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My husband never wanted to be a dad. It wasn’t that he was against the idea (I made sure of that before we got married), it’s just that he’d never really given it any thought. I’d ask him things like “how many kids did you imagine having when you were younger?” and he’d answer “I don’t know. I never thought about it. I don’t think I ever thought about having a family.”
Don’t get me wrong, when we had Big J he was a proud papa, if not in a slightly bewildered what-have-I-gotten-into way. And when we were trying to get pregnant with baby number 2 he was as determined to have second child as I was. He was just as upset as I was, if not more so, at my last miscarriage. It was a late one: 18 weeks.
A month earlier he’d seen an ultrasound. He’d heard a heartbeat. He had bonded to that baby in my belly. He hadn’t experienced as much with the previous miscarriages. It almost seemed like that last miscarriage was a first for him.
It prompted him to agree with me about looking into adoption.
Once we’d made the decision he didn’t waiver from the thought. It was his family who was most resistant (we got a few negative comments early on…and absolutely none since we brought Little J home) but he didn’t care. He took everything in stride: the time, the money, the travel.
This was a man who’d never been out of the country (unless you count Canada, which I don’t), a man who wrinkled up his nose at green vegetables when I first met him, a man who, until he moved down south with me, belonged to an extended family who all live within 10 miles of each other…literally. This man couldn’t wait to travel to Russia and experience a different culture and a different way of life.
We have a videotape of the first meeting with our son. I am taping and my husband is walking Little J around the room. He’s a pro, an experienced dad. And even now, when Little J has tried our patience again and again, he doesn’t give up on him. He wants what’s best for him. He loves him. He’s Little J’s Daddy.
Happy Father’s Day!
