For me, the issue is a lack of sleep; the very same guidebook that has kept me from blogging regularly also is keeping me from putting my head on the pillow for more than a few measly hours a night.

Coffee and other stimulants (all legal, don’t worry) have helped me deal with a good portion of this insomnia. The rest of my secret: Narcolepsy, such as the kind I demonstrated on the chair of my hair stylist this afternoon (Laurel, I hope you realize what a compliment it is when I pass out while you’re wielding scissors near my head).

For Powergirl, the issue is a surplus of sleep; she’s been under the weather for the last few weeks and has essentially gone into a modified form of hibernation to get well.

For L, sleep developments have taken a different turn. Sure, she’s getting the requisite 12 hours a day. And yes, she’s finally off of England time. But we’ve noticed two new problems that smack of an early arrival into toddlerhood.

• All of a sudden, it has become impossible to “transfer” a sleeping L from the car seat into her crib. We used to be able to do this without a peep. Now, however, the very moment we unbuckle her seat, she wakes up and refuses to go down again (no matter how tired she is).
• On some nights—last night included—she has nightmares, and wakes up shrieking like she’s never shrieked before. Eventually, she does calm down and go back to sleep. But to call this development disturbing would be putting it mildly.

Powergirl and I can deal with our own sleep issues. For L’s, however, we need some help.

And so, dear readers, I ask you: Have those of you with children dealt with similar behaviors in your kids? If so, how have you coped? Any input or advice would be appreciated. Thanks in advance for your insight.

Perhaps my favorite of her favorites is something entirely different: A tiny plastic bust/finger-puppet of actor, rapper and pro wrestler John Cena.

I won the thing at some Go-Kart place in Las Vegas a few years back, and had been using it as a card-keep for cash poker games. Then, one day, as L was rummaging through some stuff in my office, she found it and made it her own (obviously, I washed it vigorously first).

Today, she calls it “JohnCena” (one word), and plays with him mostly in the tub. Last night, for instance, after I finished washing L, she took the washcloth and washed JohnCena, carefully scrubbing his plastic hair, plastic nose and plastic ears. When she finished bathing him, she smooched him. Then she put him on a plastic duck-boat and motored him around the tub.

If the whole scene weren’t so cute, it probably would have freaked me out.

Anyway, it also has me wondering what “toy” my daughter will adopt next. A SIGG water bottle? One of my million-year-old whale fossils? Perhaps a steno pad?

But for now, I leave you with this: my first full-length feature in Babytalk magazine.

The story is about language acquisition (as you’ll see in the lead, this is something far different from “learning to talk”). It incorporates personal anecdotes from yours truly and some of you readers. It catalogs advice from experts. And it offers some suggestions for how readers can help their children acquire (and love!) language at an early age.

I worked incredibly hard on the piece and am particularly proud of it. Please read it, pass it along, and feel free to comment here. Thanks.

The bad news: this scenario likely will occur more frequently in the next year, so get used to it.

That’s my crass way of notifying you faithful readers that things are changing around here, and The Daddy Dispatch will be transitioning from five times a week to two or maybe three times a week (if we’re lucky).

It’s not that I’m getting bored; on the contrary, as L grows I’ve got more to say than ever before. The goal of the blog always has been to paint a realistic picture of work-at-home fatherhood, and the reality is that the whole work/life balance thing is getting tougher. With a newly active baby and new (and exciting!) clients, all of those activities that aren’t mission-critical to the health of my family or my business must take a backseat.

Please don’t take this as goodbye. Please keep reading. Please keep submitting comments. And please keep suggesting this blog to friends.

Thanks again. And Happy Holidays.

As always, L took the opportunity to make us laugh. Hysterically.

It usually happens when she gets up for the day. She awakens quietly, opening her eyes with a gasp or a coo, then laying there motionless for a few minutes until she’s ready to stand. Slowly, she clambers up the side of the Pack-N-Play, moving in slow-motion more out of grogginess than anything else.

Finally, when she’s ready, she pops her head above the crib edge, giggling while she swings it back and forth until Powergirl and I acknowledge that she’s up and ready to roll.

We call the final phase of this routine the “marmot,” because, well…because, when she does it, our kid looks like a marmot poking its head out of a hole . L, of course, loves the phrase; this morning she actually chanted “Marmot, Marmot, Marmot,” until we roused.

On recent trips, we’ve also transformed the phrase into a verb; “to marmot” means, “to do that thing that L does when she wakes up in the travel Pack-N-Play.”

Needless to say, the day began with our little Marmot, marmotting about. And it ruled.

The tantrum was a doozie, a 30-minute episode that started out of nothing (she didn’t want to brush her teeth) and ended only after I gave L a long while to cry things out behind closed doors in her crib.

Once she decided she was fine, she was back to normal within seconds.

I, however, am still shell-shocked, and have spent most of the morning wondering about the extent to which this behavior will become commonplace over the next few months.

Some of the other thoughts that have run through my head since the disturbing 7 a.m. “wake-up call” have spanned the gamut from practical to philosophical. How can these little creatures possibly scream so loud? How can they flail about the way they do without breaking bones or dislocating limbs? Why don’t adults throw tantrums the same way?

I’m sure I’ll get answers eventually. Until then, all I know is that tantrums are not fun for anyone involved, and though I love my daughter unconditionally, this was a terrible, terrible way to start the day.

In one corner: Dreaded deadlines, many of which had piled up after extensions and other various schedule adjustments. In the other corner: L, all cute and eager to come into Daddy’s office to listen to “Frosty the Snowman.”

I anticipated how challenging it might be to get stuff done (slowly, I’m getting better at anticipating this), and had asked my mother to come up from the big city to play with L. Having Mom here definitely helped; she was the first line of defense in allowing me to focus on my tasks at hand instead of procrastinating and playing with my daughter all day.

Still, because I’d rather just hang with the kid, it was tough to resist joining in the fun that the two of them were having within earshot of my work-cave.

When the “girls” were coloring in L’s room across the hall, I turned up my music. When they played dreidel down by the tree (yes, that’d be the Christmas Tree; we’re an eclectic bunch), I inserted ear plugs.

Finally, when L was running around chanting about mistletoe, I could no longer ignore her cuteness, and sauntered downstairs for a smooch (or, as it turned out, about 40).

Call me weak. Call me easily distracted. Say whatever you want. I simply needed my fix.

Herein likes the paradox of working at home: Being here for every moment with the baby is the ultimate perk, but on days like today, it’s the ultimate pitfall, too. Just another lesson in the name of work/life balance, I guess. Does anybody ever really figure it out?

Yesterday, for instance, an ordinary errand-run to the local Safeway turned into a date with the “robot” at the self check-out counter. L watched in amazement as the computer told us precisely what to do, then accepted one bill and dispensed us some others.

(Since this encounter, she has referenced the “Safeway robot” approximately 647 times.)

This morning, while buying cake in the local bakery, L fell in love with nutcrackers (her first time seeing them) and we spent nearly 30 minutes “talking” to the wooden men.

Finally, this afternoon, a seemingly ho-hum trip to the local hardware store became exceptional when L spotted a parakeet in a cage near the registers. The two of us must have sat there and watched the bird for the better part of an hour. By the time we left, she knew its name (Sunshine) and could imitate its call perfectly. Of course everyone in the store knew L’s name as well.

What amazes me about all of these experiences is the uncanny ease with which my daughter turns everyday experiences into adventures. The moxy! The zest for life! If only more of us grown-ups displayed the same traits, the world would be a far more interesting place.

Powergirl and I were reminded of it last night, as we spent the night at a swanky resort in the Napa Valley. While we were there, hobnobbing with folks at a work event (for me), L was back here at the ranch, hanging with her maternal grandmother. Everybody in the equation had a total blast.

For L, the treat was hanging with her “Tiki”; the kid loves her grandmothers something fierce.

For my mother-in-law, the treat was hanging with L, who (among other highlights) apparently led a two-hour guided tour of the neighborhood, stopping at every telephone pole along the way.

For my wife and me, of course, it was nice just to get away. We dressed up. We ate fabulous food. We slept in. And we didn’t have to mimic whale sleep (when they snooze, whales shut down only one side of the brain to make sure they continue surfacing to breathe) to keep an ear on the baby monitor.

Granted, at the dinner party, we talked more about L than anything else. And in the morning, on a short hike (from our cabin to my truck), we joked about the baby’s likely reaction to a bunch of rocks covered with moss.

We returned this afternoon to one of the most adorable greetings I can remember. The baby clapped. She jumped. She raised the roof (yes, folks, I’m raising her to be a fan of the WNBA). She smooched. A lot. Like the saying goes, it was as if one night away made our little girl love us that much more. The feelings were mutual.

I’m not talking about the giggles they make when you tickle them, imitate an emu or sniff their freshly tubbed bellies like a dog. I’m talking about the giggles they make when they’re finding happiness completely on their own, when they’ve put themselves in a situation that just makes ‘em beam.

Such was the case this evening when L got together with the three-year-old daughter of our friends across the street. The girls giggled. Incessantly. For nearly 45 minutes. Then they rolled in the grass, looked up at the sky and giggled some more.

These giggles were so honest, so pure, and so goddamn adorable that you couldn’t help but smile.

Of course as daddy looking on, I was smiling from ear to ear. I was so transfixed by the scene that I stood there (with Powergirl and our friend from across the street), primed for a night run in my (neon) running clothes, watching for almost the entire time. The girls were giggling. Everything else could wait.

Eventually, after that run, while L and I read books before bedtime, I asked her to opine about the giggling and her budding relationship with our neighbor’s daughter.

“Good friends,” she said proudly. It was the first time she’d ever used that phrase about another human. No wonder she was so giggly.