happy father's day, justin
the first morning in our house, when you went downstairs to make breakfast and (unbeknownst to you) i took the pg test that was positive and started screaming, you came running back up the stairs, two at a time to see what was attacking me. i was screaming and shaking and rocking back and forth on the toilet, too shocked to think to get up off the thing, and you leaned over me and wrapped your arms around me and rocked with me and let out a few oh-my-gods and i felt your tears against my cheek and it was so surreal and happy - we were going to be parents together.
later that day, i started to bleed, and within a few days we were on the merry-go-round of monitoring that would be our life for the next eight months. you sat with me in the waiting room of the doctor's office and the ultrasound clinic so many times, fidgeting, wondering: was everything okay? what would our child be like? and maybe other things you kept to yourself.
you were at every appointment except one (when you had to go to newark for work, and you tried to cancel that trip before i talked you out of it), asking more questions than even i did, looking out for me to make sure no one touched me with latex, composing songs in your head to the beat of hans's heart.
at the ultrasound where the tech pointed out his little penis, i thought you were going to jump up and down right there. you cried as you called him johannes for the first time...and i cried a little that i couldn't call him greta any more. i started talking about my hope that maybe he would be a boy who likes girls' clothes, and you were so kind and tolerant of my ravings.
the night before the presidential election, as soon as we got out of birthing class, we ran over to the kerry rally and listened to bruce springsteen and got so tired of trying to see (we were so far back) that we just sat down on the concrete steps, facing the other direction, and huddled in the blankets we had in the car from our class and listened to kerry speak and talked about the hope we felt, for our country and for hans.
for christmas, when we were just at seven months, you (the not-so-into-material-gifts guy) got books for hans (including the spanish version of "bedtime for frances" that we tried to interpret christmas eve) and the thai alphabet chart, with its goofy picture of a queen for the letter Q, and it made me cry.
you painted hans's room (four times!) and re-did the ceiling and hung the butterfly kites from the ceiling for him to watch. there was much cursing, but i suspect it was because it was so important to you. and the day the painting was done and we put together the shelves with the bins and moved everything into the room, we held on to each other and cried a little and the feeling of anticipation kept zinging back and forth between us like an electric current.
even though you didn't want to go, you went to the shower and opened gifts for hans and said thank you to people and drank quite a bit of beer. i know you did it for him.
while i slept you had chats with him, told him things i will never know, but i'm sure he loved the sound of your voice talking to him. he was probably thrilled to have the company while he was awake.
when hans came out, you held him and kissed him and loved him and showed him off to your family, and when he began to grow cold and his skin was getting dark and pulled you didn't want to let him go. i was tired and wanted to remember him the way he looked when he first came out, like any other baby, and pushed you to let him go, and i'm sorry for that.
at the memorial service, when you talked about looking forward to having a sidekick and then realizing you would have been his sidekick, it made me so sad that hans would never get to know his father. he missed out on so much by not growing up to know you.
hans had the best father he could have had. he was lucky that way. and i'm lucky to be with you and to have you as the father of all my children. i can't wait for you to be a father to hans's brother or sister. i know this day is weird for you, but i hope you can come to be comfortable with it. it's your day. you deserve it.
mwah.
later that day, i started to bleed, and within a few days we were on the merry-go-round of monitoring that would be our life for the next eight months. you sat with me in the waiting room of the doctor's office and the ultrasound clinic so many times, fidgeting, wondering: was everything okay? what would our child be like? and maybe other things you kept to yourself.
you were at every appointment except one (when you had to go to newark for work, and you tried to cancel that trip before i talked you out of it), asking more questions than even i did, looking out for me to make sure no one touched me with latex, composing songs in your head to the beat of hans's heart.
at the ultrasound where the tech pointed out his little penis, i thought you were going to jump up and down right there. you cried as you called him johannes for the first time...and i cried a little that i couldn't call him greta any more. i started talking about my hope that maybe he would be a boy who likes girls' clothes, and you were so kind and tolerant of my ravings.
the night before the presidential election, as soon as we got out of birthing class, we ran over to the kerry rally and listened to bruce springsteen and got so tired of trying to see (we were so far back) that we just sat down on the concrete steps, facing the other direction, and huddled in the blankets we had in the car from our class and listened to kerry speak and talked about the hope we felt, for our country and for hans.
for christmas, when we were just at seven months, you (the not-so-into-material-gifts guy) got books for hans (including the spanish version of "bedtime for frances" that we tried to interpret christmas eve) and the thai alphabet chart, with its goofy picture of a queen for the letter Q, and it made me cry.
you painted hans's room (four times!) and re-did the ceiling and hung the butterfly kites from the ceiling for him to watch. there was much cursing, but i suspect it was because it was so important to you. and the day the painting was done and we put together the shelves with the bins and moved everything into the room, we held on to each other and cried a little and the feeling of anticipation kept zinging back and forth between us like an electric current.
even though you didn't want to go, you went to the shower and opened gifts for hans and said thank you to people and drank quite a bit of beer. i know you did it for him.
while i slept you had chats with him, told him things i will never know, but i'm sure he loved the sound of your voice talking to him. he was probably thrilled to have the company while he was awake.
when hans came out, you held him and kissed him and loved him and showed him off to your family, and when he began to grow cold and his skin was getting dark and pulled you didn't want to let him go. i was tired and wanted to remember him the way he looked when he first came out, like any other baby, and pushed you to let him go, and i'm sorry for that.
at the memorial service, when you talked about looking forward to having a sidekick and then realizing you would have been his sidekick, it made me so sad that hans would never get to know his father. he missed out on so much by not growing up to know you.
hans had the best father he could have had. he was lucky that way. and i'm lucky to be with you and to have you as the father of all my children. i can't wait for you to be a father to hans's brother or sister. i know this day is weird for you, but i hope you can come to be comfortable with it. it's your day. you deserve it.
mwah.
posted by laura at 10:48 AM
2 Comments:
Oh you guys, that was a beautiful entry. Happy Father's Day Justin.
That was really beautiful and made me cry. I can't say anything else, even though I want to tell you only good things deserve to come to you in the future.
Post a Comment
<< Home