Sienna And The Frightening Fly

Posted on May 2, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

Twas the first day of May and Elaine and my mother sat casually feeding Sienna eggplant rollatini in a pizzeria down the block form our apartment when out of nowhere the scariest creature on the planet zoomed by Sienna’s head. No I’m not talking about a rat or a killer bee or a king cobra. No great white shark decided to make a side trip from the ocean to have a slice of pizza. I’m not even talking about that insidious varmint known as Elmo. I’m referring to an ordinary housefly.

It’s amazing what strikes fear into the hearts of toddlers. According to eyewitnesses (Elaine and my mom), Sienna screeched and jumped into Elaine’s lap, clinging to her neck as if it were the last life preserver on the sinking Titanic, and buried her face on her mommy’s shoulder when the fly first buzzed her head.

“It’s just a fly, honey,” Mommy allegedly said. “It’s gone. Nothing to worry about. No more fly.”

Reports say it took some time for Sienna to calm down and release her mommy from that death grip.

“No fly,” said Sienna. “No fly.”

“That’s right,” echoed Elaine. “No fly.”

Then that monstrous beast streaked across the room and Sienna was back in Mommy’s lap, tears streaming, knuckles turning so white as she gripped Elaine that Mommy began to turn blue. Time and again a terrified Sienna would calm down and then hurl herself at Elaine when that fly flew overhead. Even when they reached the safety of the apartment Sienna would occasionally ask to be held while shaking her little head and assuring herself: “No fly. No fly.” This was something I witnessed when I got home and Elaine made me aware of the evening’s events making sure to always spell F-L-Y so as not to upset out daughter. I watched as Sienna peeked her head around the corner, looked at my wife for comfort, asked to be picked up and said, “No fly. No fly.”

When night-night came, Sienna seemed okay. It was Elaine’s night to put her down and our daughter laughed and played under fluorescent blue stars until my wife told her to climb into bed. She fell asleep, but apparently that devilish fly haunted Sienna’s dreams. As we sat on the couch listening over the baby monitor we heard our daughter whimper and then cry out as if a serial killer were after her in her sleep: “Help! Stop! Mommy! Daddy!”

Elaine went in first. She picked a drowsy Sienna up, held her to her chest, sat down in the rocking chair and rocked. But the little girl screamed and squirmed, screamed and squirmed. I went into the darkened bedroom and asked my little girl if she’d like to lie down on the floor with Mommy and Daddy.

“Please!”

I don’t know if she was awake or asleep when she answered, but it doesn’t matter. The three of us lay on the floor, Sienna between Elaine and myself. She sucked her thumb. She held her blanket. She fidgeted and fussed. Elaine and I ran our fingers through her hair and stole glances at each other. Finally I decided this was a night Sienna needed us, her parents, even more than ever. She needed to feel safe. We brought Sienna to our bedroom, placed her head on a pillow, shut off the light and got into bed. It was barely 11 pm so I had to take half a melatonin otherwise I would have lay there staring into the blackness.

I asked Sienna if she’d like me to sing “Rainbow Connection” which happens to be her current favorite song (I’m so proud!). She said yes and I dutifully complied, the words flowing over her in the darkness, lulling her to sleep. Little snores escaped her tiny nose. In her sleep she slipped across the pillow and landed with her face in my back. And I loved it. I loved being there for my daughter even if it meant having barely enough room to keep myself on the bed. I lay there feeling warm and important. I lay there feeling like vital father.

It wasn’t an easy night. Fitful sleep for all of us. Sienna periodically moaning, asking for help as that ghastly fly plagued her dreams, Elaine and I waking up at each whimper. According to Elaine, when she got up for work at 5 am, she had to leave a mewling and suffering little girl filling her with heartbreak. By the time Sienna and I awoke around 8 am, all was well with the world, both the actual fly and its nighttime apparition gone from our toddler’s mind. Elaine’s mom came over and she and Sienna had a grand time going for a walk and picking dandelions as Daddy tried to do some work – actually write a blog for the first time in forever as Elsa and Anna say in Frozen which we’ve now watched at least 10 times.

Sienna’s napping now and it’s peaceful. No bad dreams. No flies. The previous night is over but it left me with so many lessons and feelings.

One lesson is obvious: it’s way too early to introduce Sienna to Brundlefly.

The other lesson is that caring for my terrified little girl gave me sense of joy and love I haven’t felt in at least a month due to a depression relapse.

Who knew an ordinary fly could do so much?

What simple things have frightened your little ones so? How did comforting them make you feel?

Sharing Your Childhood Likes With Your Kid

Posted on March 26, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

I’ve been having a rough time blogging of late so I wanted to write something personal yet fun because despite all the turmoil I’ve gone through recently, I’m seriously enjoying Sienna’s current verbosity, her ability to mimic and the accompanying glee that comes with it.

I’ve already taught her plenty of animal sounds so if you see her and ask what a crow says, she’ll answer you with a smile and a loud, “CAAAAAAAW!” But what I’ve found even more enjoyable (and clearly more hilarious) is teaching her pop culture words and phrases from my childhood. In a way, I feel it further connects as Daddy and Sienna. Sure it might be utterly ridiculous and have no redeeming social value, but it absolutely feels special because I’m teaching her a part of myself and we both love it.

It all started when Sienna was just a few months old. She made these noises that reminded me of Gizmo from Gremlins so of course I immediately went out and got her very own Mogwai (not a real one, people…they don’t actually exist!):

Now she asks for Gizmo when she goes to bed and I couldn’t be happier. She’ll also cheerfully squeak, “Bright light! Bright light!” when you ask her what Gizmo says. So cute!

I also find it cute that she loves the theme music to Alf. I’m not sure why she does, but I made sure to put it on her YouTube list (we don’t let her watch much television and instead created a playlist filled with classic Sesame Street and Muppet skits and songs as well as “Let It Go” and a bunch of other things which we let her view on occasion). She recognizes the first note from the theme and goes, “Alf!” and I grin like a fool.

Just like Daddy, she says, “D’oh!” when she drop something echoing this famous character:

If you ask her what this guy says, she yells, “Cobraaaaaaa!”

If asked what Peter Venkman says, she’ll repeat the famous Ghostbusters line, “He slimed me!” though it sounds more like, “‘limed me!” She’ll shout, “Yo Joe!” if you ask her what Roadblock says. She’s working on, “I’ll be back!” (complete with accent) when asked what Schwarzenneger says. She giggles and goes, “How you DOIN’!” if I ask her what Joey says (wrong emphasis, but still impressive, and though it might not be from my childhood, it’s still pretty funny. And once she gets those down I plan to teach her John McClane’s awesome “Yippee ki yay!” (sans the MF, of course).

She even starred in her own version of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan which you can see here:

Teaching Sienna this stuff is not for the benefit of others, though sometimes I can’t resist watching people crack up when she throws out an 80s reference. Teaching her these things along with numbers, letters, colors, songs, manners, names of things, etc., is a way for me to bond with my daughter and pass on some of my own loves. I also adopt her own as I taught her to say, “Drums! Drums!” when she sees the Muppets’ Animal because she gets excited whenever he comes on screen. Her other favorite is Beaker (who happens to be my chosen Muppet), but she picked up on his, “Mee mee mee!” without me having to do anything.

I tell you, there is nothing cuter than seeing a 2-year-old girl refer to Batman as “Na-na!” thanks to the 60s theme song unless it’s hearing her say, “Braaaiins!” when asked what a zombie says. I promise to make sure she knows that not only do the zombies on the bus not say, “Brains! Brains! Brains!” by the time she goes to school, but that she understands there are no zombies on the bus. One day she’ll be ready for zombies and Gremlins and Ghostbusters and G.I. Joe and hopefully we’ll sit, snuggled up, bowl of popcorn in our laps, and watch some of Daddy’s favorite things, but for now the objects will remain abstractions, the words and phrases echoes, just things for the two of us to laugh about and share. Oh, and Sienna, if you’re reading this, we need to keep working on your Chewbacca imitation.

So what am I missing? What other 80s references should Sienna spout? Something from The Breakfast Club since it’s celebrating its 30th anniversary (ugh!), right? Send me your suggestions!

Bye Bye Crib, Hello Panic

Posted on March 15, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

Another morning of awakening to hear Sienna chattering away in her bedroom, singing The Smurfs theme song (“So murf yur elf a griiiiiiiin!”). Sienna doesn’t cry for food when she wakes up. She can lie in her crib covering herself with stuffed monkeys and bears and Count von Count and whatever other character she chose to comfort her the night before, jabbering away while I hit the snooze button. I’m lucky that way, I guess. She can be demanding at times, but her imagination and enjoyment of singing allows me a little extra sleep each morning. So it was this morning. Sienna singing, speaking a mix of English and Toddler, me snoozing away. Everything was the same until I opened Sienna’s door to a sight that stopped me in my tracks leaving me so stunned I might as well have had cartoon birds circling my head. There was only one thing to do. Grab the camera.

How long was she hanging on like this before I entered the room? Five minutes? Ten? An hour? Elaine mentioned a couple of days before that Sienna had gotten out of her crib, but it was just the one time and I kind of put it away. But now everything changed. Seeing Spider-Girl clinging to the outside of her crib hit me with a dose of RED ALERT!

I pulled Sienna down, changed, fed and played with her and did all the fun Daddy-daughter stuff we do on a daily basis, but at the same time I worriedly texted Elaine who wrote it was time for the crib to morph into a bed which she took care of once we got home. But it wasn’t just the crib that had to change as we had to remove anything Sienna could climb. Bye bye changing table. As Sienna jumped on her new bed, we quickly stuffed diapers, Desitin, washcloths, etc., into the closet.By the time we’d finished rearranging her room it was almost 9:30. We didn’t yet have a railing, so we threw a large body pillow on the floor in case Sienna rolled off during the night.

“No more crib,” we explained as Sienna jumped on her new bed.

“Crib!” she responded gleefully.

“No Sienna,” Elaine said. “You’re not a baby anymore. You’re a big girl. Now you have a bed like Mommy and Daddy.” I’m not sure how Elaine felt about those words, but to be honest, they didn’t bother me. I enjoy Sienna not being a baby. I love this interactive phase – the singing and playing, the “Toddlerish” speak. This is the phase I don’t want to end.

“Bed!” yelled Sienna.

“That’s right!” I said. “Bed!”

Then Elaine put Sienna down for the night and we went headed to our bedroom. I started reading a biography of Jim Henson, but around 11:30 I heard Sienna whimpering and then crying and then screaming. I put down the book and found her walking in circles in the dark, her blanket in one hand, tears leaking from her eyes. Instantly I felt the sickening dread I felt when our cat Zeeb went blind overnight because cancer had spread to his brain – the poor thing yowled in shock and fear when he he tried to jump up on our bed only to leap in the opposite direction. Once more I found a creature lost in the darkness, confused, trying to navigate this massive disruption in her world. Anxiety coursed through my body, but I picked up my daughter, sat in a rocking chair and explained what it meant to have a bed. I rocked and hummed and eventually Sienna fell asleep in my arms and I placed her back in her bed. No further problems.

The next morning I walked in to find the room a mess: stuffed animals and laundry strewn everywhere. I sighed knowing this would be a new part of our routine, but it was ok. Not a big deal. I took Sienna to the local Y for playtime which she loved. Because of my slight agoraphobia and my fear of being judged for being a stay-at-home dad, I don’t take my daughter out enough meaning she doesn’t get enough socialization. But this day I overcame my anxiety and let her play with a bunch of kids, throwing balls around, climbing an indoor castle complete with a slide, letting her mouth gape open and her arms flail excitedly as a machine sprayed her with bubbles. We then did some food shopping, came home and had lunch meaning it was nap time. And this is when things went awry.

Sienna wouldn’t nap. I had no trouble with her talking to herself, but every time a loud BANG blasted over the baby monitor I rushed in to see if she was safe. At one point I discovered she’d climbed onto the dresser and panic crashed through my chest.

SHE’S NEVER GOING TO NAP AGAIN! HOW AM I GOING TO HAVE TIME TO DO ANYTHING FOR MYSELF NOW? HOW WILL I BLOG? WHEN WILL I BLOG? I’LL NEVER BLOG AGAIN! THERE’S NO TIME! THERE’S NO TIME TO READ! THERE’S NO TIME TO CATCH UP ON FACEBOOK! THERE’S NO TIME TO READ EVERYONE ELSE’S BLOGS AND COMMENT! ALL THE PEOPLE I MET IN NEW ORLEANS…ALL MY FELLOW DAD BLOGGERS WILL ABANDON ME BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE TIME TO READ THEIR STUFF IF SIENNA DOESN’T NAP! I’M ALREADY WAY BEHIND! I WANT TO WATCH TRUE DETECTIVE AND HOUSE OF CARDS AND KEEP UP WITH WHAT’S GOING ON CULTURE-WISE, BUT NOW I’LL NEVER HAVE TIME AGAIN! NEVER AGAIN! THERE’S…NO…MORE….TIME!!!

My head swirled. My heart pounded. My chest might as well have been a block of cement.

I called my mom, stuttering that I was on the verge of a panic attack. She came over right away and took care of Sienna while I lay down. Once the physical manifestations begin, it’s so hard to get out of an anxiety attack. Once the rational part of your brain is reduced to a whisper, you’re lost. There’s only one way out for me. Sleep. It’s the only way to clear my head. My mom gave Sienna dinner. Then my dad arrived and took over until Elaine came home from work. I slept because I couldn’t face my daughter. I couldn’t let her see me like this.

Elaine put Sienna to bed and we talked. She told me how I go crazy each time Sienna transitions, but then I find a balance and routine. I stubbornly argued that this time there would be no balance because of time…ever since the Dad 2.0 conference I’ve felt perpetually behind and now the loss of those precious few hours when Sienna napped? I’d never catch up. Never.

“Just because Sienna didn’t nap today doesn’t mean she’ll never nap again,” Elaine assured me, but I refused to listen. It was over. I would forever be behind. I’d never blog again. I’d just found this community in which I felt somewhat accepted and now, just like I’d experienced so often before, they’d abandon me.

So I created a desperate thread begging my fellow dad bloggers for advice, espousing my fears of desertion, asking how they do it. How do they juggle their time so that they can blog and read other blogs and do things for themselves all while taking care of their child(ren)? Because I have no idea how to do it. I’m as lost when it comes to time management as I am when it comes to calculus, and what kills me even more is that I need to solve this NOW because I’m a perfectionist. I received a lot of helpful responses and below are some examples.

Aaron Gouveia of The Daddy Files: The trick (and I don’t know how to get you to this point personally) is to realize you’ll always be running at a deficit and be OK with it. You and your contributions are always welcome here and the support isn’t going anywhere. Even if you need a week or two away from us. Prioritize on a continuous basis, do what you have to do, and try not to feel guilty about what you’re not doing. Easier said than done, I know. But you’re a conscientious guy and as long as you keep making sure the important things are being taken care of, you’ll be OK.

James Austin of Luke, I Am Your Father: I hear so many guys here apologize for ‘not contributing enough’ or ‘being gone a week.’ Every time. EVERY time, my reaction is ‘I didn’t even realize you were gone.’ I suspect most of the guys would agree. You don’t have to be here all the time to maintain a noticeable presence. Don’t try to give more than you can. We will all be here the next time you want to check in.

Lee Bodenmiller of Souvenirs of Fatherhood: What I have learned is that achieving perfect balance is a myth. I might even call it a destructive lie. There is no such thing as a single perfect state of time management. Responsibilities shift. Expectations change from different people in your life. New demands pop up while old ones become satisfied or unimportant. The key is to constantly be shifting the fulcrum in your life to what is most pressing and urgent.

Neal Call of Raised By My Daughter: I’m poised to step back a bit, because [blogging is] a seriously deep pit that sucks and sucks at you, and I have a hard time wrapping my mind around all of it. Facebook, particularly, sucks time away. And, even though I’ve had my little successes over the last year or so, it’s pretty clear to me that blogging will probably not be a direct income source. Perhaps it will be a platform for other projects . . . a lot of the guys who are prolific here have older kids or have their younger kids in daycare/pre-school. With a needy kid at home almost all day (which I totally get), I’ve just had to get comfortable with the idea that a lot of my projects are going to have to wait until my daughter is in school.

Scott Behson of Fathers, Work, and Family: Rule#1 for me is you can’t take care of others if you don’t take care of yourself- just like the airplane thing- put your oxygen mask on first before helping with others’. At this point (I say this as a PhD is psychology, but without really knowing your situation), I think you need to prioritize yourself and work on coping with your anxiety- your therapist and family are best positioned to help. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be here whenever you need us.

Eric B of Dad On The Run: I also enjoy reading and watching TV and never have enough time to do all I want, and sometimes not enough time to get what I need done. Prioritization is key. You have to decide how much time you can devote to these areas of your life and stick with it. I don’t know any better way of saying it. Don’t worry about the group abandoning you or wondering why you haven’t read something or commented on something, that’s just self-imposed pressure…I chime in when I can and where I want to. I read what I see and what interests me and comment, provide blogging feedback where and when I have the time. We all understand that there is not enough time. When I post something and it gets little or no response then I figure guys have other more important things to do and I get that. Work on that understanding, it’s a river. We dip our feet in when we can, we wave at passing boats when we’re in it and we handle life when we’re not. I’ve found life in general to become more and more overwhelming as I’ve aged so I’m trying to be careful to be sure my social media presence is helping me deal with that instead of exacerbating the problem.

I’m so thankful. So thankful. Because I feel less alone. Because they get it. They get me. They get that I feel like I’m drowning in social media, that I’m so scared of not being able to top my Dad 2.0 reading; that I feel this ridiculous obligation to each and every person who stood up and clapped and complimented me in the Marriott hallway; that I’m terrified the dad blogger community will cast me off just because I don’t have time to comment on or share one of their blog or write something witty or emotional myself.

Unlike the people in my past, these dad bloggers understand me. Even if they don’t suffer depression and anxiety, we have shared experiences in child rearing. We’re all trying to figure out how to manage time for ourselves while our children grow and change on a daily basis. Routine is an illusion when it comes to raising children and if you get sucked into one, you’re going to be shocked when it changes in a split second. If I don’t remember that in my bones I’ll continue to suffer panic attacks each time Sienna transitions. I can’t let that happen. I have to grow and stop letting my anxiety get the best of me. I have to step back from Facebook and stop feeling guilty if I don’t comment on something. I have to stop feeling discomposed if I don’t get a hundred comments and “likes” on a blog post. And I have to stop comparing myself to those who are so prolific in the blogging community because the reality is many of them have jobs in addition to fatherhood that allow them to interact with social media throughout the day; others are former or current journalists and have an easier time writing and know the tricks of the trade; and some have older or younger kids that require less attention. None of them will hate me if I I miss a blog here or there or don’t hit a “like” button.

If I felt I’d found my tribe at Dad 2.0, after this most recent panic attack and my plea to the dad blogger community, I know I have.

As for time management, I’ll figure something out. Maybe my mom will take Sienna for a few hours a couple of times a week. Maybe Elaine will give me some time away on weekends. Maybe I’ll cut back on sleep. Maybe I’ll have to miss a program here or there. As Elaine says, I’m not Superman. Hell, I doubt even Superman could handle all the things I want to do as well as raise a little girl about to turn 2 who now sleeps in a bed instead of a crib, but I know he wouldn’t feel guilty and anxious about it. It’s time I don’t either.

Preventing A Depression Spiral By Taking My Daughter To The Movies

Posted on March 6, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

I hate and fear my birthday. Yes it’s just a day like any other, but it’s one that so clearly marks the passage of time, one that depression sufferers such as myself tend to use to focus more than ever on the “failures” of the past and of time “running out” than on the now. Normally I feel sad on my birthday, distraught that I don’t have the money, the elite job title, the house, and I obsess over my life’s crossroads. What if I accepted the cool girl’s party invitation in junior high school instead of chickening out? What if I’d taken that film publicity job I’d been offered following my junior year internship instead of imagining my parents’ wrath at not completing college (I learned years later that the secretary during my time there became a vice president)? A few blogs ago I wrote about how I especially dreaded my birthday this year because it would be my 40th and how since Elaine would be at work late into the night, I felt intensely apprehensive that I’d spiral into such narcissistic despair that I wouldn’t be able to be there for Sienna, but I never wrote about the day itself and how I met that challenge.

On the morning of my 40th birthday I decided to take my 22-month-old daughter, Sienna, to the movies. I wasn’t sure if 22 months was too young for a child to go to movie theater, but I didn’t care because I knew if I didn’t get out of the apartment, I’d dwell until misery swallowed me. There was, of course, only one movie for us to see (cue Miss Idina Menzel):

Elaine’s not a big Disney fan, so I saw Frozen alone when it first opened, but since that day Sienna and I have probably watched the ”Let It Go” clip on YouTube about a quadrillion times, so I thought seeing it on the big screen would blow her mind; plus it was the sing-a-long version so I knew if my daughter yelled at the screen or ran around I’d at least be surrounded by similarly frazzled parents with their rambunctious children. In hindsight this was also a massive undertaking since I’m anxious any time I take Sienna outside, always imagining people talking about and judging me for being a stay-at-home dad, but on my birthday, a clear, crisp February morning, I bundled her up, strapped her into her car seat and told her it was adventure time.

As we entered the multiplex Sienna looked around and took in everything, particularly the luminosity of the theater lobby, big white bulbs overhead, red blinking lights announcing theater times. “Lights!” she repeated on a loop. “Lights!”

“LEGO Movie?” a fiftyish man with a bushy red mustache asked when we reached the counter.

“Nope. Frozen,” I said. “Taking my daughter to her first movie.”

“Good choice.” He smiled and gestured towards Sienna who wore her most serious expression. “And in that case we have something special in store for this little cutie. Just head over to the concession stand and let me know she’s a first-timer.”

I did so and after many congratulations, we received a free children’s popcorn. We walked down the hallway and passed a huge cardboard advertisement for Muppets Most Wanted and Sienna quickly ran up and touched Animal’s face. She LOVES Animal, especially his solo during the Muppets’ rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody.” I had to sneak in a quick shot.

The theater was packed and by “packed” I mean crammed with empty seats. Seems 10:25 AM on a Monday is a perfect time to take your kids to the movies, especially if a film’s been out seemingly forever. I chose an aisle seat behind a wheelchair area giving us plenty of legroom in case Sienna needed to run around. I had no idea what to expect from her. Would the movie’s volume scare her? Would she sit for more than 10 minutes? As I said: adventure time.

I placed her in a seat and made sure I could access everything: popcorn, water, Cheerios, diaper bag, Elmo doll (wish she’d lose that thing! Not an Elmo fan!). Then I had to snap a pic because she looked so darn small and cute and befuddled!

The lights dimmed and we sat through ads and previews (“GREEN!” Sienna yelled happily whenever a preview card appeared) and then it was magic time.

First a clever, Oscar-nominated Mickey Mouse short in which Mickey, Minnie and the gang break through the screen and into a CGI, 3D world. “MICKEY MOUSE! MICKEY MOUSE!” Sienna announced, pointing at the screen. I told her it was indeed Mickey and ran my fingers through her hair. Then it was time for the main feature.

I don’t know how she did it, but Sienna sat through nearly the entire movie as if she were a film critic (or maybe she’s just like her mom who gets distracted and sucked in by any type of moving image, including commercials—she could be talking to you while walking into a room, but upon noticing the flickering TV, she’s an instant zombie and you actually have to snap your fingers to get her attention. Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating…you don’t always have to snap your fingers). Getting back to Sienna, she stood up once and nearly fell through the space between the seat back and cushion, but then she resettled on my lap. She got a little antsy near the end of the film and ran around for maybe 15 minutes, but most of the time she looked like this:

We sang along to “Want To Build A Snowman?” and she pointed out all sorts of things like “SNOW!” and “HORSE!” and “WOLF!” to which she gave an accompanying, ”A-wooooooo! Wooooo-woooo–wooo!”

And when those opening, almost hypnotic notes of “Let It Go” began she jumped up and squealed, singing along as best as she could and mimicking Queen Elsa’s movements, arms thrust in the air in triumph. I sat there not thinking about my birthday, turning 40 or the past or future, but concentrating only on my daughter, on our special time together.

When the film ended we stayed through the second rendition of “Let It Go” and headed back into the lobby. I thanked everyone for being so kind and then decided I needed to get Sienna a plush Olaf to mark the occasion of her first movie. We drove to 4 stores, but no one had anything Frozen-related leaving me highly disappointed, but Sienna none the wiser. I think I wanted that Olaf doll more for me than for her. I think I wanted it to salute my taking action against my anxiety and depression on a day where they’re often incapacitating. At least I have the pictures and memories.

While seeing the movie with my daughter was incredible, I’d like to say that I was able to completely avoid my usual birthday doldrums, but I can’t. By the time my mother took Sienna and I out to dinner, I felt deflated and downcast. When Elaine came home after I’d put Sienna down for the night, my chest was tight and I felt sad and alone and near tears. She asked me if I’d seen all the hundred+ birthday wishes from people on Facebook, but I hadn’t checked because I knew I’d concentrate more on who DIDN’T wish me a happy birthday than on who DID; just another evil aspect of depression.

But then I recounted the morning: the empty theater; Sienna checking out the ad for the new Muppet flick; our daughter getting that first taste of movie popcorn and, like a pro, grabbing fistfuls without taking her eyes of the screen; Sienna standing on my lap, our arms raised, our voices nearly drowning out Queen Elsa’s. I broke into a grin thinking of how proud I was of Sienna and how happy I am to be a dad and how although I couldn’t completely shut out my demons, I stunted them by taking my daughter to her first movie, and how for a good portion of my 40th birthday I was able to just let it go.

Star Light, Star Bright, I Wish This Moment Not To End Tonight

Posted on February 24, 2014 by Lorne Jaffe

Sienna and Daddy sit in star-filled wonder

There are those instants as a parent that you don’t want to end, moments that fill you with such joy that you want to freeze time forever. Tonight I had one of those experiences.

Elaine usually puts Sienna to bed, but she’s been out of commission for the last few days due to a bad back. I’ll be honest and selfish here. I haven’t been happy about it because when my wife takes our daughter into her room for night-night, I feel a bit free. No more watching a near-two-year-old toddler every second making sure she’s not demolishing everything in sight or putting herself in harm’s way; no more inventing new, monotonous games like, “Legs Open! Legs Closed!” (that sounds a lot worse than it is); no more being a slave to a hungry, thirsty, moody, pooping, peeing, destructive, demanding, yet lovable little tyke. Sometimes when Elaine tells Sienna to give Daddy a kiss and closes her bedroom door, I take a deep breath and congratulate myself on not losing my cool at any point during the day. Because you have to. As a stay-at-home parent, sometimes you have to give yourself credit for not jumping out a window.

But then there are those special instances, ones that remind you of the exhilaration of parenting allowing all the day’s stress and your personal battles with depression and anxiety to melt away. The time when your daughter pats the floor and says in a cute, little voice, “Daddy down? Daddy down?” And so you get out of the rocking chair and spread out on the fuzzy carpet as your child adjusts your arms until she’s safely in the crook of your shoulder. Then together you gaze up at the ceiling, at the blue, battery-powered night sky. You count the stars and stare at the moon. Together you listen to the white noise machine, the soft ebb and flow of the surf, the magical singing of humpback whales, the same beautiful melody that weird alien ship demanded in Star Trek IV lest it destroy Earth.

“Those are whales,” you say. “They’re singing to each other.”

“Whale,” she repeats. “Whale whale whale whale!”

Then she returns to babbling in her own language before turning over, her nose right next to yours, a smile on her face.

“Stars. Mommy in morning.”

“That’s right, sweetie,” you say. “You’ll see mommy in the morning. Let’s count the stars again.”

She turns back over and snuggles back into the crook of your shoulder.

“One two three four five six seven eight nine TEN!” she says gaily.

And you smile down there on the floor under a fluorescent blue night sky.

Your daughter’s not yet two, but she’s growing up so fast. So fast.

Before you gather her in your arms, give her a big kiss goodnight and lay her gently in her crib making sure she feels secure by surrounding her with stuffed monkeys and bears, a smurf, a lion, you look at the projected stars and make a wish. You wish for the moment never to end.

Even though you know it must.