Sunday Night With John: Why Yes! I'm Her Father

Why Yes! I’m Her Father

John Paul Derryberry

Everyone has retreated to their homes, hotel rooms, and their families. I sit here in my home, sipping on my favorite late night beverage. My wife and dog sleep in our bed, and my daughter, yes, my 6-month-old baby girl, is finally getting some good sleep after a weekend of excitement. It is our adoption finalization weekend and, after our date with a judge and a slew of family and friends at a party, I finally find myself alone. The giddiness I felt Friday morning has slowly waned as excitement and joy does, but happiness and love remain at full capacity.  

I know this blog, and the space I have created, has always been to help others. Although I have spent my time advising others in life, there are moments, few and far between, but there are moments to be selfish. Tonight is one of them for me. I want to crystallize this weekend in memory. As I slowly sip on my drink to bask in this process being done, the family I have built and the friends I have made, I'm drifting back to the first moment I realized that this time, being a father might stick. 

It was the first time I had to pick her up from daycare. It was an odd feeling, considering the journey my wife and I took to get here. I had only met the director of the daycare, so I was unknown to the room teachers. As I walked into the room, I saw my girl cradled by the teacher. I said, hello, and they asked, are you Amelia's dad?  "Why yes, I'm her father," was my reply. It was the first time I had uttered those words to anyone. "I'm her father,"  happily bounced around in my head as I carried our daughter to the car.  My tear ducts began to fill up with tears as I thought of our long journey.  I reached the car and, as I buckled her into her car seat, we made eye contact. The tears fell down my face as my confused dog, along with me for the ride, pawed at me.

This is not some story about overcoming a hugely traumatic event. I've had substantial traumatic events in life, and while this journey sucked, it wasn't traumatic. There were too many inspiring moments from my wife, my mom, my friends, siblings, and my in-laws to count this as anything other than what it was. This was life at it's fullest: heartbreak, perseverance, utter joy, tears, so many tears, drawing closer to people, removing people, happiness, and the end of this journey morphing into another life-- fatherhood. The words came again, "I'm a Dad,"  but I held my breath. Anne's and my adoption journey knows heartbreak (http://jpderryberry.com/blog/itwasthebestoftimes). Amelia was ours for now, while we waited out the legal process. 

This time around, everything felt like it clicked into place -- from the treatment by our social workers to the relationship we were building with Amelia's biological mom. Most importantly, now I had this tug at the back of my heart, that I was always supposed to be this girl's dad. Maybe it was the way she tugged at my beard, her first and favorite toy to play with. Perhaps it was the way it felt natural as Amelia settled into my arms. It could have been that when she started crawling, she b-lined for me.  Somewhere along the way, I dropped my guard and the full feeling of love I had tried to ignore out of fear of it all falling through, faded.  Every coo this girl let out, I couldn't resist. She broke me down and wiggled her way into the most profound parts of my heart. 

She got nicknames from her grandparents and us. We worried about every odd sound, and yes, on numerous nights, we woke up multiple times to see if she was still breathing.  We played on the floor and gushed at her every move, as only new parents can do. I splurged enough at Christmas that Anne gave me the "that's enough" look. Every day with her, we allowed ourselves to breathe a little easier and enjoy the process a little more. On our first night out as a couple without her, our first stop was at a baby store. We had to find an outfit for her court date to finalize the adoption. I may have searched the entire internet, looking for the perfect bowtie for the occasion, an airplane- themed bowtie to tie in with her Amelia Earhart name. 

On January 18th, we were surrounded by family, as the judge decreed, Amelia Jay Hansen Derryberry was ours. The cement is dry, this kid is all ours. Again, there were  tears, so many tears, shared with our incredible support system throughout this process. Amelia played with my beard, while my wife and I hugged her. We took pictures with the judge, our lawyer, our parents, and her great-grandma. I would have taken pictures with complete strangers during the ten minutes after the hearing.  Maybe the most crucial moment I took stock of was how, to Amelia, this was just another day with her parents. She didn't need a judge to tell her who loved her. 

As I take stock of this journey, I'm reminded of the good we can create. Amelia has brought so many people together. The love produced during these types of life moments is astronomical.  It  can propel even the most curmudgeonly-of-a-curmudgeon to crack a smile or shed a tear. They reveal the random nature of the world and how we need random moments to line up to create beauty.  Do you know how many events had to occur at specific intervals for Amelia, her biological mom, Anne and I, to cross paths at this exact moment? Too many to even estimate, but here we are, and I feel I was always destined to end up here. It's a rare feeling to both be shocked that you are experiencing this life change, yet so at peace, with a calm mood, knowing this was destined to occur.

As Amelia was held by friends and family at the party following the hearing, as the pictures cementing this day forever were taken, my little girl made eye contact with me from across the room. I say my nickname for her, and she gives me her heart-melting smile. I cannot help but think about all the names I've had in my life: John, JP, John Paul, DB, Derryberry, P, JDB, and my favorite, when my dad called me, Son. Well, move over, son, because I've got a new favorite and it's whenever my daughter utters, " Dad", for the first time. 

The peaceful alone-time, allowing me to soak in the weekend, is interrupted by my girl crying from her crib. I could let her cry it out, as she has been successful in getting herself back to sleep that way in the past couple of weeks.  But, I have shared her with many people this weekend, so  I selfishly grab her from her crib.  It's time for a little night time father and daughter bonding session.  As she settles in my arms and falls asleep, I drift back to when I picked her up at daycare. I cry another couple of tears.  Are you her father? Yes, I'm her father, and I always will be.