Fatherhood: A Review in Progress

Parenting is a bitch. This sentiment might upset a select few but it is 100 percent true. Taking on that mantle means thrusting yourself into a torturous duality where one version of you mourns the death of another while simultaneously reveling in the most potent ecstasy you’ve ever known. This back and forth coupled with the sleep deprivation that comes standard issue with a new child is a brand of madness so dizzying and overwhelming that it demands a revision of every belief you’ve ever held. For example, I used to think big families looked like fun; now Cheaper by The Dozen sits more like a horror/thriller than a family comedy.

Seasoned parents might laugh at me because the harsh reality is that I am only a few months into a lifelong endeavor and am still plantain green. I still have loads to learn but I’ve also picked up on a couple things I think are worth talking about.

#1: Mom is God.

This is an obvious conclusion for anyone who’s paying attention. For all my slaving at work and chores at home, there isn’t anything I’ve been hit by that hasn’t affected my wife ten fold. We often get into discussions I like to call the “Exhaustion Olympics” wherein one of us (me) will make mention of how tired they are forcing the other party to politely remind them that they have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about. For her, there is no escape.

There are times where I am in the thick of it, ready to parent the shit out of this kid but he has no interest in having me solve his problems whatsoever. He wants Mom. Why? Biology. This lets me off the hook which is kind of nice but is ultimately unsatisfying. This has taught me to be proactive and as a result, a better partner. Even with two fully competent parents and regular assistance from my sister, there is entirely too much to do. If he’s screaming because of some trapped gas, what good are her efforts to calm him down if there are still no clean bottles to feed him with after the frenzy is done?

I haven’t even touched on the physical wear she’s experienced beyond the pregnancy which is worthy of an article all its own. My wife stands an even 5 feet, the baby is half her size. To make matters worse, she’s caught in this Sisyphean hellscape where as she loses her pregnancy weight, the kid gets that much bigger, effectively zeroing out her efforts to mitigate the strain. To make matters worse she also still has to navigate aftershocks from the epidural that regularly send bolts of agony down her spine. Despite all this, she marches forward. Meanwhile, there I am whining like a schmuck about my sore feet.

#2: This sucks in the best way.

I am fortunate to have friends that still engage with me even after I’ve virtually withdrawn from their lives. My wife and I have always been staunch homebodies so there was never much going out being done anyway but I’ll be damned if I don’t feel a little bit like Ariel in The Little Mermaid when I see all of the stuff my friends and colleagues get to do with their free time; a resource that has gone the way of the dodo in our household. All of a sudden now that I don’t have any time to burn, I have a stronger impetus to get things done, which is frustratingly typical of me. Two years ago if we had a 3-day weekend it was wasted watching Frasier a fourth time through and sleeping. Today I’ll see a half hour lull in our schedule and bulldoze my way through a page of dialogue. Similarly, my wife will stop dead in her tracks to get an amazing shot that presents itself to her out of the blue. These opportunities are scarce and it sucks that it sometimes takes three days to make it through a 30-minute TV show, but we are making more of the time we do have than ever before.

#3. Life isn’t over.

While it wasn’t a secret that our lives were going to change I don’t know if either of us was prepared for the gravity of what awaited us. Like many people warned us, the first three months were absolute misery. I was working the graveyard shift while my wife dealt with him waking every couple of hours overnight. After work, I’d make it back home just past 8 AM to provide some temporary support but would have to go to bed soon after to ensure that I got a humane amount of sleep before going back in at 11. This gave us maybe 4–5 hours where we would have to deal with run of the mill obligations like cleaning, laundry, dishes. On days off, I maintained my night owl status so that my wife could rest but more often than not those best-laid plans were foiled by circumstantial complications that required her attention (See #1).

Needless to say the relationship side of things took a hit and we became more like coworkers than spouses. When we did get to talk, it was about the baby and for a while, we got stuck there. This is an easy trap to fall into and thank goodness we recognized what was going on before we lost sight of one another.

I eventually was able to move off the graveyard shift which was a lifesaver. Not only were our schedules back on track but the baby caught up as well which allowed him to rest easier. We learned there was a pattern: things were bad, got worse, then got a little better than it was before it was bad. Lather, rinse, repeat.

The older he gets the more manageable things become. I’m tempted to say easier but it isn’t the case really. These days we have to contend with his iron grip seizing everything from the pets’ tails to hot bowls of soup but hey he’s figured out how to fart so at least we’re sleeping through the night. My love and I get some time to ourselves occasionally thanks to his auntie with more organic opportunities set to establish themselves as he cultivates his independence but for now, we’re shuffling our way through the mire.

All in all, I’d say I’m happy with how we’re doing. There are certainly bad days where I think about how things may have been less complicated if we had made different choices, but just thinking about that makes me feel guilty.

Now that I’ve met him, I can’t live without him.