It’s an amazing feeling to be a father, but I wasn’t ready for her to grow up so fast. I never realised that somewhere between the cute giggles, me trying to fix her hair, the sweet hugs every time she saw me coming back from the office, and her calling out to me umpteen times without a hint of patience, she would grow up so quickly.
Yes, I am a father. And I am afraid that my daughter is growing too fast.
I am afraid that the sweet moments of today will soon become the treasured memories of tomorrow.
While listening to our favourite song, the one I have danced to countless times with her in my arms, it dawned on me that very soon, she will grow tall enough not to need them anymore.
One day, her feet will reach the floor before I am ready to let her go.
It dawned on me that soon she may no longer need a hug from Dadda before going to school. She may hurry past my open arms, distracted by friends, lessons, dreams, and a world waiting beyond our front door.
Perhaps one morning, she will simply wave goodbye.
And I will stand there, holding the silence where her embrace used to be.
I am afraid of the day she will outgrow my lap, my arms, my bedtime stories, and the little rituals I have mistaken for ordinary moments. I am afraid of the day she will no longer reach for my hand while crossing the road, or rest her head against my shoulder when the world feels too large.
I am afraid that, one day, she might not need me at all.
Because she will grow up.
She will find her own music, dance her own dances, and carry her own dreams. She will walk into places I cannot follow and make choices I cannot make for her. She will become someone wonderfully, completely herself.
And perhaps that is what frightens me most; not that she will leave my arms, but that time will take her there before I am ready.
Still, tonight, she is here.
Tonight, she fits perfectly against my chest. Tonight, her small arms curl around my neck. Tonight, our favourite song plays, and I lift her into the air as though I could keep time from moving.
So I dance.
I hold her a little longer.
I breathe in the warmth of her hair, listen to her laughter, and press a kiss against her cheek.
Because tomorrow will become yesterday soon enough.
And when that day comes, when she no longer needs my arms, my hugs, or even her Dadda, I hope she will always know this: She was never a burden I carried. She was the joy that taught my arms what they were made for.
And no matter how tall she grows, no matter how far she travels, she will always have a home in my heart.
I am afraid.
But today, she is still small enough to hold. And today, that is enough.
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