My Teacher is Four Months Old

"Buddy, what's wrong? I don't know what else to do for you. Why do you keep crying?"

I often times find myself repeating this phrase. My wife works many late evenings as a ballet instructor, leaving me home to take care of my son. I cherish the time. But I don't have the tenderness to my voice like my wife does. I don't have that soft soothing touch. My hands are dry and my voice is sometimes stern. When our boy cries my wife melts like butter, the kind of butter you could heal the worst of wounds with. She's good like that. When I hear crying, my ears ring, and i feel like I'm 12 years old and my little sister just slugged me in the gut. When I feel this this way, I remember that my son is my teacher. And when I frame the present moment in this regard, I ask my self, "So, if my baby is my teacher, what is he teaching me right now?"
When I ask my self this question I am immediately humbled and open. Not angry, not defensive, not frustrated. I am teachable. Patience is the obvious lesson here. But, it goes deeper. He is teaching me composure, unconditional love, responsibility, charity. Most importantly each and every lesson is a reminder to be open to the next.