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.
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Sunday, April 5, 2015
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...
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...
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