The last few months have been exciting. I get to celebrate the simplest things now:
first smiles, first time grabbing things, even pushups now have a pleasant aura
about them—when I’m doing the watching, of course.
However, I’ve found some negative aspects to it that make it
a challenge for me. For instance, as
much as I feel I’m the more emotional one in our family, I just don’t feel
quite as “mommy” as I could if I were . . . a mommy. Yes, I feed my daughter; I change her diaper,
wash her diapers, play with her, read to her, take her for walks and so
on. But let’s take the playing as an
example of how I’m not very mommy.
For me, there’s a certain amount of playing that needs to be
done. We have certain developmental
tasks that we need to be working on—quad blasting, balance, consonantal
articulation—periods of time with the various toys, regular changes of
location. I call this scheduled
fun. And the “fun” doesn’t stop
there. I even collect data on when she
sleeps and eats, and how much of each. I’ve
been hesitant to record when she poops.
I’ll let you guess what I ended up deciding on that one.
Basically, like any good guy, there's a job to be done. So we
get in and git er done. Even making sure
to not just hurry through things is a checklist item in the ol’ planner.
Physiology is the next major challenge. Not only am I not mentally a woman, I’m not
physically one. Yep, bottles can be taken
anywhere. Nobody’s going to accuse you
of indecency if you wave a bottle around in public. Uncovered.
Or spray milk all over. I admit
that’s pretty handy. But just because
she can eat anywhere doesn’t mean she does it. Like with breastfeeding, she has her certain
places and positions that she has grown accustomed to when it’s time to
eat. And that’s what she demands or she goes
on strike. And when we’re out too long,
guess what. I don’t have the built-in components
to magic up some more milk for her.
Better pack a thermos or stay close to home.
As if the mind and the body were not enough, society is the
last challenge I’ll drag into this. I’ll
admit, on most days I forget that I participated in a war, taught college and did
some other cool stuff that would give most people a lot of confidence. But I still manage to feel somewhat valuable
even when all questions regarding how we raise our daughter are directed to my
wife. “So, what kind of diapers do you
use?” “Does she have a sleep schedule?” “Is it hard having daycare?” Woah, what?
Since when am I “daycare”?
Ya, those hit a solid nerve and a half. But the two things that get me most are
these. Nobody, and I mean nobody
invites me to play groups. Granted,
splitting between one other mom and myself would feel more like a play date for
us than for my daughter who isn’t going on dates until she’s married. But I’m pretty sure play groups come in
different sizes. What—don’t think I can
talk about cooking? Afraid I’m anti-feminism? That doesn’t even make sense—look at my
family!
Now, here’s the killer.
ALL of my daughter’s clothing, from the boy hand-me-down clothes to the
brand new girly clothes ALL say “Mommy loves me” or “I love Mommy!” I love her too, don’t get me wrong. But I just deleted the first words that came
to my keyboard. Doesn’t anyone realize
that our society is falling apart because onesies don’t encourage complete
families? It all starts right there on
that little piece of cloth that absorbs everything the diaper misses. Curse you, multi-billion-dollar baby fashion
industry. My wife hunted around for some
clothing to make me feel better. By
Father’s Day she came up with ONE.
Seriously. On Father’s Day. What do they think dad’s want, ties? Socks?
Come to think of it, I am running a little low on socks right now.
I’ll end the complaining now. I know my wife’s a bit jealous that I get to
see more of Felicity’s developments.
When she gets home from work it’s almost time to put Felicity to
bed. Then in the morning she’s getting
ready for work about the time Felicity is waking up. I’m lucky that I get to see smiles and laughter
so often, and I love that.
