Mandy and I have a 6-month old son. He’s our first child. It’s been an amazing experience.
It’s certainly cliché, but we are learning a lot about our God, ourselves, and the Gospel in the process.
Things changed when our little Henry began to recognize his bottle. When he is hungry, he panics a bit. He whines, coos, cries, charms — anything to get roughly six ounces of milk.
It’s even worse when the liquid is within his field of vision. The attempts to fend for himself, to seek his own self-preservation become more intense. He freaks. He’s panicky. Strangely, if we are in process of giving him the milk, he only gets more nervous.
That’s understandable. It’s on him, right? He’s the one that has to seek his own sustenance, right?
I’m his dad and I’ll never deny him anything that’s good for him. Ever. I mean, if he asks me for a fish, will I give him a snake?
Of course not, and I’m a sub-par dad.
The simple truth is that he can relax, I’m his dad. It’s okay. He really doesn’t have to do the panicky self-preservation bit.
Neither do I.