The Lydster, Part 35: Free to Be Me

When I started this blog, and specifically when I started writing about my daughter in this blog, I had planned to write more about how she was affecting me, rather than just about her. I may have fallen away from that. Here’s a slight return to form.

One of the things I know is true about me, with her, is that I have, apparently, no inhibitions when it comes to caring for her. We all went to church last Sunday morning – me, Carol, Lydia and her doll, which is named Baby. We all had nametags on, including Baby. Lydia wanted me to hold Baby for a while, as we stood in the communion circle, so I did so. The little girl across the way thought this was mighty funny, apparently; a grown man with a doll with a nametag during communion (no, Baby did not partake).

I remember when Lydia was five or six months old, and she was doing SOMETHING to make me crazy. I was so upset with her that I plopped her in the middle of the living room floor; Daddy needed a timeout. I’m sure she’ll make me crazy again, but I find that I’m a lot more patient with her now, even as she does stuff that would have driven me crazy a couple years earlier. She’s afraid of the monsters in her room, reportedly a typical childhood phase. Her mother and I just drive them from the room, but the going-to-bed process seems to have lengthened considerably in the last month. (I wonder if this is post-surgical trauma for Lydia.) Anyway, I’m more tired – again, and I had been doing so well – but it doesn’t annoy me. Concern, a little bit.

Anyway, she gives me lots of goodies to make it all worthwhile. Happy 2 11/12, Lydia!

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