Babies are vastly interesting. Their lives have so little personal history it is simply amazing to watch how they learn. People keep telling me kids grow up fast, in fact I've heard it my entire life. In some regards children do grow up fast, but only because at first there is so much to take in that each new development, each new discovery, is a milestone in their short historical record. And yet I find it hard to document the minutia of Emma's life for public consumption. While I may be overjoyed when she discovered that the things at the end of those trunks sticking out of her diaper were in fact her very own feet, it's hardly good reading. The life of a father is a rather personal and intimate one; it is a life shared openly and, if done right, lovingly and deeply personal with a child. To that end each smile, each coo, each happy wiggle when I walk into the room fills me with a joy, an awe, and a satisfaction I can only hope all fathers feel.

Emma is fifteen weeks (about a quarter of a year) old now. I'm sure there are mothers and doctors who know what that means but to me that means I've had fifteen weeks to watch, play, read to, and cuddle my baby girl. She is learning to sit up, and is so eager to do so we can grab her little hands and count to three and somewhere on two or just before three she does her hardest to fold herself in half. I'm flabbergasted that such a young little girl already has figured out what muscles she needs in order to sit. She knows how to roll from her tummy to her back, but exercises her cute-given right not to unless Mom or Dad are being mean old oafs and not pickup up on her cues. The silly little girl can stand reasonably well when we hold her to keep her balance. I don't know why she wants to sit and stand but who am I to argue? She's developing and she really seems to enjoy it.

Just this morning we discovered the rash that has invaded her otherwise adorable face is eczema. The poor thing was suffering quite well for so long with it, despite our best efforts with the baby lotion. Last week she started rubbing her face in a manner that made us wonder if the rash itched. So off to the doctor this morning and he proclaimed her in need of a ridiculously expensive tube of cream. We are all hoping it will work well. Through this though Ye Olde Stereotypes were validated once again. Moms worry; Dads shrug things off. Were it not for moms I'm fairly certain most of us would die from the most inane and avoidable causes, usually accompanied with the words, "He's fine. It's not fatal." It doesn't matter that this time I was right, by the way.

As a testimony to the speed at which babies do in fact grow, we are retiring another set of her clothes. We have already boxed up her infant/newborn/daddy-can't-tell-the-difference clothes, and are now retiring her 0-3 clothes. She is getting bigger, heavier, and more alert. My parents have a photo of her foot compared to my big toe (same size) that was taken a few weeks back; Emma's feet are now bigger, and fit into some of her shoes, which makes her mother giddy since footwear is a woman's delight. Emma's hands are also getting bigger, and she's doing more and more grasping. For the curious: yes, she has grabbed my beard, many times, and no it's never hurt nor been a problem. What hurts is when she somehow manages to grab my wallet (we spent how much on cream?), or my chest hair.

The more time passes the more I do not regret taking a work-at-home job. I get to have lunch with the two most wonderful girls on the planet, Emma comes in to greet me a few times a day, usually with a smile and coo, and the lack of commute means even more time with my family. I quite honestly don't know how other fathers can drag themselves to the office. Families are great. God bless our children; He's blessed me with one.