On February 13, when I announced, "I'm a daddy again!" many of my friends, family, and co-workers asked how "again" was possible. "You just have a step-daughter, not your own, right?" I find this an odd reaction, because it's not as though my step-daughter spends six months of the year with her biological father. Were she my adopted daughter, I doubt anyone would express the same qualifications: "She's just your adopted daughter, right? Not
yours?" I don't fault anyone for feeling this way, really. It's more of a testament to me and my feelings of attachment than anyone else's.
However, this gets to something that I've felt for nearly 5 years now: Kayla is my daughter as much as if she had been born a part of me. There's a great picture of her receiving a necklace from her mother and me at our wedding ceremony, a necklace symbolizing my promise to care for her as though she were my own. It's a gesture I took seriously before I gave it to her, and it's something I've been worrying about since my wife became pregnant. Being the oldest of five, I got used to the idea of not being the only kid in the room, and I worried about how Kayla would adjust.
I've long relished the moments I've shared with my daughter. (I long ago dropped the "step" from her title.) I like getting to come home to her, attending the teacher's conferences, helping her with homework, and especially answering questions about the world. I'd prefer questions about politicians and science to boys and biology, but it's my job as a dad to help her understand and navigate our complex world. Sometimes, I get a hug out of it, and that's pretty rewarding all its own.
I won't lie; the initial adjustment wasn't easy. I did my best to get up in the middle of the night for bad dreams, doctor fevers, and be a general good sport. It was sometimes hard to stomach the warranted comparisons: "My dad is taller than you", "My dad doesn't get migraines like you", "My dad is stronger than you." While all of these things are true, it's hard to explain to a 7-year-old that in the wild, the new male devours the young to prevent degrading, comparative banter like that. I know, many of my friends are angry bears and large cats.
Kayla and I, we got past that though. She taught me that "You're weird" often translates into "You're cool." I learned that somewhere along the way, I became flawed in outward emotional expression like my grandfather, so now I try to be more careful about the praise I deliver. It's odd that I can passively say "That's cool" and really mean that I'm deeply impressed and will tell others about this for weeks. When did that part of me break? I don't know, but I try to make sure that she knows — as my grandfather often tried to get me to recognize — that she impresses me daily and I enjoy her.
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| Much to Kayla's amusement, Adelynn releases a huge fart on my lap. |
Having a new daughter isn't going to change that. True, Kayla doesn't have any of my DNA, but she borrows my drawing books, eats my favorite foods, and watches Japanese cartoons with me. Just as when I wasn't sure how to explain to her why she wasn't getting my last name like her mother would at our wedding ceremony, I wasn't sure how to prepare her for this new journey either. Unlike her new sister, Adelynn, I never had the pleasure of feeling Kayla fill her diaper while I held her, but I've enjoyed being there for the rest. I certainly look forward to being there for much more ... for both of my daughters, Kayla and Adelynn. I love them very much.
Daddy's Girls
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| Kayla helped us celebrate Easter a few years ago. |
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| Adelynn doesn't seem interested in NBC Nightly News. |
However, this gets to something that I've felt for nearly 5 years now: Kayla is my daughter as much as if she had been born a part of me. There's a great picture of her receiving a necklace from her mother and me at our wedding ceremony, a necklace symbolizing my promise to care for her as though she were my own. It's a gesture I took seriously before I gave it to her, and it's something I've been worrying about since my wife became pregnant. Being the oldest of five, I got used to the idea of not being the only kid in the room, and I worried about how Kayla would adjust.
I've long relished the moments I've shared with my daughter. (I long ago dropped the "step" from her title.) I like getting to come home to her, attending the teacher's conferences, helping her with homework, and especially answering questions about the world. I'd prefer questions about politicians and science to boys and biology, but it's my job as a dad to help her understand and navigate our complex world. Sometimes, I get a hug out of it, and that's pretty rewarding all its own. 
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