Tuesday, June 21, 2011

The Father Of My Children

I wanted to take some time to write this post. I wanted to reminisce and write about all the wonderful and amazing things that makes the man I married the best father in the world. I wanted this blog to be an inspiration, I wanted to people to look at the things I wrote and I wanted them to be hungry for more.
I look around though, and I am discouraged. All the beautiful, lovely, happy women who write these things, that's not who I am. That's not who we are. My husband I met when I was 16, and after I turned 18 he flew back to my state three times and then my dad moved us to Las Vegas, Nevada so that I wouldn't up and leave and he could still have his daughter around. When I was 19 and he was 20, we had our first child, our daughter, Anastasia.

July 4th, 2008
I felt very lost. I was scared and confused. I didn't know why I had been chosen to take care of such a tiny, precious little person. I could barely take care of myself!
During most of my labor, Daddy slept. For the last 18 hours I was in agonizing pain, I wanted to do my HypnoBirthing so bad, but couldn't get into the zone. The pain relievers were making me hallucinate (my room had transformed into a huge factory that was filling up sacks [contractions] with pain. And I was laughing, because it was funny. I know, right!). And he slept. I was yelling for him to get up, because his daughter was about to be born and a nurse was telling me to let him sleep. I grabbed a big heavy plastic cup of ice, ready to throw it across the room at him, and he woke up.
He didn't really want to hold her... he did though. For a minute or two here and there. Mostly he would lay her down in her little baby bed and turn on the TV. Yeah.
The next morning, I was super exhausted and forced him to help. He fed her, rocked her, held her...

But mostly slept and watched TV.

When Anastasia was 4 months old, I was on the mini-pill, and we got pregnant again. Ever since I had stopped nursing her once a day (she was about 2 months old, and I was dealing with extreme issues), Anastasia would stay up screaming from about 2am until after Daddy went to work at 8am. Because he was working, and I was at home with her all day, I let him sleep and I took 100% care of her at night.
When Anastasia was 11 months old, I was 7 months pregnant. It was too much. She would scream so loud, kick so hard, wiggle so much, that the doctor advised us against holding her. She said that Anastasia was asleep and didn't know what was happening anyway, so she wouldn't know the difference. Finally we had to start strapping her into her carseat for her own safety, and I had to make Daddy take over. Every night for 5 months, being 7 months pregnant, listening to the ear-piercing screeches, being kicked in the stomach and worrying about your unborn child, you just break. I cried every night, I held her, fed her, changed her, rocked her, bounced her, took her outside, made Daddy take us on car rides, nothing worked. I begged god every night, but nothing helped. Nothing stopped it. Many trips to the E.R., but she would be fine once we went in. Daddy only helped because I forced him to see that I was broken, and physically unable to keep it up.

Finally, 13 months after Anastasia, Nicolai was born.

August 13th, 2009
Daddy did a much better job this time around, and so did Mommy. It may have helped that the labor was only about 9 hours long instead of 18, but he did an awesome job. He stood there holding my hand while I cursed at him and begged the nurses for an epidural (the needle in your back that numbs you from the ribs down), and he took it with the hint of a tear in his eyes. He held the baby for much longer, and actually expressed that he missed Anastasia (who was staying the night with her aunt). The nurses wouldn't let me take out the IV in my arm, and make me keep the blood pressure cuff on, so there was no way I could hold my newborn baby. Dean actually held Nicolai up to my breast so he could nurse before the evil nurses took him away (there's a reason they no longer have a "maternity ward").

I do not however, blame Dean. I blame his father. Deans father got married to the girl he got pregnant, only because of the baby. He spent their 8 childrens childhoods at work, or secretly out with other women. He would come home, expect a meal, and watch TV for the rest of the night. Not a very good role model, and I admit that if I had known he was going to turn into his father, I would not have gotten involved.
It's hard to say what changed him. Maybe it's our childrens constant need for a real father, my constant need for a real partner. Maybe it's just that he is not his dad, and thinks that is what a dad should do. Maybe a mixture. Whatever the reason, he helps out more, plays with them every night, works on speech therapy with Anastasia, calms them when they cry, and helps them to sleep. When I get frustrated and overwhelmed (we do have a possibly-autistic toddler), he has me go do my thing and takes excellent care of them.

I am so proud of him for overcoming the programming he received as a child. He may not be the best, most attentive father in the world, but he is trying. He is our world, and we love him as much as one person could possibly love another. I feel so lucky to be the one who learns and grows with him. It truly is a journey, and I'm happy to embark with him.
Happy Fathers Day, Dean. We love you!


No comments:

Post a Comment