What I Want to Say to You on Father's Day

T and S

You were so done after the birth of your second biological child. As in "undergoing a procedure to make sure you were done" done.

And then I came along. I was making plans already to adopt a child.  I was going to do it solo. Being with me meant being part of those plans. So you accepted the reality of being a Dad again, even though you thought you were done. "Vasectomy Fail," as you say. This child didn't arrive in our lives without careful consideration. He arrived after much planning, scrutiny, endless paperwork, and significant expense.

So you accepted not only me, but my dream of being a mom. A real mom, not the second-class mom-ness that comes with being a stepmother. And we walked through the adoption journey together.

We came home with a really great kid who needed lots more attachment work than either of us would have ever expected. And you've struggled with that more than me -- having had two children just bond with you with no effort involved. This one has required effort. He was scared and angry for a long time. And still angry even after he got over being scared. Angry for a long time. He's really sad, but it's too scary to be sad, so he goes to angry when his life overwhelms him. It's hard for you to see the sad under the anger. It was hard for me too, and sometimes I still slip up with that.

Your preference would be for low-maintenance children. I'm not sure if those exist. None of your three are low maintenance -- your bios give us a run for our money too! And in the way these things work, T attached to me first, and following almost exactly the schedule the experts gave us, it took just about a year for him to really start warming up to you. So even that much harder to love a child who doesn't really love you back. It's not easy. I know. That stepmother thing.

But when we needed to get onto the train to go from one terminal to another in Dulles with a screaming, refusing-to-put-on-the-shoes-that-security-made-him-take-off, frightened out of his wits child, so we could make our plane before the airport shut down AGAIN -- after already having spent an unexpected night in DC trying to get home -- you calmly and gently picked him up and carried him. And he was comforted.

Initially you didn't think there was anything wrong with him that some good old fashioned discipline and consequences wouldn't take care of. But when he threw all his clothes except his pants across the exam room after his first doctor appointment and it was 16 degrees out and snowing, you went out and started the car so it would warm up. You brought in a blanket and wrapped it around our raging child and you gently and calmly picked him up, carried him to the car, and buckled him in his car seat. You turned on some music to soothe him and quiet his high pitched screaming. And he was comforted.

You went to a seminar on attachment in adoption with me and came out with a look that said, "I get it now." And you started trying therapeutic parenting. This is not in your nature. It's hard work for me, even harder for you. But you recognize the trauma our child has been through, and you have empathy for him. You whisper affirmations in his ears. You read to him better than I do. I read the words. You read and you tickle him and you make the book silly and you make the characters come alive. He enjoys when I read to him, but he has FUN when you read to him.

When I'm at the end of my rope, you step in with patience that I don't expect you to have, given that I've completely lost it, and I'm known as the patient one Like the day he was going to do nothing but argue with me about how to dress to go snowshoeing in single digit temperatures. I started just shoving him into his clothes. You stepped in and took over. You talked to him quietly and dressed him gently.

I remember when I was at my wit's end having been home with him mostly raging, certainly constantly complaining, for a month, and you came home early one day because of a snowstorm. You were going to snowblow the driveway and I said, "NO YOU ARE NOT! I GET TO DO IT!" When I came inside an hour later, the two of you were sitting side by side playing with the synthesizer. And I thought, "No fair! You get to give him cool toys to play with. If I had those cool toys, our days would be a lot easier." But it's good that you have your special things to do.

In the beginning, I wasn't sure he would ever love you as much as me. There seemed to be a distance between you. But you found your own ways to attach, not by night time snuggling and car kisses and letting him comb your hair -- but in father/son ways. You don't take him out for a catch or throw him a football -- things I thought you would enjoy doing with a little boy -- but you do other daddy-type things with him. Like racing down the track full speed. Well, sometimes you're at full speed. Other times he mysteriously beats you. Jumping in to races when he's tired to help him kick it home. And having him follow you skiing. Way more fun than following Mommy. You ski and ski and ski and then you wait and wait and wait for Mommy to catch up.

When you have projects to work on around the house, you bring him along. Earlier this week, under your direction, he took all the nails out of a bookshelf and then hammered them all back in next to the old holes so the bookshelf would be more sturdy. How cool is that for a six-year-old boy to use a real hammer to pound in real nails on a real bookshelf? He was so proud to be such a big helper, and to have accomplished such a grown up task. He beamed.  He got his ticket punched as part of the family by helping you fix a piece of furniture.

And when we were at Grandma's without you, after two days had gone by, he said, "When are we going to see Daddy again? I miss him." And he repeated that sentiment several times a day for the next two days. And when we were on the train, he was very excited that you were going to be waiting for us at our stop.

So happy Father's Day to the daddy of  a little boy who didn't have a daddy and who needed a new one. And to the husband of a mommy who didn't have a little boy and who needed one.

Thank you for working really hard, harder than you would have ever thought you would have needed to, to be a good daddy. I know you know you're not perfect, just like I'm not a perfect mommy. We both try though to do the best we can. And our little boy loves you.

For more blogs about adoption and Father's Day, click HERE