Monthly Archives: June 2014

Happy spitting

We brought you home just a few days more than a month ago.

Before you arrived, Daddy had a very low gag threshold – gross things made me gag.

I won’t go into graphic details, but even thinking about the memory of gross things could make me gag.

And then we brought you home.

You would spit up, “happy spitting,” the doctor calls it. “Leaking” is what I call it, because you make eye contact, smile, and some version of whatever went into you sometime in the previous hour just leaks out of your mouth.

In the first days, you’d leak, and I’d gag . . . sometimes harder than others. Just a small amount of leakage on me was enough for me to change my shirt.

By the end of the first week, I wouldn’t even notice.

By the end of the second week, I seldom cared.

By the third week, when we were in the pool, and the happy spitting poured out warm and copious onto my bare chest . . . it was an experience I can’t begin to describe yet won’t soon forget.

And now, you smile your toothless grin, sometimes belch like an actor pretending to be drunk, and out it pours, happily.

And I don’t give it a second thought. On the other hand, a diaper extensively soiled in the back, is enough to give Daddy pause.

A month of magical days

We brought you home 31 days ago . . . a month ago. A month of magical days.

Having you here has been more wonderful than words.

In many ways, it’s like you were here all along. You’ve folded into our lives like wet ingredients fold into the dry ingredients of a recipe. We took you with us to see Carlene Carter and John Prine. We’ve taken you to see your grandparents and your aunts and uncles and cousins. We took you to your own baby shower, hosted by mommy’s old friends and family.

We are our own family now, even more so than when it was just mommy and daddy. Because now we have you, for us to be a mommy and daddy to.

Our love for you is deeper and wider and stronger that we ever would have imagined or could hope to describe.

Mommy and Daddy were so in love, and so happy, until you came along . . . and now the love in our home is filled with the sounds of your laughter and giggles.

Every day is filled with happiness and joy and your toothless smiles.

And we can’t wait to see you again tomorrow.

This morning

This morning, at 4:45, after I changed your diaper, and fed you a bottle. After I played with you on the couch and you crawled all over me with more energy than any person should have at 4 a.m. After I put you in your sleepy chair to try to get you to sleep and you would have none of it. After I took you to your room and rocked you in the rocking chair and changed your diaper again.

I thought to myself,

“This is exactly where I want to be.”

Faith and Father’s Day

For so many years Father’s Day was hard for me, because it was always a reminder that I wasn’t a father.

And now I am a daddy to a most wonderful little girl.

These past two weeks of being a daddy have been different in ways I never imagined or thought possible.

Before daddy came to recognize God working in the world and in his life, daddy wasn’t a Christian. I wasn’t even close to being considered a Christian or even religious.

But then, I had a moment of clarity. A satori. An awakening. I was able to see the Creator in all of creation.

Parenthood has been that sharp a transformation. I was standing in the dark, and then the lights came on. I was blind, but now I see. In many ways, both as a parent and in my faith, I know there is still so much to learn.

It’s like driving down the highway, and I see the vague outlines of a city way off in the distance. As I get closer, so many aspects come into focus, and I’m able to see clearly. I try very hard to recognize the things I see for what they are, and not hold onto how they first appeared, or how I was taught, or what other people tell me is the truth, or what I read somewhere. I accept both faith and fatherhood for what it is.

In the present moment.

Doing the best you can do, right now.

God is always more than our human understanding of God.

And parenthood is always more than our simple understanding of parenthood.

And now, on this my first Father’s Day, after I got you out of your crib, and changed you, and fed you, and played with you and as you fall asleep here on the couch with your little hand touching me, being a daddy is as massive as the Grand Canyon and as subtle as the sands within it.

On this Father’s Day, I thank the Lord who created each of us, for helping to bring you into my life.

Two weeks

Has it only been two weeks since we brought you home?
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Each day we play with you and hear you laugh and see you smile. We get to feed you and change you and sing to you and read stories as we put you to bed. We get to bathe you, watch you sleep, listen to you wake up and then pick you up and say “good morning.”

You are home.

The past two weeks have been measured in formula scoops and 8 oz. bottles, and have rushed by faster than the time between clean diapers.

Days have been spent showing you to friends and family, taking you to church, and to our co-workers. I just sit and look at you, amazed that you are here.

Mommy spends nights nervously getting up to ensure you are still breathing. She checked on you last night.

The house is covered in little socks, toys, and semi-clean burp cloths, stacks of little clean clothes fresh from the dryer and a mound of tiny, dirty bibs on top of the washer.

You’ve been here two weeks, and we’re already seeing changes.

Eighteen weeks old, and you’ve started eating from a spoon.
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You’re rolling and rolling and rolling to get to where you want to go, while your little face shows that you want to crawl and move.

And yesterday, we received the court order officially granting you placement with us, as we await the final adoption hearing.

You are home.