A Man's Man is Surprisingly Tender

You can hear his balls clank together when my husband enters a room. He doesn't manscape and he sports a chest that is full of very sexy and manly hair. He uses bar soap (Irish Spring, no less)and refuses to try bath gel. He doesn't wear cologne, preferring the scent of his Old Spice deodorant. He is polite in public, but he farts when the need strikes in private - even if his lovely wife is in his presence. He'll eat tofu if it is served, but he absolutely devours beef. He likes hoppy beer and icy-cold vodka. He knows how to hunt the smallish game that are found on the Great Plains and he can comfortably ride horses. He cusses, drinks, and likes shooting guns. He is the quintessential man's man and I'm so happy that I didn't end up with a metrosexual or a pushover.

My husband does not clean our house at all; no dusting, sweeping, or mopping for him. He also doesn't do any work in our restrooms besides using the squeegee on our clear glass doors after he uses the shower stall. He does not do our laundry, but he will gladly swap the clothes over upon request. He does not usually cook our meals - though he kindly cooks his own breakfast and a scrambled egg for Toot each day. I nursed our son until he was just over one year of age and our son wouldn't accept a bottle. As a consequence, my husband never woke once for a middle of the night feeding. I do not expect my husband to change diapers and I have very rarely asked him to do so when I used disposables. Now that I have transitioned fully to cloth diapers (save overnights), I certainly do not expect him to deal with diaper changes. I am a SAHM and I fully expect that those job duties are mine alone. I feel fortunate that he takes care of his own breakfast & his son's breakfast and that he'll swap laundry if I ask. Heck, I feel fortunate that I am his wife - period. My husband was quite a catch (in my book) and I love that he chose to be with me.

Perhaps some post-feminist readers are thinking that I have married a boorish pig. A relic from the past. I have never thought so (indeed, I have always felt quite fortunate to have such a wonderful catch!) and I do find that my husband is surprisingly tender. My husband was born in the 50s, but he came of age in the feminism-in-your-face 70s. He appreciates and encourages my opinions on topics as varied as our personal budget, child rearing, religion, and political philosophy.

He adores his son and has enjoyed many hours with our baby on his lap. They read books together, watch Sprout together, and play with toys together. My 53-year old husband will patiently play with our not-quite 2-year old son's stuffed animals until our son tires of the playtime.

This man's man is surprisingly tender with the son who he clearly adores. Our son asks for his beloved "dada" frequently throughout the day. My husband loves to spend time with our son and I heartily encourage it.

My husband is All-Man. But he is also a wonderful father. I love seeing my manly husband enjoy his role as a delightfully tender father.

Learning Tenderness Through Tears

Though I studied and researched nearly every aspect of parenthood prior to the arrival of my son, it is impossible to prepare for certain aspects of this journey. I knew I would love my offspring; I just couldn't imagine how deeply I would love my baby. I knew that the early days with a newborn would be tough; but I had no idea how exhausting it is to nurse every 1 1/2 hours for nearly five months. I knew that I'd be bothered by my baby's tears; I didn't know that hearing my baby cry would set an alarm to ring throughout my body.

I don't know if it's biological or psychological because I'm not that smart, but my heart races and my head pounds whenever my baby cries. I have trouble thinking straight when I hear him sobbing. I have wept while he's crying on more than one occassion because it hurts me to see him hurting. My only instinct is to pick him up and cuddle him close whenever he has real tears.

I don't overreact if he falls down, bumps his head, or if he whines a little. I usually don't react at all besides telling him he's okay and to walk it off. Otherwise I'd be cuddling him all day long. . .I've got a busy little guy and he's constantly bumping into things.

But real tears are something very different, as every parent knows. Real tears signify real pain. The pain doesn't even have to be physical. I think babies can suffer emotionally and every now & then my son cries for no discernable reason. I assume that he's crying then because he needs some loving assurance that we're there for him - whenever he needs us.

Hearing a child cry used to make me insane before I had my son. Only then my problem was that the parents weren't keeping their kid quiet. I'd look at the family in the next booth at a restaurant and used to wonder what was that squaling brat's problem. Yes, I was the childless woman who had zero sympathy for their problem and would glare until they left so I could enjoy my meal without further interruption.

I thought my own baby crying would be an annoyance, something that was ruining my good time. I didn't realize how my son's sadness or hurt would make me feel. There is nothing that feels more like a stab in the heart than seeing your own baby's pain and tears.

My attitude has changed. I feel sorry for the parents if I hear a crying kid in a restaurant these days. I figure that they want a fun time out too and they don't want their kid to mess up their meal either. I feel bad mostly because I've had my share of meals that were cut short because either my husband or I had to take the baby outside.

I've learned tenderness through my son's tears.