Happy Birthday, Logan!

My littlest guy was born exactly one year ago today. It was a different scenario for me, because he was the first of my biological children that I was not there for the birth. (NOTE: For those who don’t know, I adopted my oldest son, Devin, shortly before his second birthday…he will never have known a father other than me, I have been with his mom since before his first birthday. Obviously, since Mary and I weren’t together when she had him, I was not there for his birth either). I was there for the birth of both of the girls, Justyce and Colbi.

So, how was it different? Well, because I wasn’t there, I didn’t have that actual, instant connection you get with a child when you hold them mere minutes after they’re born. Or even a day or two after they’re born. I didn’t see Logan until a full 7 weeks after his birth. As excited as I was (and still am), for his birth and everything about him, just from looking at the pictures, I didn’t have any sort of connection with him. I was afraid that missing his birth was going to screw up the relationship that we were going to have.

And, that has been my biggest fear with children, and why I was happy stopping after two daughters-the fractured father-son dynamic in my family. I know I keep saying this, and I promise I will, but I’ll get more into my father’s life and our relationship in a later post. For the purpose of this post, you need to know that my father missed Shayna’s birth (he and mom were separated at the time), and when they got back together, he favored Shayna over me. And then once he adopted Ryan (see, yet another way I followed in my father’s footsteps), he favored him over me too. I don’t remember a lot about my grandfather, he died when I was 13 years old, but what I do remember is that he wasn’t a very warm guy, at least not with us grandkids and it didn’t appear that he was with his kids. I’m not saying that in a bad way, he just didn’t give off the aura of loving grandfather. He provided for his family, and he took care of them, and I’m sure he loved us all-he just didn’t typically show it much when I was around.

One of the frustrating things about my father and I was that he went through essentially the same thing I went through when he was growing up-grandpa seemed to favor dad’s youngest sister, Penny. So, after him acknowledging that, and knowing how much it hurt, the fact that he did the same thing to me was even more distressful. What if this is just how men in my family are? I mean, it’s bad enough I have to deal with the fact that my grandfather died at 59 (heart attack) and my father died at 53 (drug overdose)-ages that I’ll be smack dab in the middle of 20 years from now-do I have to worry about this too?

For all of my father’s faults, he wasn’t a bad man overall. He had his problems and battled more demons that a lot of us, but he was a nice man, he was a loving man and some of the traits I’ve inherited from him (the fact that I’m outgoing and can get along with almost anyone, for instance) are better than some of the others (like the addictive personality). My father was generally good-natured, outgoing and friendly and laughed and smiled a lot. He tickled us kids and played around with us and gave us attention. Those are the things I try to remember most about my father; they are also the things that are harder to remember the further we get away from when they happened.

So, here I am in a similar situation, although Mary and I are together (not separated) when Logan is born. My fear has always been, and always will be, favoring one child over the others. And, I think in my dad’s case, it was because he was “making up” for missing Shayna’s birth. Regardless of the reasoning behind it, I have been mortally terrified of doing the same thing, because I know how it affected me when I was growing up.

I’m not going to lie…a few weeks after Logan was born, I emailed Mary and told her that I just wasn’t feeling a connection. That I was excited for him, all that, but when I look at the pics, I wasn’t really feeling anything particular. Days went by, and he started to look more and more like me (and Mary pointed it out). That helped some. I know Mary understood and was trying her best to help make a connection.

You know what, though? As soon as (seriously, as soon as) I held him in my arms when I got off the boat and onto the pier with my family, all my fears and trepidations subsided. I looked at him, and an overwhelming rush of feelings came over me, like it was just all bottled up and waiting for the right time (when I held him and looked into his eyes) to hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks.

I have been very careful about showing favoritism (as I always try not to do). But, the reality is, my sons (ages 3 and 1) require different levels of attention than my daughters (ages 12 and 11). So, does he get more attention? Of course he does, he’s a baby! Does he get any more of my love than the other 3 kids? Nope. As much as I love him, I love him just like I love his brother and sisters.

I love Justyce because she’s my first born, she’s very intelligent and well-mannered and she’s got the name I’ve always known I was going to name a daughter, for 8-9 years before she was born. I love Colbi because she’s my baby girl, also incredibly intelligent and because she’s just like me in so many ways (she’s my baby girl). I love Devin because he’s my oldest son, loves me like you wouldn’t believe and I love him so much I adopted him so that he could share his last name with the rest of the family. And, I love Logan, because he’s my youngest (and last) baby, and because I never thought I would have a biological son. There are so many other things I could write, about each of them, but that’s not what this post is about. Maybe a future post….

The connection? It’s definitely there. Mary says he doesn’t even say “mama” anymore, that he just keeps saying “dada” since I’ve been gone. I just sent Mary a picture of me, and she showed Logan and he said “dada” and tried to lick the phone. Yep, The connection is definitely there. From the point that I first held him, I didn’t want to put him down, and I still don’t. I want to make him laugh constantly (and, I pretty much do), I want to hold him, I want to be near him, I want to sing these silly songs that I make up for him (for those who know me, you’d probably be surprised at how much I sing to him and make him dance).

Happy birthday my awesome little boy Logan, I am so proud to be your dada!