What does it mean to be a father…

I am sitting here this morning and my beautiful son is crying in his crib and not just crying but screaming at times; my wife has wondered when he’s screamed like this if he has been bitten by some ferocious insect because what else could cause a young, sweet baby to cry as if he was being murdered.  And so I sit and I write, I have picked him up a couple of times to release burps and he’s so tired his eyes barely stay open, but after a short while of bouncing he comes awake again but not too awake.  There are yawns and rubbing of the face and I recognize tiredness, he is not hungry, not wet or soiled.  I think he is fighting to stay awake or fighting for the comfort of father’s arms, the warmth of the chest but I think to myself he must learn he is ok without the warmth.  He must learn he can release himself to sleep.  And still he screams and not only compassion but anger continues to build in me.  If I pick him up now what am I teaching, if I let him go, what am I teaching…I am always teaching.

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