I can’t dance, and I’ll be the first to admit it. Tonight, after 23 days of being latched at the nip, mama decided to take some time for herself and hand daddy the reigns to child. She was reluctant, stalled with excuses like reading him a book, pumping, maybe doing a basket of laundry (maybe), but in the end I gave her my certificate of reassurance that I wouldn’t burn the house down (see Stupid Things Daddy Does II) and I wouldn’t submit Griffin to any of my crazy daddy ideas that I have floating around in my head (not yet, at least).
Once the door closed behind her Griffin pooped, I changed him, plugged in the iPhone to the iDock and turned it up.
And we danced.
What I learned today about being a father:
This was the moment I didn’t know if I was ready for. I mean, I’ve thought about for 23 days, thought about the time when he and I would be alone and how I would handle all the things that happen that mama usually takes care of. Jackie, bless her heart, went over all the precautionary details if he was fussy, how I could tell if he needed to be changed, where the bottles were and how much to feed him (not too much, though, when she gets home she wants to breast feed!). The Nuk came in handy, I fought off serving him bottle as long as I could, and played and danced until daddy ran out of gas.
Kids are tough and desire a lot of attention, especially now. In two hours I realized what mamas put up with for a whole day. I was inspired, however, by the music of O.A.R., Grasshopper Takeover (a band from my hometown who didn’t sell many records but made some beautiful music), Phoenix, The Head and The Heart and Dave Mathews Band. When I didn’t think I could keep him entertained much longer I just did what I thought I had to do, I turned the music up!
What I think I know:
If the neighbors were looking in our windows they would have seen a wiley young man in his early 20’s (days, that is) in his diapers and his aging daddy in his underwear dancing the night away. It was majestic, our flow, our glide across the hardwood floors, the way his legs struggled about without notion or rhythm. In the end, it was the greatest time of both our lives.
I lulled him to sleep while singing along to Led Zeppelin, “Hey Hey What Can I Do…”, and held him in my arms until mama got home. He was half asleep, she was sweaty and lovely, beautiful mama. Right then and there I knew that I was lucky, because I knew that I had more and more dancing to look forward to.