stroll bayside
summer's supermoon

and nighttime lavender
lull my little one
to slumber in the bud
like a trumpeting moonflower


This adventure . . . called fatherhood

I never thought I'd enjoy being at home with N. as much as I do for as long as I have. 

Frequent diaper changes, most of which are terribly soiled diapers -- sometimes with poop going as far up as her tummy or up her back. Then it's like trying to put a diaper on a fiercely flipping 15lb. recently caught bass fish. With all the effort at signing I try to teach her (which I'm still hoping she'll get at some point), she swats at my hand when she's done with her meal or decides to blow raspberries just when I've fed her a scoop of homemade veggies and fruits. She used to sleep through the night, that is until she turned nine months old. Growing, teething? Her 10-month-old refusals to go down for a nap. And then there are the loveliest of days when she takes her 90-minute naps and goes down at bedtime with no hassle. 

Yes, I still love being at home with N. 

I know I couldn't do this without A. and his support. Having worked my entire adult life, I feel terribly guilty about not contributing financially to our no longer combined income, about not having my own money. But with such logic, A. argues, then N. really isn't his child since he spends less time with her. N. is only my child. Of course, that's ridiculous.  While I know in my mind, my time with N. contributes so much to our family well-being and works for us right now, I still can't help but sometimes feel rueful.  

Not that being at home with N. isn't work. It is absolutely the hardest job I've ever had.  The responsibility for another's physical health and human development can be dauntingly overwhelming.  But I share that responsibility with a man who defines fatherhood in ways that he did not experience. I love how N. stamps her feet when she hears her Dad coming down the stairs from our bedroom as he goes off to work, and Dad gives her a kiss goodbye in her highchair as she eats her breakfast oats and fruit. I love how N. jumps up and down, her eyes darting, when she hears her Dad coming up the stairs from the garage and knows that he's home from work, and the first thing he does, is put his laptop case down and picks her up.

I know I couldn't do this without A. Motherhood and fatherhood are an engrossed partnership. Thank you, A., for your heart and willingness to be on this adventure called parenthood.

from Paul Simon's Father and Daughter:
I'm gonna watch you shine / Gonna watch you grow / Gonna paint a sign / So you'll always know / As long as one and one is two / There could never be a father / Who loved his daughter more than I love you . . . Trust your intuition / It's just like goin' fishin' / You cast your line and hope you get a bite / But you don't need to waste your time / Worryin' about the market place / Try to help the human race / Struggling to survive its harshest night

Loving thoughts to those who are dads or strong positive male models in others' lives, are waiting to be dads, or missing their dads (like I am). 


Lolo's light

dad's disposition - that determined focus
mama's merrimaking - those sudden goofy guffaws

anak (my child)

she is my beaming sun upon dawn

she is my blooming orchid haze upon dusk

the light in her eyes - must be lolo's smile

happy 74th birthday in heaven, Dad.