Home Is Where the Heart Is

I missed a week of Ellie's life this week. I know, I know, poor Marty. I have friends who have missed many whole weeks or months of their children's lives and I have nothing but respect and admiration for them, because there is no way on Earth that I would do this again. Even though I know I will. See my problem is that Ellie is on the verge. On the verge of what you ask? She's simply on the verge of toddlerdom. So for those of you that have either never experienced toddlerdom or have blissfully forgotten, allow me to provide this short definition.

Toddlerdom: A fictional, although all too believable location, rooted in reality, where your small cherubic, allow me to stress angelic infant, accelerates at breakneck speeds towards childhood with tantrums and whining leaving behind all traces of the cherub and instead replacing it with a toddler...warts and all. Did I mention the whining and the tantrums and diaper rash?

What's so great about all that, you ask? It's the acceleration. I was looking at some old (relative term) pictures of Elise the other day and I was amazed at how different she looks. With each passing week she looks more and more like a little girl, more like her mom and less like the perfect little cherub born almost 16 months ago. She is gaining new skills and abilities every single moment - literally perfecting new words and activities in a day. But the pictures are the key for me.

While I was away this week, Elise would look at two books with her mommy - books that Meredith made for Elise and I for Christmas and Father's Day. They are pictures of the two of us with captions. Throughout the book, Meredith would ask who is this? Elise would respond, 'baby' and 'daddy'. Do you know how cool it is that my daughter not only recognizes me, but knows me?!? Meredith would hold her up to the phone and she would say, 'Hi Daddy!' Has your heart ever jumped out of your chest and flown 2000 miles in an instant? At first it's cool. Then it aches. See, the problem is that the aching didn't stop. For three days, it just ached.

I used to like traveling alone. I used to love traveling. I used to think that people who didn't like traveling alone had no adventure in them. Now, I have anchors. Anchors that keep me home even when I'm away. I didn't realize that having an anchor doesn't weigh you down, it doesn't tie you down, it just makes you aware of where home is and makes it hard to leave. I was in San Antonio this week and the only place I wanted to be was in the port of Philadelphia. My port. I travel with pictures so that I can not only recognize my anchors, but I know them and can be with them everyday. Even with the whining (which Elise has taken to an art form) the only place I want to be is Toddlerdom in Philadelphia.