Papa...

I think that my parenting style probably comes across as nonchalance. A curious indifference delivered with a watchful eye. I try to let her feel out the world for herself. To learn the lessons that life has to teach. To let her bump her head, when a bump is the best tool to teach. I feel compelled to compel her to independence. I think about how my actions today will bear fruit when she is 5, or 14, or 30... when she is a teenager, a student, a mother.

Then there are times like just now... nap time. She knows it's nap time, and had no problem with the story, the song, the crib until I left. Then she stood in her bed sobbing, "Papa, papa, papa." She knew she had to sleep, wanted to sleep, but just needed this one time to fall asleep in my arms. My instinct is to leave her. To let her figure it out. And I did... for a while. And then that voice creeped in the back of my head saying, "how much longer will she want to sleep in your arms?"

So I picked her up, and she drifted off, and I may have ruined her... but that's okay, because she ruined me a long time ago and I will always have those five minutes with her in my arms.