Peter Hodges

As you may have noticed, I’ve welcome a new addition to my family, a baby girl named Abigail Grace.

Her character is different than my son Jackson already. She’s less fussy, a little more laid back, but certainly into her food. Although perfectly formed, she does not share her mommy’s eyes or her maternal great-grandmother’s eyelashes like Jackson. Instead, she remarkably resembles a female cousin on my dad’s side of the family. She was born with hair…quite a bit for an infant, considering Jackson was bald until he was nearly one.

One thing, however, remains constant. I love the little booger more than I thought possible.

When Jackson was born, I didn’t know what was coming. I had no idea what would be involved with late night feedings, dirty diapers, sacrifices of time, and sheer exhaustion. I had confidence that I could work through it (and I did), but I didn’t expect to be so completely smitten. I knew what was coming this time, but I was afraid that I would unconsciously short-change Abigail in the love department. I know this sounds irrational if you’re an experienced parent, but consider the depth of love you have for your children, and then imagining that multiplying. I couldn’t fathom that until it happened.

Things have settled down into a little bit of a routine around here, so I should be back to regular posting. In the meantime, I’ll continue to enjoy the blessing of a new child while trying to still the inner voice that rails against the lost time. After all, is it really lost?

This is my second Father’s Day.

My son is fifteen months old. He is already manifesting personality traits that he’ll have for the rest of his life. Most notably, he is stubborn and resilient. Combined with curiousity, I find that he is in to things he shouldn’t be more often than not. He has a loving, sweet spirit that comes from his mother; he certainly didn’t get that from me. He’s recently learned that the warmth of a hug can be a two way street, and he is eager to give them at any opportunity.

I think some parents get hung up on what they can teach their children. The drive to wean them from a bottle, to teach them how to walk, to teach them how to speak, etc. consumes us so much that we forget that our children can teach us just as readily. And isn’t that a lesson in and of itself?

From my son, I am learning the value of a smile. Too often, I choose to see the world negatively. This is my own cross to bear for multiple reasons, but that first smile from my son when I walk in the door, no matter my mood, is enough to make me walk a little lighter. The cares of the world seem to be so much less at that moment. I’m also learning the value of trust. He trusts me completely to meet his needs. There is never a doubt in his burgeoning mind that I will neglect either his physical or emotional well-being.

The last thing that I learned was a result of my recent hernia surgery. The doctors have put me on restriction–lifting no more than fifteen (15) lbs. until July 7th. Since my son weighs just over twenty-five (25), I can no longer pick him up. He and I are both frustrated by this arrangement (as is the wife, actually, but she endures it with stoic patience). However, once he realized that I had an “uh-oh” on my “bee-bo” (thank Sandra Boynton’s books for the word “bee-bo”), he has been surpassingly loving. He keeps trying to lift my shirt to check on the status of my injury, and his little face bears marks of seriousness and concentration. Who knew that a baby, scarecely old enough to walk and just developing his vocabulary, could so obviously demonstrate compassion? Again, he did not get this from me. If a child of my genes can do such at a young age, then why do I find it so difficult?

My son ignites the desire in me to be a better man. This is something my professed religion can do only intermittently (naked honesty there). If for no other reason, I cannot be more elated to be a Father.

Thanks for a wonderful Father’s Day, son.