Dad Belly

***WARNING***
Do not attempt after feeding child or while child is asleep!
Always keep a watchful eye and firm grip on child!
Remember to use this as bonding time first, fitness time second.

I'm just going to say that if you aren't worn out from playing with your newborn, you're doing something wrong.

Before she was born, I was in the gym (tried to be in the gym) three to four times a week. I'll say that I've never been a muscle-bound, squat-devotee, but I've always felt that mental, spiritual, and physical fitness is the triumvirate of optimum wellness.

Well, she came into the world, and there's very little time to do anything other than feed, burp, change, and repeat. That means you have to hit your fitness at home. Lucky for you, there are some gym equivalences you can get with your kiddo.

1. Front Plate Raise

 

This is an easy enough workout at the gym. Grab a plate, hold it, raise it without using your legs to about your eye level. It works the deltoids and back really well.

Guess what- your kid will love it. Get in ten sets of ten reps.

2. Goblet Squat (a.k.a. Sumo Squat)

This one hits your hams and quads like nobody's business. You want burn? Do 8 sets of 5.

3. Plank

 Can't you just picture the little one, staring up at you, wiggling and giggling while you tone your abs? I know, it sounds crazy. It sounds obsessive. But, having a child doesn't mean you can't work on keeping your ticker healthy.

Start off small, 10-15 seconds, then build up time until he or she starts crawling. Then...

4. Bear Crawl/Mountain Climbers

 Try to keep up!

Taking Time

All of our life decisions impact our futures. And, more often than not, it's as simple as making up our minds how we want to proceed. We do it, and it's done. What to eat for breakfast, getting a tattoo, purchasing our first car, all have one thing in common: the decision lasts for that moment, then it doesn't change.

Being a father, on the other hand, is a decision (or it should be) that will need it's diapers changed, need to be fed, bathed, played with, read to, and, most importantly, be loved for the rest of your life. It's a decision that's fraught with frantic what-ifs, split-second analytics, and foregoing some things that have been around since childhood (c'mon, you mean I have to give up Sunday Night Football?).

But, if there's one thing I've noticed over the past three months, it's that having a kid brings newfound glory. It brings the opportunity to shed your skin of adulthood and once again reclaim old hobbies. What I'm talking about is time.

We hear horror stories of fathers waking up in the middle of the night, bumbling oafs careening toward the fridge to pull out the breast milk or formula, stubbing our toes against the confusion of things left out from the nights, weekends, months before that just haven't been put away yet. It's a catastrophe, and we're scrambling to calm an inconsolable child.

I've been there, and here's what I've learned:

We, the fathers of the world, enact on instinct to try and care for our offspring in whatever way possible. We take it personally when our child scrapes a knee, or when our children get into sibling fights. We see it as a failure, that we didn't do right by our kiddos. So, at 3 a.m. when our babies are screaming, I think I'm failing my child by waiting too long to get her the food she wants. But, and I think it hit me three weeks ago, I had to remember that my baby had been getting fed. Often. In fact, she had been getting fed so often that it suddenly made sense to me how she could fill an entire diaper, be changed, and then ten minutes later fill another. I had to also learn that she could wait the extra 5 minutes it would take to heat up her bottle. And, this is where things got interesting.

I've already written about "The New Norm," in which we don't put on pause everything we ever knew simply to rear a child. We invite them to be a part of our lives, because they are after all. We invite them to cook with us even when they can't lift their heads. We take them on walks with us because they have to learn eventually, right?

It's all about time. Babies force us to slow down. I think that sometimes life acts like a river, where the shores come closer and closer together until we have nothing but white rapids and low-hanging branches. The best we can do is hold on for dear life. But, I don't think that's the case. I think sometimes our struggles as parents are self-inflicted.

We're told that the best way to raise a child is to sing to them, read to them, play with them, introduce them to our friends, and we get caught up in thinking that this all has to happen at once. But, these mandates do not need to be "if not now than never." You cannot rush The Hobbit, cooking chicken will not take less than 5 minutes. Besides, if all we're ever doing is rushing around to raise a child, what is that child going to learn from us?

It helps to have a partner in all this. My wife is such an amazing woman and I could only hope to have half the resolve, compassion, and strength she shows daily. I have to remember that being a parent is a lot like restoring a classic car. If something doesn't work the first time, open up the hood and try something else. Except, now there's an extra set of hands that wants to be under the hood with you. Invite your child to take it slowly. You, take it slowly.

Having Children Is Selfish

Recently, I saw a headline (which was total click-bait) that read: "7 Reasons Why Being Child-free Isn't Selfish." Naturally, I clicked and followed the link which lead to a reasonable article about not having children. It was actually a pretty decent read, though it lacked substance.

Hey, I get'cha. I don't think we are born saying to ourselves, when we finally learn how to say to ourselves, "I'm gonna have kids when I start ovulating."

It's okay if you don't want kids. In fact, if you aren't completely sold on the idea of having children, do yourself a favor and keep that thing wrapped. Because, sex.

However, if you do decide to have kids, there are things you have to be prepared for:

1. Decide first, I mean really decide, that you want to have children. It has to be a choice. It has to be an expectation. You have to firmly and truthfully want to raise kids.

2. Don't back down/ run away/ change your identity/ become a bartender in Tahiti. Look, once you've devoted yourself, you have to take the plunge. More than just yourself will depend on you.

3. Be prepared to love more than you have ever loved before. Having a kid is like turning the ignition on that project car in the garage and hearing it roar to life. It's like that first spark when you're building your own fire. It's beating your fastest time  in the 500 meter dash. You have to be prepared to accept the fact that you've just leaped over a major hurdle. The race isn't over yet.

4. Be prepared for father/motherhood. Your kid will wake you up every 2 hours. You will feed him or her for 45 minutes. You will not fall back asleep until it's time to feed again. This is certainly not for the faint of heart. This stuff makes the Spartans piss their tunics. If you're not on time, your kid will let you know, and you'll start to fall down that slippery slope of guilt, thinking that you will never be able to live up to the image of perfection your kid has of you. So, take turns with your significant other. That's not to say that while you're waiting for your turn to take care of the little one you're going to get some rest, because, in all actuality, you're more than likely to be just as unsettled as your kiddo. It's okay. You're human, which means that you have within you generations of training.

I tell you this to help you understand that having a kid is more than just waiting for a little person to pop out of a woman's vagina. It takes preparation. It takes battle-readiness level alertness. It takes a sense of duty.

If you can't, don't.

If you can, it can be one of the most rewarding moments of your life. Nothing compares to the first smile, like THE FIRST SMILE, of your kid, aimed directly at you and no one else. Nothing else compares to the beauty of the fingers and toes and belly buttons.

So yeah, it's selfish, I guess, to want to take care of a little one. It's a flaw I'm willing to admit.

Losing It

I freaked out last night.

Truly, I almost completely shut down.

I stared at my five and a half week old daughter on the changing table while she screamed at the top of her lungs, kicking her legs, wrestling some imaginary rabid black bear, and all I could think about was a beach somewhere off the coast of Spain, me in a hammock, cold cava in a crystal glass condensing sweet, sweet droplets of heaven onto my hand.

Through the night, she maintained this Gitmo-style assault on our senses, reeling back and doing her best banshee impersonation. This is what babies do, I had to keep reminding myself. They deprive us of sleep and our most basic human natures! Nothing worked, however. I couldn't pull myself from the slump.

It wasn't my proudest moment. It wasn't even my second proudest moment. In fact, I felt like shit.

I spent the entire night thinking that I couldn't do it, and I had let my wife and my baby down.

I don't know if every father has a moment like this. Some, I suppose, never have any other moments, and those are the ones we hear about running out on their children, on their obligations, on their progeny.

I suppose there are other fathers out there who become despondent, reclusive, and untouchable.

Each man takes to child rearing differently, but it's no easier for some than others.

We're still dealing in children, guys. We're still bringing up baby. We're still the one without the nipples, with the facial stubble, with the dreams of throwing catch.

I freaked out last night, and it lasted a few hours. But eventually, I got over it. She stopped her torment. She stopped crying and yelling and squirming, and her eyes, teary and perfect blue, transfixed on mine. And for that moment, nothing else moved. I think she recognized my goatee and handlebar moustache, and I pictured us throwing the ball around in the back yard with our dogs, my wife sitting under the porch umbrella clapping whenever our daughter caught the ball. I saw the swings on the playground, the dresses and braids.

And, what happened last night?

It was a moment of total and utter confusion.

Gentlemen, we don't sleep. We shouldn't sleep. The mother of your child is not solely responsible for ensuring the survival of the one person who will love you uncontrollably and unconditionally because he or she is a part of you. The best part of you.

As I stood there fuming, near tears, I had to force myself to recognize that my anger is coming from a paternal instinct to care for my child. I was frustrated because I couldn't tell what was wrong, and I couldn't fix it. I was getting angry with myself because no matter what she still cried. And guess what, that's okay.

In fact, these are the emotions we should have. We should feel like our lives depend on our children's lives. That means we care enough to make sure they survive. It's when we decide we have to leave, it's when we grab our car keys and go without looking back that we allow that one part of us to die.

So, fight for frustration because you don't understand. Fight for anger for your inability to calm her down at night. Fight for these emotions because they tell you that you're caring in the right way. Constantly remind yourself that these nights are going to be one in a million, and those other 999,999 nights are going to be filled with immense joy and boundless love.

Until she turns 15...

Returning to the New Normal

My wife and I are exceptional people.

What I mean by that is, she and I have found life. We've traveled the globe. We've tasted great wine. We've taken pictures with strangers. And, this has moulded and shaped us into who we are today.

We are fortunate enough to be able to take time off when we need it. Our jobs are fairly open about it. So, when we have enough money, we jet set and get on our way.

In all the places we've visited, from all the sunsets we've been able to see, nothing compares to holding a squirming baby, trying to translate its alien language into something that somewhat resembles human emotion so that you two can come to some sort of amicable agreement.

It used to be that waking up in the middle of the night was a trip to the bathroom, that bed time was an abstract thought long lost in the annals of my autobiography, lost with toe kisses and sack races. It was once that dinner was served hot and steaming, prepared the moment I stepped through the door. I remember a time where my eyes would close and stay closed for longer than two hours at a time.

They always tell you these things going into parenthood, but you never fully believe them until it happens.

The three of us got home three days after she was born, and I knew right then and there that the rumors were true.

But, here's the kicker.

Screw the rumors.

You see, that little human, complete with ten fingers and ten toes, is some kind of miracle. It's the way a rainstorm leaves the ground glistening and smelling like heaven. It's whatever heaven is.

Sure, the screaming and the pooping and the spilled breast milk and razor sharp nails are annoying. But it's all a part of growing up.

Perhaps that's what this is about. Growing up.

My wife and I have been married for eight years. In that time, we fall into routines. It makes life easier so that we have more time to enjoy one another. If the dishes get washed the moment they're dirty, the pile doesn't stack up, and we avoid a K2-level dishalanche. If the laundry happens to get folded quickly, there's more time to cuddle on the couch. Routine is the gears in a well-oiled marriage machine.

Throw the baby into the mix, and it's one step closer to the bombing of Big Ben.

But it doesn't have to be.

It didn't take long for my wife, my daughter, and I to realize that we needed a new normal. The dogs still needed walking, the fans still needed dusting, and I still needed to put words to paper. So, from the chaos is born a new routine.

It takes time. The new routine involves stretching out chores so that they don't pile up. A great example is the laundry. It's hard enough to stay on top of the washing and the folding when you're perfectly sober and it's a Saturday. With a newborn, it's important to do small loads, substituting the all-or-nothing mentality for small-for-nothing mentality.

Babies tend to sleep and eat and soil their diapers fairly frequently. So, part of the new normal has been to become speed cleaners. When she's down for a nap, the missus and I get our elbows dirty, subscribing ourselves to one task at a time. I may scrub the shower while she sweeps and mops the kitchen.

Don't overstretch yourself. Your baby doesn't need you to watch creepily as he or she sleeps. Let sleeping babies lie!

Guess what dads. While the little bundle of joy is suckling his or her dinner, it's time for you to do something productive! Wash the dishes, start some laundry, weed-whack the lawn. Find out what kind of things you can do really quickly, or break down the larger chores into smaller chunks.

The New Normal is just a fancy way of saying that your lives are changed. Forever. For the better. A child doesn't have to be a ticking time-bomb. In the middle of all this, it can be easy to forget that. It can be easy to lose yourself in the newness, forget who you are. Make time to do something for yourself, whether it's brewing a cup of tea in the morning before anyone wakes up, or take an extra 5 minutes in the shower. Your baby looks up to you, looks to you for guidance and love.

Above all else, remember that you've created life, and its your job and duty to protect that life. Be proud of that.

A New Dad

I'm new at this whole dad thing. I mean, like, less than a week into it. And, as I sit here typing with one hand because the other is clutching to the slumbering behind of my freshly minted daughter, I can't help but feel like I've tapped into a greater conscious, a secret ocean full of whispering waves, a legacy filtered from Adam through us all.

I have a daughter. There's probably nothing more I could add to the wisdom of the literal trillions of men who have raised girls, so I'm not going to attempt it. I want to pass on my thoughts instead because somewhere out there, there's another father who will know someone has had the same emotions flooding through him. To get us off on the right foot, here are my first thoughts as a new dad, when my daughter was just barely 5 hours old.

1) Mothers: you deserve a spa day. You deserve a great meal. You deserve a partner who loves and adores you, who will wake up to wash the dishes just so you can have an extra fifteen minutes of sleep. You deserve to be worshipped.

2) My wife is a champion of life. Every step she walked during this pregnancy was taken to protect our child, to be her voice, and to serve as the best possible caretaker. For those of you who believe the man is the defender of the household, you are sorely mistaken. Mothers: embrace your child as my wife embraced ours and the fruits you bear will be returned upon you tenfold.

3) Fathers: your job is not to sit and read the newspaper in your comfy chair on Sunday mornings. Your job starts the moment you hold hands with the potential mother of your child. Your job us to build her up, to confide in her, to believe she is capable of anything, because, guess what, she is! She can make humans. You can't! There's nothing so close to magic as that! Love her. Cook for her. Pull the car around when it's cold. Do the same for your kid. Be a legend in your child's eyes by living as a legend. Show your son that holding a door open for the next person isn't just kind, it's a recognition that we are all walking through the same doors, and it's okay to show your vulnerability. Show your daughters that there are good men in this world who will take her to the movies and pay for popcorn because the only thing they want is to be near her. That, my fellow fathers, is your job. That, and don't forget to never stop loving the woman who made your children. She is as precious to you as your own life, for you share a destiny, and that destiny will always try to make you proud.

That's it for this post. There will be more to come.