The day Ray found out he was going to be a father, I made him pee on a stick, too. We’d been trying for a while and had bought our pregnancy tests in bulk over the internet—the kind that weren’t so much “sticks” as they were little litmus papers the size of individual matches, displaying one line or two, depending on your situation. After diligently testing myself over a period of months, my “situation” appeared to be different early that Friday morning--but when you think you might actually be pregnant and your testing device looks like you plucked it from the engraved matchbook you swiped at the last wedding you attended, suddenly you’re not as confident in the Canadian contraband you’ve been substituting for legitimate American medical products.
Friday was “Coffee Day” at the house. I’d given up caffeine Monday through Thursday and cut my consumption of both alcohol and sugar in a show of good faith to God and all the world that I was serious about this baby business. But on Fridays, my first client of the day wasn’t until 9:00 and my commute to that location was considerably shorter than it was any other day. So Friday had become “Coffee Day”; I would indulge in the hot java goodness I missed way more than anything else I was excluding and sit around the kitchen island with Ray, planning our weekend until it was finally time for us to leave for work. When Ray woke up on this particular morning, he was greeted with the request to do what no man ever envisions he, personally, will ever do--and took his own pregnancy test.
When he emerged from the bathroom with a litmus match stick that did, indeed, look different from mine, we decided he’d make the coffee while I ran to Walgreens for a more traditional plastic stick test—just for the sake of being thorough and checking our work one last time with the real deal. I remember that drive about a mile down the road and back, at an hour so early the rising sun was practically blinding. And when I returned, it was confirmed. By the power of “E.P.T” and the basic chemistry vested within that magical plastic stick, I could now pronounce myself officially pregnant. I remember Ray’s eyes welling up with tears, just before we hugged and cried and laughed together, with all the excitement and fear and relief of two people who have no idea what they’re getting into for the first time in a long time.
The night Ray met his first son, I was still pretty drugged up from my failed attempt at a productive labor and the ensuing emergency c-section. But I remember our new baby looking so tiny in his hands as he brought him close for me to see. Ray was still outfitted in the surgical gear the nurses had hastily thrown him into prior to delivery, and only his eyes were visible to me between his Gray’s Anatomy shower cap and mask. Once again, there were tears, but I could tell from just his eyes that he was smiling.
Ray’s first meeting with his second son was also set in the Wake Med OR, but under drastically different circumstances. This time, I’d checked in, rested and showered, like I was about to have my toe nails painted. Less than 3 hours later, amid no added rush or unexpected drama, Ray presented his second son to me, just as he’d done with the first—smiling, tearful eyes between shower cap and surgical mask. I’d gotten pregnant with this little guy a lot quicker than anticipated and it really seemed to both Ray and me like we were just here. Because we had been, just 21 months earlier. The whole thing was much more relaxed and familiar than our first go round—but our new addition would be a wild ride in itself, in the complicated way that adding a new person to your family dynamic always is.
In the brief 21 months between babies one and two, a mutual love and respect had developed between Ray and our first born. After dinner every night, Ray would play with him upstairs in the bonus room while I cleaned up the kitchen. I’d usually ascend the staircase to find father and son rolling the ball back and forth—a game that eventually evolved into a pretty impressive exchange of bounce passes between an infant and a grown man. Other times, our oldest would be sitting in a circle of books and toys, pivoting around on his bottom as Daddy shifted his interest from item to item. Ray took him to watch games—basketball, football, and soccer--and gave him nearly every bath he ever took as a baby in his little blue plastic tub shaped like a whale. The day we finally retired the beloved whale tub was an emotional one for Ray. The tiny baby he’d once had to prop up in a tablespoon of water now sat upright independently, filling the entire tub with his chubby limbs that gleefully splashed so much water, there was hardly enough left to rinse him with. At not even 2 years old when our second was born, he was still very much a baby—and the very center of Ray’s world.
As that world doubled in size upon his brother’s arrival, so did our oldest son—and with that bigger body came a bolder mind that challenged (and infuriated us) in new ways. But the journey of fatherhood continued, with all the soaring highs and abysmal lows that compose the ever-changing landscape of growing kids. It seemed like a long time that our second son was too little or too difficult to tag along with Daddy and his brother on their adventures. But now that our “baby” is nearly 4 feet tall, he’s earned his spot on the team. He doesn’t always make it easy, but I love when he can hang with the “big boys” and show Ray just how much like Daddy he can be—in his silliness and excitement, in his sincerity and devotion, in his frustration and determination.
Since the day our second son was born, there’s been a lot less time for sentimentality, with 2 very active, very young boys who demand an enormous amount of attention and a whole lotta behavior management. But there’s a lot more time for different kinds of “moments”. Fewer of the peacefully wordless milestones, like watching a child crawl for the first time—and more boisterous bursts of life and personality that don’t just bring sentimental tears—but belly laughs, incredulous smiles, and a wide-eyed amazement as these “babies” become “boys” before our eyes. The upside down raspberries on finger tips, the “waces” (ie, “races”) that are always “bout to stott” (ie, about to start), the early sports interests and video game obsessions, the first-ever soccer goals scored, the snuggles on the couch, the waves good-bye from the bonus room window as Daddy leaves for work, getting chased by Daddy Dinosaur at bedtime, the dirty little boy feet running wild at the Balloon Festival like it was Bonnaroo for kids, and the pure joy on little faces every day at Disney World during the biggest trip of their young lives. The sincerity in the inquiry “You have a good day, Daddy?” or “Are you feeling better?”, the sweetness in their “I love yous”, and the genuine gratitude in their 'thank you' to Daddy “for spending your coins on a fun day”, as they begin to scratch the surface of the generosity and sacrifice that fatherhood entails.
The pace of this life is increasing by the minute, but that wealth of fatherly emotion is never banked and set aside for long. It’s still a regular occurrence to catch tears welling up in Ray’s smiling eyes, just like the first day he knew he’d be a dad--and every moment thereafter that reminds him how proud he is to be one.
Friday was “Coffee Day” at the house. I’d given up caffeine Monday through Thursday and cut my consumption of both alcohol and sugar in a show of good faith to God and all the world that I was serious about this baby business. But on Fridays, my first client of the day wasn’t until 9:00 and my commute to that location was considerably shorter than it was any other day. So Friday had become “Coffee Day”; I would indulge in the hot java goodness I missed way more than anything else I was excluding and sit around the kitchen island with Ray, planning our weekend until it was finally time for us to leave for work. When Ray woke up on this particular morning, he was greeted with the request to do what no man ever envisions he, personally, will ever do--and took his own pregnancy test.
When he emerged from the bathroom with a litmus match stick that did, indeed, look different from mine, we decided he’d make the coffee while I ran to Walgreens for a more traditional plastic stick test—just for the sake of being thorough and checking our work one last time with the real deal. I remember that drive about a mile down the road and back, at an hour so early the rising sun was practically blinding. And when I returned, it was confirmed. By the power of “E.P.T” and the basic chemistry vested within that magical plastic stick, I could now pronounce myself officially pregnant. I remember Ray’s eyes welling up with tears, just before we hugged and cried and laughed together, with all the excitement and fear and relief of two people who have no idea what they’re getting into for the first time in a long time.
The night Ray met his first son, I was still pretty drugged up from my failed attempt at a productive labor and the ensuing emergency c-section. But I remember our new baby looking so tiny in his hands as he brought him close for me to see. Ray was still outfitted in the surgical gear the nurses had hastily thrown him into prior to delivery, and only his eyes were visible to me between his Gray’s Anatomy shower cap and mask. Once again, there were tears, but I could tell from just his eyes that he was smiling.
Ray’s first meeting with his second son was also set in the Wake Med OR, but under drastically different circumstances. This time, I’d checked in, rested and showered, like I was about to have my toe nails painted. Less than 3 hours later, amid no added rush or unexpected drama, Ray presented his second son to me, just as he’d done with the first—smiling, tearful eyes between shower cap and surgical mask. I’d gotten pregnant with this little guy a lot quicker than anticipated and it really seemed to both Ray and me like we were just here. Because we had been, just 21 months earlier. The whole thing was much more relaxed and familiar than our first go round—but our new addition would be a wild ride in itself, in the complicated way that adding a new person to your family dynamic always is.
In the brief 21 months between babies one and two, a mutual love and respect had developed between Ray and our first born. After dinner every night, Ray would play with him upstairs in the bonus room while I cleaned up the kitchen. I’d usually ascend the staircase to find father and son rolling the ball back and forth—a game that eventually evolved into a pretty impressive exchange of bounce passes between an infant and a grown man. Other times, our oldest would be sitting in a circle of books and toys, pivoting around on his bottom as Daddy shifted his interest from item to item. Ray took him to watch games—basketball, football, and soccer--and gave him nearly every bath he ever took as a baby in his little blue plastic tub shaped like a whale. The day we finally retired the beloved whale tub was an emotional one for Ray. The tiny baby he’d once had to prop up in a tablespoon of water now sat upright independently, filling the entire tub with his chubby limbs that gleefully splashed so much water, there was hardly enough left to rinse him with. At not even 2 years old when our second was born, he was still very much a baby—and the very center of Ray’s world.
As that world doubled in size upon his brother’s arrival, so did our oldest son—and with that bigger body came a bolder mind that challenged (and infuriated us) in new ways. But the journey of fatherhood continued, with all the soaring highs and abysmal lows that compose the ever-changing landscape of growing kids. It seemed like a long time that our second son was too little or too difficult to tag along with Daddy and his brother on their adventures. But now that our “baby” is nearly 4 feet tall, he’s earned his spot on the team. He doesn’t always make it easy, but I love when he can hang with the “big boys” and show Ray just how much like Daddy he can be—in his silliness and excitement, in his sincerity and devotion, in his frustration and determination.
Since the day our second son was born, there’s been a lot less time for sentimentality, with 2 very active, very young boys who demand an enormous amount of attention and a whole lotta behavior management. But there’s a lot more time for different kinds of “moments”. Fewer of the peacefully wordless milestones, like watching a child crawl for the first time—and more boisterous bursts of life and personality that don’t just bring sentimental tears—but belly laughs, incredulous smiles, and a wide-eyed amazement as these “babies” become “boys” before our eyes. The upside down raspberries on finger tips, the “waces” (ie, “races”) that are always “bout to stott” (ie, about to start), the early sports interests and video game obsessions, the first-ever soccer goals scored, the snuggles on the couch, the waves good-bye from the bonus room window as Daddy leaves for work, getting chased by Daddy Dinosaur at bedtime, the dirty little boy feet running wild at the Balloon Festival like it was Bonnaroo for kids, and the pure joy on little faces every day at Disney World during the biggest trip of their young lives. The sincerity in the inquiry “You have a good day, Daddy?” or “Are you feeling better?”, the sweetness in their “I love yous”, and the genuine gratitude in their 'thank you' to Daddy “for spending your coins on a fun day”, as they begin to scratch the surface of the generosity and sacrifice that fatherhood entails.
The pace of this life is increasing by the minute, but that wealth of fatherly emotion is never banked and set aside for long. It’s still a regular occurrence to catch tears welling up in Ray’s smiling eyes, just like the first day he knew he’d be a dad--and every moment thereafter that reminds him how proud he is to be one.
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, LOVE!!!
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