I was carrying my daughter around the house the other night and she was looking about with those curious eyes of hers.
She would look at me, then glance about, trying to make sense of the place around her, and then back to me. I’m not quite sure how well she can see yet, but it’s clear she can detect colors and shapes. She certainly knows my face and her mother’s face, and she likes to smile at us when we smile at her.
My arms were tired from work and from holding her for a while, so I sat down with her propped up in my lap. She studied my face.
When she was born, she weighed 6 1/2 pounds. Now she’s about 13 or so, and outgrowing clothes every week. We’re already dressing her in her “Baby’s first Christmas” outfit now because by the time Christmas rolls around, she might be too big to fit into it.
This moment made me think of all the piggyback rides I used to give my little brothers and sister growing up and how when HP (what we’ll call my daughter) gets bigger, she’ll probably want the same. If she’s like her uncles and aunt were, she’ll want to be carried everywhere.
I looked at my inquisitive daughter and told her about all this. I told her about my brothers and sister and how they loved using me as their beast of burden, and how they always wanted me to carry them fast. I told HP I imagined someday she will be squealing “Faster, daddy, faster” at me while I’m running her around in the back yard. She smiled when I said “Faster daddy,” so I repeated it a few times as she grinned brighter and brighter and then started giggling.
I figure it was her way of saying “Yes, daddy, you better be ready. I’m gonna run you ragged.”
It’s OK. I need the exercise.