Baby Daddy

Last week I joined Kathryn at Quinn’s six-month check-up. Included in this visit were booster shots for his immunizations. This trip taught me two things; first, that Quinn is becoming increasingly aware of his own life, and second, that my emotional and spiritual connection to his life experience consume me to the core.

Let’s start with the evolution of his awareness, signs of which have been rampant over the past several weeks. A particularly poignant example occurred two weeks ago during bath time. As background for those who haven’t tuned in lately to Q’s bath time, he has become increasingly crafty at playing with the water faucet, carefully applying pressure until spraying himself in the face. In this specific instance, he wryly stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, as if he were applying his “thinking cap” to the task. Success from these efforts resulted in a brief look of shock, followed by an expression of utter glee (picture every dimple activated, his massive cheeks inflated to the max, and his leaning-towards-greenish eyes as big as saucers). In this simple moment, cause and effect (coupled with surprise and delight) abruptly become concepts within his own repeatable grasp. Life was his oyster, as it were.

This increased level of awareness will of course bring him to realize the sadness and pain that contrasts life’s joys. This brings us back to the aforementioned topic of the doctor’s appointment last week. As soon as we began to disrobe him in the exam room in preparation for this shots, his lower lip started in quiver and frown, in a cartoonish way that only Quinn can do. He knew the drill. Something wasn’t right, and pain was on the horizon. He began to cry as soon as I laid him on the paper-covered exam table.

Segue to topic number two: the all-consuming nature of my feelings for this boy. Were you able to glimpse in to my psyche at the moment I had to place him on the table, you would instantly understand what I mean. Not to overstate the significance of the moment, but I felt in some way like Abraham bringing Isaac to the altar. By no means the same level of consequence, but I was certainly leading this helpless child to a moment of pain that he didn’t bring upon himself. A massive pit formed in my stomach, something I didn’t expect given that I haven’t ever had an issue receiving shots myself. (Kathryn had insisted that I join her for this round of shots, and in all honesty I discounted her prior descriptions of how horrible she had felt making Quinn go through this… lesson learned!).

The shocked and pained look in his eyes starkly contrasted the look of joy and amazement we shared at bath time. But both had an equal effect of captivating my soul. These simple moments are forerunners of greater events to come (not the least of which Kathryn described recently – imagine the challenging task and bizarre sensation of beginning to move your jaw and tongue in unison to guzzle down an unappetizing foreign slurry!). And as these moments happen, I pray for the discipline and recall to remember and cherish them, whether through writing, video or pictures (and NOT relying solely on my wife’s brilliant photography and prose).

Some nights when I’m rocking him to sleep in his tiny nursery, I’ll divert from our normal routine of repeated (and slightly tone-deaf) renditions of Renee & Jeremy’s Powder Blue. In these moments, I’ll quietly stare at him in the near darkness and admire his perfect features and sweet expression. And often I’ll say a prayer of gratitude and worship, completely awestruck at the marvelous miracle in my arms and the true richness of the blessings that I enjoy by having him and his mom in my life.

The other day a co-worker (not of my faith) remarked that one of his lasting memories of Harvard Business School was a commencement speech offered by then dean Kim Clark (who is of my faith). In an unorthodox address to a group of driven business people, he spent the entirety of his allotted time addressing the importance of balance in one’s life. The specific sound bite that my co-worker mentioned to be of particular impact on him (enough so that he still remembers it 15+ years hence) was the oft-quoted teaching from David O. McKay that Kim included in his message; “No other success can compensate for failure in the home.” In keeping with this teaching, I would further pose that no joy in life can compare with joy in the home.

And so concludes the longest come-back post in blog history. To those who actually read this, there’s a bonus give-away in store for the first person that can correctly count the number of times I employ my stylistic quirk of starting sentences with the word “And.” Double-bonus to any English majors out there that can convincingly support or deny my usage of the colloquialism "as it were." Don't hate the player, hate the game.