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Spring softly kissed the city with the luscious purple of the jacaranda tree the month our son was born. New life was bursting forth all around us...and within me our baby's movements became more defined, like an African stomping dance, drumming an ancient song about birth and joy and fathers who are strong and protective.

Traffic was almost nonexistent as we drove under the lavender umbrellas to the hospital. Reporting at 6 am for an induction helped ease our nerves: it felt more planned, gave us a chance to be prepared, have dinners cooked and in the freezer for the father-in-waiting. A few more checks on the To-do list and the wait-time was over.

The unknown can be unsettling and paralyzing, and this was a first for both of us. Your hand was firm, your smile reassuring. Our months of prenatal classes, reading books and talking to our ob-gyn, had prepared us for this Le Boyer-moment in a quiet, dimly lit theater. During the delivery, I remember watching branches from a tree outside the hospital window sway and dance in the light breeze. They seemed to be rejoicing with us, clapping their hands in a "You can do it, you can do it!" refrain.

Your strength carried me. I watched your face and saw the hope, the agony, yet mingled with a joyous expectancy. How you wanted to spare me the pain of delivery, but how much more you wanted your son to be born! I held on to you like one would hold on to a life rope in a tumultuous sea. The calm in you subsided the anguish in me.

He came. Suddenly. Nine months spilled out of me and I could hold our future in my arms. Say hello.' Meet him face to face. Gently touch his cheek. Then hand him over to you for his first bath. Quietly, carefully you bathed him. Talking softly. Introducing yourself. I saw the admiration, the pride, the sudden stature growing in your soul. Watched the bonding, Sensed the utmost joy of a father meeting his son for the first time. In those moments, time stood still and our hearts took pictures of significance, of new meaning and purpose for and in our lives. Raw emotion forever etched in our souls.

I could see you in him. He had your features. "But he has your ears," you gratefully whispered. I could see him with you and you would teach him the ways of life. Give him piggyback rides. Read Jack and the Beanstalk to him. Teach him how to count. Make him PBJs. Hug him. Take him to ball games and on bike rides. A Dad who would "be" there for his kid. I knew it when I saw the love in your eyes.

From under my heart our son was taken and placed right into your heart. You were hooked on this tiny bundle lying peacefully in your arms. He was an extension of you; you became him, he became you. Father and son. What blissful harmony! I silently cried.

I watched the birth of a father in those precious hours. Silently, unobtrusively, powerfully it happened. Just as clear as the blue African sky, it was noticeable. Unchangeable. Rock-steady. "My husband is a father!" the drum was thumping. It had a safe, strong sound to it.

Learn more about this author, Ingrid Brunkhorst Hurrell.
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