A Lucy Guy

I'm not a baby guy. Some guys are, I'm just not. Never have been. If you see me in the grocery store, and we know each other, and you've got your 3 month old with you, I guarantee I'm not going to want to hold it. I'm not going to make silly faces and noises to try to make it laugh either. It's nothing personal man, I'm just not a baby guy.

The irony of it all is that I have a baby. Her name is Lucy and she's 10 months old.

A few nights ago Lucy woke up at 2:40am crying. Not just a little crying, it was pretty much a full out wail. 10 months ago this would have made me curse the earth, pull out my hair, and fake like I was asleep so that my wife would take care of it. But that wasn't my reaction this time. As soon as I heard her I jumped out of bed, ran to her room and scooped her up. Hugging her close to my chest I could feel her face was wet with tears. I didn't know what was wrong. All I knew was that something had hurt or scared her and my instinct was to protect her from it.

Standing in the dark in the middle of her room, holding my daughter as she began to fall back asleep in my arms, I realized something: I desperately wanted for that moment not to end. I, the "not-a-baby-guy" guy, was cherishing this baby. It became clear that this little, warm, squirmy potato of a person has had a profound impact on me in the short 10 months that I've known her.

No, I'm still not a baby guy. But I have become, unequivocally and without hesitation, a Lucy guy.