Now, she was in the world and I had to share her with others. Including her dad. Now, it’s not that I didn’t trust him. My husband is a compassionate husband and father. It’s just that he doesn’t do things the way that I do them. He held the baby differently. I cradled her close, showing her my maternal love. He held her facing outward so she would have a world view. He transported her differently. I carried her in my arms from room to room as I tidied up. He placed her in the stroller and rolled her around so that he could put things away and still keep an eye on her. He comforted her differently. I rocked her quietly to calm her; he bounced her. He even fed her differently. I breast-fed her at 2:00 a.m. He bottle-fed her at 2:00 p.m. (Okay, so I can’t hold biology against the poor guy.) It’s just that it was difficult to accept that someone could relate to Mary in another way. Undoubtedly, I was very insecure, and sharing her was hard. Even with her dad. It was Dad’s time to watch his little girl. He had placed her on the living-room floor for a moment and then inadvertently turned his back. We began our search there. As it turned out, she had crawled over to the floor-length picture window and was hiding behind the drapes. It was the first time that she had crawled. Our baby had reached a new point in her life because my husband, her dad, had let her expand her horizons. During all those months of pregnancy while I complained, I never imagined how difficult it would be to let her go once she was born. For me, it was the first test of motherhood — to let Dad be Dad. To realize that someone else could nurture my child in his own way. And to realise that what he had to give her, I couldn’t give. — Beliefnet.com (concluded)