Daddy Tree: Tiny Footsteps

Willow has been giving us fits for months now about brushing her teeth before bed. She's usually better brushing her teeth in the morning, meaning it's less like wrestling an alligator for me, but at night before bed, she turns into the Tasmanian Devil. We've tried making the tooth-brushing as fun as possible for her, but I usually end up holding her against her will while I try, mostly in vain, to pry the toothbrush into her clamped-shut mouth. Sometimes we give up. We've tried singing to her. Dancing. Story-telling. Tickling. Nothing has really worked. But Mommy might have hit on the solution. A singing toothbrush. Yesterday Mommy brought home a toothbrush that belts out Queen singing "We Will Rock You." This toothbrush ROCKS! And Willow loves it. We tried it out last night, and on the inaugural brushing, Willow brushed her teeth successfully all by herself. She danced the whole time too. And I stayed bruise free (I also, surprisingly, had more energ...

Well, you all know the big news now: Willow is going to have a baby brother or sister soon. The baby is due at the end of May. We don't know the gender yet, but we're going to find out soon. Cherish and I will let everyone know what we're expecting. Now I have to be honest with you. I'm on a roller coaster of emotions here. My hormones are dipping and rising as fast as Cherish's are right now. Of course I'm happy to have another child on the way. I can't be happier, really, but on some days, when I'm having a tough time with Willow, I get tired. "Oh, my God! There are going to be two of these things running around soon!" I feel like collapsing and just staying there, prone on the floor, sleeping for a very long time. Of course, I don't know what I'm in for, but if I don't get too wrapped up in the running-around-and-chasing-the-toddler-and-her-baby-sibling thinking, and accentuate the positive, I can fend off those tired though...

Lately, I've been having problems with Willow clinging to me, not wanting to be left at the YMCA's Y-Play child care area while I work out. Today she was a little clingy, but not too bad, just a few whimpers, then she was off. No, today's problem was getting her the heck out of there when I was showered and ready to go home. I was patient, though, and went under the stairs with her to chat with her, play with her and reason with her that she wanted to go home too. That's where I met her new friend, a 4-year-old boy, who was graciously sharing a parking-garage thingy with my 18-month-old. Willow loved this boy. Loved him. She chortled every time he spoke, and I mean that, CHORTLED, no little giggle here; she'd throw back her head and bellow out happy snorts, just like her mommy. From what I could tell, the boy only tolerated Willow, but he did a good job at it, complimenting her when she pushed Matchbox cars up the ramp, for example. I had a mission, so I got to ...

When Willow says the word, it drips from her lips like honey. And it lands on my and Mommy's ears like honey, soothing our tired and achy cores. It's the sweetest thing, when Willow does something she likes, such as dancing in circles to my rendition of "Ring Around the Roses," then looks up to me with those big baby eyes, taps out the sign with her hands and utters in her angelic voice, "more?" She wants more, and Che and I will do anything to give more to her, especially if this sweetness keeps oozing from her. Willow has been doing the sign for "more" for months. She doesn't do the sign correctly, but we don't care. The sign is tapping the tips of your bunched up fingers together. That's the way I perceive it, though I'm sure it's probably the same sign a TV producer gives to a news anchor encouraging her to "stretch it out" for just a few more seconds until commercial break. But that's not how Willow does ...

I think Willow made a friend today at the YMCA's Y-Play, which is a free day care available to Y members. Willow is 18 months old, so it comes as no surprise to the kind ladies at Y-Play that she has a hard time parting with me nowadays. When we started at the Y, Willow ran from my arms to go play in this new and magical place of toys-aplenty. Not anymore. She holds on to me tighter than Krazy Glue to beams in those 1980s commercials, and she undams rivers of tears. I always return an hour or so later and struggle to get her to leave the place; the Y ladies say she forgets about me within seconds of my leaving to go work out. When I returned today to drag her from her fun, she was playing with a blond-headed girl about her age and size at the play kitchen, which is Willow's favorite spot. Willow had a toy cash register, and she was repeatedly ringing up the purchase of a tiny purple pony for her playmate. In and out of the register drawer the pony went. Ka-ching! The playmat...