I was sitting in the dentist’s office today with SD waiting for our appointments. As we were waiting, I was preoccupied with my phone (I know…nothing new, right?) when I was caught completely off guard. I looked over in time to see something I rarely see…you.

You see, to me you’re still my baby girl. It’s as though you’ve been frozen in time (in my head anyway) at an age so much younger than you are now. When I think of you, I picture an infant still learning to roll over…to crawl…to pull yourself up to a standing position…to walk…to run. When someone mentions your name, I picture you climbing the stairs one at a time on all fours. I vividly remember walking down the hall of the courthouse hand-in-hand with you as we finalized your adoption. You were truly beautiful in that white dress…those beautiful blue eyes staring up at me…filled with awe and wonder. What a happy day that was.

Today, though, as we sat together in that waiting room, I was scared. Scared because I was sitting next to a beautiful young lady. A young lady on the verge of becoming a woman. Sitting there flipping through a magazine, looking all grown up, I see that you’re not a baby girl anymore. And truth be told, that scares me.

You see, it creates an awareness in me that proves my time with you is limited, and I begin to question the quantity and the quality of the time we’ve spent together so far. I begin to question how many opportunities I’ve missed. Yet I know that dwelling on missed opportunities will only cause me to miss more. Very soon now, you’re going to be entering into a stage in your life that I’m not prepared for. I don’t believe any dad ever is really. I’m not ready for you to fight back against your mom and me with all your teenage strength, and I’m certainly not ready to go from being the smartest person on earth who knows how to make everything all better to an idiot who doesn’t know squat. I’m not ready for that. I regularly pray that one of two things occur: 1. Because of how truly special you are, this stage of life passes you by with minimal impact; or 2. God would fill my cup to overflowing, so that I can withstand it. Either way, I trust in His will and will find joy and contentment in our lives.

Truth be told, you’ll always be my baby girl. When you’re 33, you’ll still be my baby.

Love,

Dad

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