Postpartum – A Father’s PerspectivePosted: February 28, 2011 Filed under: Brothers Karamazov 2 Comments
Not long ago, the wonderful Roni blogged openly about the troubles of being a new mother. I’ve had some time to think about what she said in her post, and I thought it might be helpful to get the perspective on the stresses of becoming a new father. While I don’t shout Roni’s battle cry of “HABERMAS!” I do write this, much as she did, in the spirit of open and frank discussion about the difficulties and triumphs of becoming a first-time parent. Also, I am not an expert and never will be an expert on child rearing. I only know what I do from my personal experience, and the experiences of others may well be different.
Let’s get this out of the way, becoming a father is nothing like becoming a mother. I’ve heard it said that a woman becomes a mother the second she finds out she is going to have a child, and a man becomes a father when he first sees his child. I could not agree more with this statement.
I remember that Roni said she felt a little disconnected from the Bwun when he was born. She had known him for nine months as the little guy inside her. Then, he was always close and always quiet. She said it was hard to make the connection between the child inside that she had grown to love and this wriggling poop factory that we now had to deal with. For me, on the other hand, actually having the baby to hold and care for was completely different than being able to feel him kick every now and then. Seeing him born made him real; it made him a part of my world. I think perhaps nothing shows this difference better than our first reactions to seeing the Bwun: I knew that I loved him and would protect him with my life because he was the most beautiful child I had ever seen, Mika took one look and said “Bleh!”
For me, the hardest part of being a new father was not dealing with a new child, but dealing with a new mother. As Roni said in her post, she honestly felt like she was doing a horrible job at being a mother. The baby would cry (as babies are wont to do), laundry needed to get done (it is because of poop, people), and there was little to no sleep. No matter how often I told her that I thought she was doing a great job, and no matter how often I told her that part of the reason I married her was because I thought she would make an amazing mother, it did not seem to help. I still maintain that despite the apparent uselessness of these comments, these were important things to say.
Also, it was important for me to remember that nobody really knows what they are doing when they become a parent. No matter how many parenting books we had read, no matter how many episodes of “Super Nanny” we had watched, and no matter how many childbirth education classes we attended, nothing could ever really get us ready for such a huge change in our lives. Case in point, it took both of us 15-20 minutes to get the Bwun dressed the first time. It doesn’t take me that long to get him dressed now when he is literally kicking and screaming. We’ve been at this parenthood business for 2 years now and I still feel like we’re shooting from the hip. This is normal. This is part of being a parent. It is interesting to note that none of the fears that Roni and I had about becoming a parent came to light. I didn’t think our child was ugly and both of our children do love her.
My advice? Just keep doing the best you can. Let your baby know you love them. Let your baby mama know you love and support her. In the end, that is really all you can do. Also, remember that things get better; the crazy postpartum hormones wear off and the baby starts to be interesting. Is it hard? Yes. Is it worth it? Definitely.
tl;dr: hardest part of being a new dad is dealing with a new mom.
HeartlessPosted: February 28, 2011 Filed under: War and Peace 10 Comments
The Romgi thinks I’m heartless.
He’s wrong: I just believe in enforcing the law.
There have been a lot of news stories in the past few years about little kids having their lemonade stands shut down because they were in violation of city ordinances, which say you can’t peddle goods on a public street or sell goods in a public venue (like a farmer’s market) without a permit. You know what? I support those closures! Sob stories mean nothing to me. I always think of the line in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat (yeah, I listen to it all the time in the car, really ALL THE TIME), “All this tugging at my heart-strings…”, but in my case, it’s not justified. Those little kids were in the wrong. The cops who shut them down? IN THE RIGHT.
Yesterday the Romgi sent me a link to a news article about Girl Scouts being told they couldn’t sell cookies outside the home of the Girl Scouts founder, Juliette Gordon Low, in Savannah, Georgia. The reason is that they were on the public sidewalk, which meant they were peddling. The officials were really nice, and tried to find a solution, but there wasn’t anywhere else on the property that the girls could set up shop.
I support Girl Scouts. And I love their cookies.
But I’m also heartless enough to give a little cheer for victories like this. The law is the law. No exceptions!
(This heartless attitude caused quite a stir in my student development class. We were discussing whether a man who was convicted of a felony and sentenced to jail for 10 years, then escaped and started a new life of do-good-ery somewhere else, should be turned in and sent back to jail years later if he were recognized. I may have shouted a resounding YES! My reason? He may have “made up” for his past deeds by being a philanthropist or even a saint, but it’s not his call to say that it was a fair trade. He was sentenced to jail. He doesn’t want to be in jail? GOOD! That’s the point – it’s a punishment!)
P.S. Krista, I really do support Girl Scouts. Really. Cookies soon, right?
Happy Day You CAKE!Posted: February 27, 2011 Filed under: Dangerous Book for Boys, Importance of Being Earnest 3 Comments
Evan has heard the song “Happy Birthday” quite a few times this past week. He not only got it as often as he wanted on his birthday (which was VERY often), but he also went to a birthday party. You throw in that my father’s birthday party was not that long ago, and this is the result: