Happy Father’s day to all the men out there.
As I sat in Church today, I was taken back to February 10th, to a particular moment I’d like to share.
* * *
The operation was over. Maria was fine–pink, healthy, and squalling. Whitney was holding up well; I hated to leave her, but I wanted to stay with the baby in her first minutes of life. I gazed upon her as she got her first examinations; the pediatrician said she was fine, with a nice twinkle in her eyes.
I guess they could ID the noobies (never had a baby before) dads. My relief was like another person in the room…I wish I’d had a mirror to look into so I could say, “She’s gonna be okay.”
This was the moment I came back to in church today, this moment of relief, of the battle being over. That day, the feeling broke over me like a wave, and I excused myself.
I went back to the room, snuck into the bathroom and sobbed like a baby. I’ve never felt smaller, more powerless in my life. Good when God smacks you in the head like that sometimes.
* * *
That’s the incongruity I’m dealing with today–I’ve been under so much stress in the past few months, that when Whitney asked me what I wanted for Fathers Day, I replied (offhandedly): “I want a day to myself.”
:-) Careful what you wish for, I guess. They’re up in Louisville this afternoon through tomorrow.