Yesterday morning when I woke I went straight to the bathroom, and while there I heard my toddler daughter crying out from her room. She was repeating the same word over and over, and over.
“Dad? Daddy? Dad? Dad?” She cried out urgently, begging for his assistance. But he wasn’t there. It was just me.
I remember as a young girl waking in the night after a terrible nightmare and calling out much the same. The difference, though, between my girl and myself was that I didn’t call out Dad. Instead I cried, “Momma? Mom? Mommy?!”
Even at the young age of four I knew that my father would not hear my cries. I knew that he was gone. And although I spent many waking hours hoping that my dad would come back, for the most part I understood that he would not. It was just me and mom.
Even though years later I would be gifted with a Daddy through my Mom’s remarriage and my subsequent adoption, the past pain of an absent father left it’s mark on me, one that is present even now. And that’s what I thought of when I heard my daughter cry out.
Aside from memories of my childhood, you might think I felt something akin to jealousy over not hearing my baby cry for me instead, but nothing like that ever entered my mind. Rather I felt a measure of joy inside me, and I felt a sense of gratitude rising to the surface.
I was proud for my baby girl. I was proud that she could call for his name, and even though he wasn’t there at the moment, the fact remained that he would be. Her Daddy would be coming back home.
In that small moment of time I also felt pride for my husband, and I was dying to talk to my baby’s daddy. I wanted to hold him close, and say, “thank you. Thank you that we’re in this together!”
I knew in my heart that he was more than just my baby’s daddy, more than just the biological father of my offspring. He was my partner in parenthood. He was my helper, my rock, and we could call out to him at all times. I knew these things, and I felt grateful.
My Mother did well with what she had, and despite an absent father during my younger years, she always made me feel loved. I know there are amazing woman everywhere that perform the task of parenthood alone, and they do a tremendous job, but in that moment as my daughter called for her dear old dad, I was glad that I didn’t have to do it alone.
Parenthood is tough. It’s an often frustrating and seemingly thankless job, but it is made monumentally easier with the father of my children there with me each step of the way.
The fact that my children know this, that they know they can call out for their Daddy, it blesses my soul. And I know their future relationships and endeavors will be positively impacted by his continual presence.
While I’m stronger than I probably think I am, and could likely do this crazy parenthood journey alone, I’m so thankful that I don’t have to do it by myself. I’m thankful my baby’s daddy is also my best friend.
Although I probably overuse the phrase, “I’m gonna call your Daddy,” I’m really glad that if I need to, I can.
I’m grateful that on the days when everything just seems like too much that I can call their Daddy, and he will listen to my complaints. He can’t always fix it, but he lets me know I’m not alone. And that seems to be the most important thing.
After the moment passed I went to collect my daughter from her bed. As she looked at me expectantly I replied, “Daddy’s not here. He’s at work, but he’ll be home soon.”
And I knew then that I was oh so grateful for us both that what I said was true.
Amy garren says
Beautiful
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you.