| Fatherhood ----And I woke up. It was 4 or 5 in the a.m., I was groggy, tired, and my stomach gargled its wish for food. Did I say I woke up? I meant to say I was awoken. Person being Elena, mother-in-law and future granny. Missy Guhlpuend (MG) was dealing with back aches and needed to be rubbed. On came the shoes, the pants, the shirt. I headed for the door, trying in vain not to stumble and hit the wall. In hindsight I now realize that this was just a test to see how I would deal with mid-night awakenings. MG was wide awake, the epidural not relieving her from all the aches and pains associated with giving birth. Mozart oozed out of the stereo, soothing sounds not helping me in my fight against heavy eyelids. A stand alone light in a corner cast a honey glazed glow onto our sterile environment. Couple of months prior I had been handed a book that explained the duties of a father elect; prep work for the baby room, easy guide to massage, what soothing words to say, things to heed, things to avoid… Yet I thought that being the donor of sperm was a heavy enough task, and thus my playing of games, my watching of movies, my picking of nose continued as was routine. Looking into those eyes, the ones screaming pain, I felt bad about shirking my responsibilities all those months ago. I sneaked outside for a nicotine fix. Feelings of ineptitude filled my head, lack of sleep causing for a surrealistic scenery. I was about to become a father and this realization was starting to dawn on me. Not freaked out yet, but if I closed my eyes I could picture me running around in circles hoping someone would guide me in the right direction. A couple of hours later it was all over and done with. I had been witness to the greatest miracle in life; life. Resting on MG her chest was our newborn son, Alexander Edward. He was healthy, he was loosing his purple-blue hue and turning baby pink. A tuft of blond hair crowned his head, while sobs left his mouth. The camera in my hand tried to capture the scenery in rated G fashion while a sheepish smirk was firmly chiseled on my face. Calls were made, messages were send, adrenaline flowed through my veins chasing away the ethereal feelings I had had before. In the course of a day I had gone from my carefree self-centered lifestyle to one where another person became my – our – responsibility. His first day at home was joyous. He slept plenty, drank to his hearts desire. As a parent I watched over the crib, constantly searching for signs of movement, knowing that this was a clear signal all was well. MG was tired, very tired. She had gone through a 26 hour ordeal, her body spent after 9 long months of sustaining not one but two lives. Two. We basked in the glow emanating from our little one. Our one. Visitors came by, all wanting to see the newborn. All wanting to hold the newborn. All experiencing the joy of having a newborn. Cuddling, holding, cooing, kissing, caressing. You could sense the competitive nature as each person wanted to prove they alone had to power to silence his cries. That they alone knew what was good. MG and I watched on, ready to jump in when things got out of hand, when the little one couldn’t be soothed any longer. The Monday after I went to work, per usual. My two free days had been spend and the boss needed my attention back on the business side. I brought along pictures, was commented on the cuteness and many inquiries were made. A round of cake had been ordered, fresh pot of joe had been set. “2 missed calls” said my display, “no new numbers”. It had to be MG. My heart sank, blood rose to my face and my fingers shaked as I dialed her number. It was not her voiced that said hello, it was her fathers. - We are at the hospital, the doctor had come by and was worried about Alexander’s temperature. They are examining him as we speak. A couple of minutes later my phone rang again, this time it was MG. Turns out that Alexander was showing signs of dehydration and that he had a slightly elevated temperature. No need to worry though, they had given him food, his temperature had dropped and he could come home again. The fickle boy did not like his mom’s teat. The last time it happened to me was many years ago. Probably due to circumstances – 4 in the morning, 5th of Jack Daniels passed my pallet, Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks on the phone being Sleepless in Seattle – I found wetness in my eye. The tears shed weren’t tears of pain, or fear, but tears of compassion. These same tears did not want to be held back this time around as I gazed into the crib. He laid there so helplessly, so vulnerable. His stature seemed all of a sudden so tiny and fragile. MG her eyes were red and puffy, a salty taste on her lips where tears had passed by. Trying to fight back my own tears we sat there, holding hands and worrying like parents should. Feelings of powerlessness, wondering if I would be a good parent, if my actions now and in the future would be the right ones exposed themselves to me. But it’s only natural. A week later we are now. 9 days to be exact. In the mean time I have experienced laughter induced by flatulence, hick-ups, belching, the cross-eyed glances. I have experienced worries at a lack of consistent dirty nappies, scratches on the face, the way his face turns fiery red when he cries. I have experienced insomnia, mid-night feedings, wild urination, and kicking feet that will not allow me to put on his pants. Already he is showing signs of ego, of personality, inquisitiveness at sights and sounds. He is practicing his smile for us, applying the thousands of muscles in his face. In his dreams he has frights and delights. We cherish these moments and look forward to further experiences and adventures Alexander will have in the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years to come. … |