Father Shock

We had a baby…and today it suddenly means something a little different than it did yesterday. A baby, when you bring it home, is like a very significant pet. It sleeps, it eats, it poops when and where you’d rather it didn’t, and you have no idea what is going through its little mind. I know this probably defies normal thinking, but it sounds kind of like a puppy to me.

 Like a baby, a puppy possesses the features of its more mature counterparts. It has a nose for smelling, a voice for barking, and claws for digging and scratching. It requires almost constant attention and makes plenty of noise. Now, before I completely exhaust your patients and offend your sensibilities by bad mouthing puppies and babies, let me assure you I am not an evil man and also make an important distinction. A puppy is always a puppy. Sure it may grow older and learn a few tricks, but its nose is always for smelling, its claws are always for digging and scratching, and its voice is always for barking.

 My wife and I have been knee deep in diapers and breast milk for the last several months. While my son brings such of sense of satisfaction and wonder to my life, sometimes the repetition of maintaining him makes him pet-like. Believe it or not, attending to the needs of my schnauzer is remarkably similar to sustaining my boy. Consideration for structure and routine has become absolutely essential. And while it makes his needs manageable, it has a tendency to focus my attention towards the full diaper and the open mouth.

 This week I learned my son has a voice for laughing. While there are similarities between a laugh and a puppy’s bark, his laugh is a doorway to his personality. I can hear words in his laugh, that and songs, stories and jokes. In the last several days I have desperately searched out his laugh and realized, there is somebody in there!

 It seems obvious, right? Each of us is unique, so why would it stun a father that his son should have his own personality, his own voice? Well, there’s nothing unique about a steaming Huggie or a pale bowl of rice cereal. And that’s where my attention has been fixed. Making sure he lives. It’s a big responsibility. But now that I’ve heard his voice, I get to make sure he flourishes…and that’s an even bigger one.

 I see him now sitting in his playpen, quietly organizing his toys. It seems there is intention behind his wild swings, as he slams one toy against the other. I’ve watched him scoot around the room in his little wheeled saucer, searching out cabinets and drawers to investigate. He looks inquisitive to me, maybe forming simple conclusions and developing opinions about his surroundings. He presses his hands against my chest, leaning away from his crib when its bedtime. To hell with being tired, he wants to be out in the world and doesn’t give in easily anymore to weariness.

 There is someone in there! My son is no longer like a puppy. His voice could be for singing; his hands might be for painting or lovingly holding another’s. All the things he might say, the things he might do, the possibilities come rushing into my mind like a river. It is truly overwhelming. Something so big you can only see a small piece at any moment. I feel like I am experiencing the first glimpses of what being a father really means, and I’m amazed.

I’ve got a tank for a son. We made our first trip together to the pediatrician yesterday and the measuring sticks came flinging out like switch blades. He is nearly four months old, but carries the weight and the head of a ten month old. The guy is just off the chart in most of the areas they measure… If only these were calculations of intellect and charm, I think I would feel much more comfortable.

Insecurities I never new I had came racing to the surface. Protecting my own self-esteem from the vicious attacks of normalcy is bad enough. Now I gotta look out for this little guy as well. To make matters worse my wife and the judge (the doctor) were both grinning at me like I’m to blame, like I’m the one driving the chubby train.

So, the hour reeled on with question after question. When should he be rolling over? Is drooling normal? Why does he cry like that, is it ok? When can we expect him to crawl? How can we tell if he is overweight? So on and so on… There is so much to take in, so much to worry about. Is my child going to be smart, strong, charming, and slender, or at least close to my favorite pictures of normal? When it comes down to it, what ever his is, I made him that way…the pressure was maddening…

But just at the outside of this growing tornado of questions and judgments, sat a pudgy little man grinning and drooling from ear to ear. With his smiling eyes, he saved me from a spiraling mess of anxiety and concern. What a happy little guy. That’s what I want normal to look like. Take your conversion charts and slide rules and pitch’em. I wish I were that normal.

So the challenge, right from the start is to remember that version of my son. Happy and satisfied by simply being held on the lap of his father. Sure other indications of growth and health are important to monitor. But nothing is a better measure than that chubby little smile…

Picture taken from: www.mssinglemama.com please visit her blog and support this interesting writer.