Dads Will Be Dads
By Susan M. Lang
While I was pregnant with my first child, sweltering through the
endless, fiery
summer months in which ankles swelled and sweat poured forth
profusely,
I wanted only one thing - to give birth.
"I can't wait until this child is out," I would huff and puff in
frustration.
My husband lovingly reassured me that the baby would spring forth
at the
appointed time. That some day I would be free from the burden of
the added
weight and the painful swollen ankles. I, however, felt as if the
child had taken
up permanent residence.
"Suppose the kid likes it in here and doesn't want to leave," I
would say.
"Highly unlikely, dear. The baby will be here before you know it,"
he insisted, his
feet still grounded firmly in reality, while mine were constantly
elevated.
As it turned out, when my water broke that fateful evening, I was
shocked into
reality. Our first daughter did leave the womb and enter the
atmosphere. She
even arrived three weeks early.
When Mary was born, I was overjoyed. Not only was it a relief to
hold her tiny
body in my arms, but she was a red-headed beauty. Even when she was
minutes
old, I felt that we had a unique attachment. And we did, for she
had been a
part of me. However, what I didn't anticipate was how difficult it
would be to
let her go.
For those nine months that seemed like an eternity, the baby had
been mine
. . . all mine. She was joined with me and depended on only me for
survival.
Even though Tom could feel her kick through the womb as she grew
bigger,
I usually had to notify him that she was moving. He depended on me
to tell him
what the baby was doing. The communication that Mary and I had was
ours
alone. Now, she was in the world and I had to share her with
others. Including
her dad.
Now, it's not that I didn't trust him. My husband is a
compassionate husband
and father. It's just that he doesn't do things the way that I do
them.
He held the baby differently. I cradled her close, showing her my
maternal love.
He held her facing outward so she would have a world view. He
transported her
differently. I carried her in my arms from room to room as I tidied
up. He placed
her in the stroller and rolled her around so that he could put
things away and still
keep an eye on her. He comforted her differently. I rocked her
quietly to calm
her; he bounced her. He even fed her differently. I breast-fed her
at 2:00 a.m.
He bottle-fed her at 2:00 p.m. (Okay, so I can't hold biology
against the poor
guy.) It's just that it was difficult to accept that someone could
relate to Mary
in another way. Undoubtedly, I was very insecure, and sharing her
was hard.
Even with her dad.
Of course, there was the time that I was downstairs in the basement
office for
a while working on a project. It was Dad's time to watch his little
girl. As I
reached the top of the steps after finishing my work, he asked,
"Where's Mary?"
"What do you mean, where is Mary?" I screamed.
"I thought you had her," he said nonchalantly. "Don't worry, I'll
find her." He
had placed her on the living-room floor for a moment and then
inadvertently
turned his back. We began our search there. As it turned out, she
had crawled
over to the floor-length picture window and was hiding behind the
drapes.
We found her giggling in delight at the birds on the front lawn and
at the cars
passing by. It was the first time that she had crawled. I seldom
placed her on
the floor, but Tom liked to give her room to stretch and play. No
harm was done,
in fact just the opposite. Our baby had reached a new point in her
life because
my husband, her dad, had let her expand her horizons.
During all those months of pregnancy while I complained, I never
imagined how
difficult it would be to let her go once she was born. For me, it
was the first
test of motherhood - to let Dad be Dad. To realize that someone
else could
nurture my child in his own way. And to realize that what he had to
give her,
I couldn't give.
That is the beauty of parenting. That each mother and each father
has a
unique contribution. That our babies need the distinctive love and
nurture that
each one of us has to offer. And it pays off, too. By the time our
second child
was on the way, Mary was two years old. She and her dad had a
wonderful
relationship forged by the variety of experiences which they alone
had shared.
After our youngest child, Kristi, arrived, I was able to give my
husband more
freedom - and space - in his distinctive parenting techniques. I,
too, had grown.
And, I had learned from his parenting style, even as he had learned
from mine.
After all, we were a team.
"Well, they're all yours," I declared one day as I headed for the
office.
"Aren't you just a little worried?" he teased.
"No, just remember to check behind the drapes if the baby
disappears," I laughed.
"Besides," I added, "you've got everything under control."
