blows my mind that people in Australia, England, Mexico, and even my hometown are reading this right now.