Dads Will Be Dads (If We Let Them)

Last Saturday, at that magical time of evening when the ocean just starts to pull down on the sun, Doug and I thought it would be fun to take Emerson walking around Balboa Island. We LOVE Balboa Island, and I was feeling the need to exercise. This baby weight: DANG. This baby weight.

And so we did. We walked and talked and laughed along the boardwalk lined with the dreamiest houses, our daughter nestled in the BOB giving Olaf warm hugs. Everything was perfect for 30 minutes. I was even mostly nausea-free! Then the toddler wiggle began, quickly followed by grunts and screams. Girlfriend was done with the walk. It happens, almost daily. Gone are my days of peaceful two-hour strolls.

Agitated per usual, I pulled out my iPhone. “I’m just going to give her some B-A-R-N-E-Y to watch. It’ll buy us at least 30 more minutes.”

Doug looked so disappointed. He thinks I rely on my iContraptions a little too much, and I know that he’s probably right. But sometimes, I DO NOT CARE! Sometimes I just want to walk. Sometimes I just want to burn a calorie. Sometimes I think that’s okay.

“No way!” he said. “Not on a day this beautiful. I’ll play with her on the beach. Just for a little bit. You can stay here. She’ll love it!”

“Fiiiiiine,” I conceded, huffily. He was right; it was really beautiful. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t annoyed. I hate anything interrupting my walks, especially when I’m trying to exercise. But such is the life of a mom.

I watched them bolt for the shore, Emerson yelling, “BOAT! BOAT!” Doug grabbed a stick and handed it to her, and she waved it around like a wand. I could hear him saying things to her, but I couldn’t hear exactly what. All I could hear were her giggles, and I could see her looking up at his face. Curious, moldable, pure, a daughter adoring her dad.

This is actually really sweet, I admitted silently. Better than a screen, I suppose.

Doug looked my way and waved his hand forward, indicating that they would start walking the beach, while I could keep striding the paved path. I released my last semblance of hope that I’d get any more legitimate exercise, and began the slowest walk of all times. I pushed Olaf along in the stroller and attempted to maintain some good cheer.

As I walked, watching them, time slowed right down with my pace. And I noticed some things about Doug as he handled our girl: his patience, his focus, his presence. Things that, after five days straight in stay-at-home mom land, I often struggle to muster at all. That evening—like so many evenings—Doug had a gift for our daughter that I simply didn’t have left to give: fresh eyes, fresh hands and fresh feet. Fresh passion for showing our little girl the beautiful world, fresh joy over her every new giggle and step.

Observing them from afar, I started to feel some pride for this precious little sight to behold. (Turns out you don’t see THAT many twenty-something dudes wandering Newport with 2-year-olds in bright turquoise tutus.)

Unhurried, he guided her, along hard sand, through soft, under docks, between pilings, over ropes, hugging the coastline, letting her stomp her Uggs in the water, picking up rocks and shells. They waved and yelled to happy, tipsy Duffy boat passengers floating and cheering on by; they stopped for Emerson to sit in a kayak. Doug led her like the father she needs, yelling out loving instructions:

“Don’t trip on that rope!”

“Sweetheart, it’s easier to walk over here.”

“Don’t let go of my hand!”

“No, that’s too deep. I warned you! Now you’re soaked!”

“I’m going to have to carry you for a while.”

Pushing the baby-less stroller, I guess it was obvious I belonged to them. Kind people began making comments while passing me by:

“It’s only a matter of time, mama. She’s gonna grow up!”

“We’re past that stage now. Cherish it.”

“Look at that dad with his little girl! Are they yours? What a lucky lady.”

And a lucky lady I was.

To think that I almost missed it.

I also couldn’t help but picture myself, a little girl, navigating the shores of life, letting the Lord lead me along. But, did I really let Him lead me, and how much of the time? How often did I stick my nose in an iPhone, so to speak—leaning on distractions, keeping things mindless, staying unengaged when that was the easier choice? Did I turn everywhere first before God when I needed a guide? Or did I grab for my Father’s hand and pay attention to His loving instructions?

“Don’t trip on that rope!”

“Sweetheart, it’s easier to walk over here.”

“Don’t let go of my hand!”

“No, that’s too deep. I warned you! Now you’re soaked!”

“I’m going to have to carry you for a while.”

I’m not going to pretend like my kids will never watch cartoons in their strollers again.

But along that stretch of perhaps half a mile, my heart was moved.

I recognized that I need to let Doug be Doug when it comes to our parenting. I have such a creative, capable partner equipped to help lead our daughter through life in ways he’s uniquely gifted—in ways that I might be weak. The parenting reins don’t belong to me. Sometimes it’s time to pull my side a little tighter and sometimes it’s time to pull his side a little tighter, but we’re always holding on together.

I accepted that, sometimes, I’m just really tired at the end of a day, or a week—and that’s okay. It’s okay, maybe even necessary, to let helpers intervene with their vibrant spirits and fresh perspectives. God. Bless. Their. Lovely. Souls.

And most importantly, I learned that maybe I rely on distractions a little too much. I’d like to lean on my heavenly Father a whole lot more.

To trust Him to lead me along the edge of the waters, whether stormy or calm.

To believe that He’s right there with me, when the terrain is hard, when it is soft, or when it is something strange in between that I don’t even understand.

To listen to His voice when He holds out a hand and says: “Walk with me?”