Fatherhood

Jason and I have changed a lot in the ten years that we've been together.  I was still a teen, then, and interested in teenager things: boys, and college, and gossip, and friends.  And Jason was in his mid 20s, scrawny and anxious--floating like a feather through college.  We started living on opposite ends of the continent--me, a college freshman in North Carolina, and him, a student in Southern California.  Thousands of miles apart, and mentally on different planets.  At the time, it seemed like decades, but soon we were together, in the same state, in the same city, and eventually married and in the same tiny apartment, seething over the other's way of squeezing the toothpaste.  There are a lot of things I'd do over in our relationship if I could.  I look back on a lot of our life together and laugh at my naivety or cringe at my immaturity.  There are arguments I shouldn't have had, decisions I shouldn't have made, quirks I should have lived with.  We thought we knew what we were doing, but we definitely did not.  Now, at least, we know that we have no idea what we're doing.

And now, ten years later, and almost six years deep into our marriage, I'd say we're doing pretty well.  We're so, so, so different, but in all the right ways.

The summer after he turned 31, Jason started swimming,  And that was the summer he transitioned to manhood.  His shoulders widened, he walked more confidently, and he got laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.  He was less gullible and harder for my dad to prank and we had muddled through those difficult parts of marriage and had matured.  Truly, I've loved watching the change.  He's always be an wonderful guy, but the transition to manhood was a lovely thing to watch.

And now I see my husband, my partner, my best friend as a father and it's beautiful.

Sometimes it's easy for me to take Ezra into the shower with me.  If time is short, he'll just sit in the tub while I shower off and then I'll pick him up and scrub his slippery little body and it feels fun and natural and easy.  So when Jason mentioned that he was going to shower just before Ezra's bed time, I asked if he wouldn't mind taking Ezra with him.  I fully expected him to say no, but he surprised me.  I explained the details--like how he should sit him on a towel in the shower so he doesn't slip, and how I usually shower first, then shampoo him and hold him to my chest while I rinse his hair.  And I helped him get the bottle of baby soap and a few bath toys and then I left them to it while I washed some bottles and laid out jammies.

As I was coming up the stairs, I listened as they both giggled uncontrollably in the shower.  And I thought, "This is it.  This is fatherhood."  This is Jason as I've never known him.  He's attentive and gentle and frustrated but in love and so, so, so tender.  He is awed when Ezra discovers new things, like when I opened the container of puffs and showed Ezra that they were inside.  We both watched his gears turning, slowly reaching inside to get them.  And Jason looked pleased and proud.  Jason is joyful and young, yet more patient and cautious.  He's a father.  And that's the best way I've ever known him. 

I often hold Ezra and beg time to slow down.  He's getting so big and full and smart and I feel like there's never enough time to savor him as he currently is.  I look at him and kiss his soft cheeks, and magically, he's older and my heart aches.  But tonight my heart aches for Jason.  He's growing, too, and I'm not savoring it enough.  He's no longer a scrawny 20-something, naive new husband, or new father.  He's a man, a seasoned father and I'm missing it.   He's currently covering his face with our duvet, annoyed at the light from the laptop--and I want to fling off his cover and kiss his laugh lines before he's magically older and I've missed it.  So I will.  Goodnight.