The Slide

This will be a short blog. Just a heads up.

Evelyn and I went to the park today. Not the big park we went to previously, but a small little park here on the grounds of our apartment complex. I was looking forward to it since I thought it'd be a great idea on Wednesday night.

Of course it was a great idea. It spawned in my brain and made it through all my "Could this be a dumb idea" filters.

I've spent years putting those in place, by the way.

We got up this morning, had breakfast/brunch, and I gave Evie a bath - something I really don't like doing simply because I don't think I'm good at it. I got her dressed, put on some nice Nike shoes my sister gave Evie, and we headed over.

Now, she's still struggling to walk, but she did okay hanging onto my pants leg (shorts leg? is that a thing? I was wearing shorts...), and walking behind while I walked slowly to the park.

Dad got impatient. I picked her up and we took off.

Yesterday, the statement would have been, "My daughter does not like the slide." Today? Evie did not like the slide, until I forced her to go down it a few times by herself. The entire shock of "Holy cow! I pushed myself down that big plastic yellow thing by myself!" was worth it. She wanted to go down it a few more times before she got bored.

She started eyeing the big tube slide made for third graders, and that was when I decided it was time to go home.

The end.

I warned you. Short blog.

Looking to Tomorrow

The last week or so Evie has been extra fussy. Tonight, we actually scheduled the therapy session to be at a time when Jennifer and I could both be home.

Evie did nothing but cry, she barely worked and it was just overall frustrating. I feel like its mostly my fault because I didn't get her more naptime, but at the same time, all week she's been irritable.

I think she has a new tooth coming in towards the back of her mouth, so I'm sure she's not incredibly comfortable. More and more I just am starting to wish she was done with therapy. Yes, I know that she'll be zooming around the house, getting into more stuff, once she's capable of walking, but the whole scene tonight was borderline embarrassing.

Maybe that's not fair. She tried, but like I said, I didn't get her much time to nap.

The other day I was visiting a house - for my job, I don't randomly visit people's houses - and there was a little boy who wasn't even nine months old walking around like he'd been doing it since he had his wet his first diaper. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Like a literal punch to the chest. I thought, "Why can't my kid be walking already?"

Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely not disappointed in Evie. How could I be? She tries so hard, and our therapist constantly raves about how much progress she makes. No, I'm so proud of her at times I feel like I'm about to burst. Tomorrow, she could take off running through the kitchen, and dribbling a soccer ball between her feet, but the whole thing today, combined with seeing the little boy strutting around has just really shook me.

More than anything, I feel responsible. My stupid leg issues, my "duck" walk, and now she's struggling with it, too. I know I'll fail as a parent sometimes, I'm not always going to be "Superdad." It just stings when you fail your kid with things that are beyond your own will, your own determined work. Its depressing and frustrating and aggravating.

Guess its part of being a parent. I'm done feeling sorry for myself now.

Like I said, after I write this, tomorrow she'll likely be sprinting faster than a speeding bullet.

A Trip to the Park

A journey of epic proportions ensued today as we took Evelyn to a park in Avon, Indiana.

By "journey" I mean we drove for about fifteen minutes - it would have been faster but there was the afternoon rush hour to contend with. By "epic proportions," I mean that we only were at the park for about twenty minutes before it was obvious Evie didn't want to slide on the slides, swing on the swings, or climb up the rock wall I tried to stand her on, even though it was clearly made for a full-grown eight year old.

I'm not one to condemn her. As a man about to turn thirty on his next birthday, I'm not a big fan of roller coasters, carnival rides, or riding in a car over a hundred and ten miles per hour. Just never really appealed to me, and the twisting and turning makes my stomach want to show me what it has done to my breakfast. So when my daughter decides that sliding down a thick piece of plastic, connected to a thicker piece of wood, by the lowest bidder, I can't really be too upset.

The one thing she did seem to enjoy was sticking her hand inside a giant sculpture of a turtle's mouth, laughing, and talking to said rock-turtle. The turtle didn't seem to mind.

Other little kids about Evie's height were running around, and I think that added to her discomfort, but who am I to say to a two year old that he should slow down so my daughter can poke a turtle made of granite in the eye? Well, I'm her Dad, so I didn't bother with words, I just tripped him when he came running by the second time.

I'm kidding. I didn't trip a toddler.

But... that would have been okay, right? I mean, looking out for my daughter? Its justifiable tripping, right?