Baby on Board

Adulting

I feel old. It's not right. How on earth do I have an eighteen-year-old daughter? It was only yesterday that she was a baby and I got to hold her for the first time and today she's this sarcastic little shithead that I can barely stand most days but love with the whole of my heart and then some. 

Oh, God. I think I may cry. 

"Dad, I didn't die, you know?" Martha laughs hysterically from where she sits at the breakfast table. The kitchen is the only room in the entire house that isn't decorated, therefore, it's the only room in the house that Martha's allowed in. I walked her from her flat above the garage, through the garden, and into the kitchen via the basement door just so she wouldn't see the house until tonight. She was not impressed but once she saw the pancakes Lottie had made, I was forgiven. "Stop tearing up, man. You're not going to make a speech tonight, are you? May I remind you that I have friends coming and I want them to still think of me as somewhat cool after they leave, so don't say anything."

I nod. "I don't think I could make a speech, anyhow. I hate your birthday. No offence, Bindi, but it's just a reminder that you're not my little girl anymore."

I was being dramatic and I will admit to that but I don't care. What happened to the girl who would hold onto my fingers for dear life before she would finally sleep through the night? Where did the pigtailed firecracker who wanted to learn to surf at four years old disappear to? How did she blossom into a young woman in the blink of an eye? As I watched Martha this morning, it was fast becoming apparent that I wasn't ready to let go; I hadn't had nearly enough time to be her protector and now she'll be going out into the big, wide world as an adult and where would that leave me? I was obsolete. 

"You'll have another baby to smother with sickening love soon enough," Martha says once she devours another of Lottie's homemade pancakes. with her knife, she points at the swell of Lottie's stomach and smiles to herself. "Do you think the baby will look like me?"

"That depends," Lottie answers thoughtfully. "Is the baby a girl?"

Quickly, Martha winks at Lottie. "That's a secret I'll never tell. But, really, do you think it will?"

The two woman laugh as they try to guess what the baby would look like and while I'd ordinarily like to be part of that conversation, I'm keeping out of it. Not from wanting to, but more because I'm distracted by Martha and the subtle things she does. How come I've never looked this closely at her before? I bank to my memory how she looks today and savour it in my mind so I can remember the day my daughter grew into a beautiful, intelligent, thoughtful young woman. I won't go as far as calling her a 'lady' because, well... she'll never be that. 

Before I knew what was happening, Martha was running out the door back to her place. Turning to Lottie, she gives me a small smile and shakes her head at the pathetic lost look I'm sure is written on my face. 

"You'll get used to it," Lottie assures me. When she notices the confusion on my face, she pats my head with her hand, like I'm a pet. "Girls grow up, Isaac, but they'll always need their dads. No one gives hugs quite like them. Now, come on. You need to go shopping for the last few pieces for tonight and I need to lie down."