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.
