This day, one year ago (so I guess not actually this day, but you know what I mean), Audrey was already on maternity leave. I was still working and jumping every time the phone rang thinking "This is it!" It would turn out, as I later learned, not it. Just like his father, he would come at his own time. That time happened to be nearly two weeks later.
It is very nearly the end of Mason's first year and time for reflexion. Well, actually, nearly every evening is time for reflexion. Like last night for instance, I crawled into bed as Audrey was reading a magazine and he was curled up in a little ball in between us (he typically goes to bed at about 8PM and sleeps in his crib until we go to bed when he somehow knows to wake up and let us come and retrieve him). I had spent the better part of the day dealing with our flooded basement and the causes of said flooded basement, digging a ditch and laying drainage pipes, building a rain barrel, et cetera. As I climbed into bed, I just stared at Mason for a while (I do this every night and I know Audrey watches me do it out of the corner of her eye) and thought back to what my mom and dad must have thought when I was the cause of a flooded basement. I am sure digging a ditch and putting me in might have crossed their minds. Luckily, Mason had nothing to do with our flooded basement. Mason then began to stir and got into a crawling position - arms tucked under his chest, up on his knees, his butt up in the air - and fell back asleep.
This time one year ago, I was on constant alert, morning, noon and night, waiting for his arrival. I spent much of my time - working, relaxing, whatever - thinking about what it would be like to be a father, what was he going to be like, would I ever sleep through the night again, am I going to throw up when I have to change diapers. I like to know what I am getting into before diving into the water. This time, however, I had no choice and just had to wait, patiently or not.
I chose not to be patient.
During the next two weeks, Audrey would try everything within her power and knowledge to help expel Mason into this world, but like his father, he would not be rushed. It didn't matter, really. He could have come on time, a week late, two weeks late, whatever, everything would have still been as it is.
I am sure there are a million tiny things that he has picked up from us (crawling, the whole breathing thing, laughter, etc.) but I would have to say that Audrey and I have probably learned more from him than he from us.
Patience
Patience, never one of my strongest suits, has been something that he has taught me from t-minus 14 days. From waiting for the call, to waiting through the day plus of labor to the car ride to the hospital, waiting on him to stop crying, waiting on him to fall asleep, waiting to see him again, I do believe I am getting better at patience.
"Sure, I am crying my head off and you have no idea why, but realize neither do I. I just spent nine months in this great, warm, loving location, and now there are bright lights, loud sudden noises, and I think I just crapped my pants. Give me a break, here."
"You are right, little guy. Thanks."
Laughter
I have always thought that I have a pretty good sense of humor and can find it in most everything, even myself when I am not taking myself too seriously. Mason constantly reminds me of how ridiculous I am, how ridiculous nearly everything aspect of life is, and to just laugh at it. He laughs at crawling, at things that move, things that don't move, and sometimes even in the midst of tears. He knows nothing but pure emotions and can only react appropriately to things, however irrational some of those reactions may seem to you or I.
"Hey, look at me, I am sticking my foot in my mouth AND Zola's tail all at the same time. Isn't this hillarious?"
"You are right, little guy. Thanks."
Love
Audrey and I have a pretty solid relationship, and although we are not at all perfect, we get along most of the time rather well. We fight, or rather, bicker from time to time, and it is almost always about something rather stupid (when put in relation to the bigger scheme of things). No matter what goes on with us or with Mason, he always gets so happy to see us. We might go in one room and back into the other, but his face will light up.
Audrey and I might hold a grudge for a few hours until reality smacks us and reminds us of how silly we are being to hold a grudge or remain upset with the other one when in reality we have a fairly miraculous marriage and should be nothing but thankful every moment to have such a wonderful spouse. Whenever I am holding a grudge and Mason comes around, I am reminded of all the pain and agony Audrey and he went through during birth, the months she spent at home alone with him, and all the hours she spends with him every day, raising our son and reminded, in no uncertain terms, of what an ass I am being.
"Really Dad? You are going to stay mad at Mom? For what? Have you forgotten all that she has done for me? Have you forgotten how lucky you are to have her and I?"
"You are right, little guy. Thanks."
Awe
Every parent will attest to the overwhelming amount of awe that a child instills in a parent. From the miracle of birth to the miracle of crawling, eating, walking, talking, long division, and all of the other first, nearly every day is just as breath taking as the previous one.
Way too often, we adults lose perspective on this. We go out, we build buildings, we fly planes, we conquer worlds, but it isn't that impressive. We are jaded by the day to day happenings and we lose sight of how absolutely amazing everything is.
"What was that? Is that thunder? Is that God bowling? Really!? WOW!"
"You are right, little guy. Thanks."
I could, of course, go on and on about all of the things Mason has taught me, but it would all be repetitions of the same thing: Love. Love of laughter, of people, of life, of wonder.
"You are right, little guy. Thanks."
