When I was pregnant, Drew and I did not find out the sex of our baby – we wanted to wait. But for some reason, during those 9 months, we both had a strong intuition that it would be a girl. Which means no one was more surprised than we when B was born and Drew announced, more astonished than ebullient, “It’s a BOY.”
B was born just after midnight, which means that aside from being tired from the hours of labor, we were also dealing with it being the middle of the night. And B, like probably most newborns who have just been shoved unceremoniously into the world, would not stop crying. Since I was sort of stuck in bed, at least for a little while, Drew took up the task of walking ceaselessly around, shhhhing and soothing. This was the beginning of the rocking/swinging dance that, for awhile, was sometimes the only way to put B to sleep.
He immediately started calling B “Buddy,” which at the time, I found baffling. Where did this “buddy” thing come from? Who actually says that, outside of old TV shows? When did we decide that was going to be a nickname? But then it just stuck. And while I say it occasionally, I still think of it as a father’s nickname for his son – something he’ll call B when they’re out fishing or playing catch or camping in the backyard or something. You know, guy stuff.
For the record, I’m sure that Drew would be an amazing dad even if our first baby was a girl. But I’ve become obsessed with watching this father-son relationship develop. I love watching my two boys together. I hope that B realizes how lucky he is to have such a great dad, and I hope he grows up to be an equally incredible friend and partner. He’s got some big shoes to fill, but he’s got the right role model to help him grow into them.
Happy Father’s Day!