With yellow feathers in her hair

Five years is a very long time, except when it isn’t.

Five years ago today, the Puddinette and I went to the hospital for a non-stress test to make sure that the little overdue bundle we had growing in the oven wasn’t overstaying her welcome. That particular bundle had actually been due an entire week earlier and seemed intent on making her arrival only when she was quite good and ready, and not a moment sooner. My daughter, the Mini-Puddinette, my lil’ Nutmeg, was born just a handful of hours later. True to a lady’s form she was fashionably late and made a grand entrance.

Today, then, for those of you not quite following along, marks her fifth birthday. It seems like just yesterday that I wrote this post about her birth. But it wasn’t just yesterday. A lot of yesterdays have skipped right by already, and I suddenly find myself the father of a five year-old girl, dangling over the precipice of growing up. I know, I know, I’m being excessively melodramatic, but since she’s the household drama queen, it’s seems fitting.

She’s going to start Kindergarten in a couple of months, the big K, and once they hit that mark, well, you might as well start planning to make college visits.

Honestly, though, the thing that probably has me so affected is the fact that last Friday night she had matching holes put in her ears. Yes, my little girl, who was Never Going to Grow Up and Become a Teenager That Might Bring Boys Home, just got her ears pierced. It was the first of many milestones in her life intended to make me aware of the fact that no matter how I might resist, she’ll grow up regardless, probably just to spite me.

Life needs a “Dislike” button.

I resisted the ear piercing for months. The Puddinette has been easing me into the idea for some time, since the Mini-Puddinette started talking about it around New Year’s. I told her there was no way; she could have them done when she was 10 and old enough to take care of them herself. My wise and beloved wife, though, knowing the heart and mind of a little girl and realizing that the world we live in today is not the same world as when we were children, took up a chisel and chipped away at my reticence slowly. I am not often set of a certain mind, but when I am, mountains are likely to change before me.

Finally, after many, many discussions on the matter, and dozens of muttered “we’ll see’s”, I said to her that I did not think our daughter was old enough to care for them herself, but if The Puddinette would bear the responsibility for dealing with All Matters Ear, I would not stand in the way. I washed my hands of it, partially because I think my wife should have the greater say in Girl Things, but mostly because I’m lazy and didn’t want to have to turn my daughter’s earrings twice a day. It’s baseball season or something, I can’t have to think about that business.

Tonight, though, before bedtime, I saw the Mini-Puddinette standing in the bathroom alone, with a cotton ball and a bottle of, you know, that clear cleaning stuff, turning her shiny new heart earrings by herself. Neither she nor the Puddinette likely realized that I noticed. But I did.

It turns out that I might have misspoken; it turns out that she is old enough to care for her earrings herself. My little girl turned 5 today, and tomorrow it’ll be 15.

Five years is a very long time, except when it isn’t.

Happy Birthday, my little Nutmeg. Daddy loves you.

Pud’n