Sunday, June 13, 2004

Back to the World

Hi everyone, ...anything happen the last week and a half? If it did, I probably didn't hear about it.

As you know, I've been promoted to Dad status. WND has been promoted to my old position, "Dork". Baby will be filling in for WND as the household "Cutie".

The wife is sawing serious wood next to me, ...the marque says the next feeding is at 1:30am so I've finally got some time to kill.

While I'd like to rehash the baby's suprise entrance here, I just don't have the energy. I've been away from work for 10 days and I haven't had a single day of rest. What's worse, I haven't had a single night of good, solid slumber either.

Baby came early, so our remodeling and redecorating was only about 40% done when she arrived. I go back to work tomorrow and I'm about as done as I'll ever be, ...so I'll be exercising one of my very best skills, walking away.

Babies really are a lot of work. It's not difficult or dangerous or overwhelming work, ...it's just enough to keep you in a constant state of fret. Kind of like a Christmas tree. You chop it down and stick it into a bowl of water to keep it in suspended animation just long enough to open presents and stuff your face. Babies keep your house one step away from clean, your energy level one step away from exhausted, your time one step away from being late, and your life one step away from total disorganization. Parenthood is being chopped off at the knees, stuck in a bowl of water and suspended in that state for 18 years.

But that's not all. You are not only a parent, you are a father. And fatherhood has it's own set of issues. You now worry about the cost of milk, the tightness of your car seat, the lead paint in your house. You worry that every gasp out of your sleeping baby's mouth could be her last, that every mosquito that penetrates your home's exterior could be the one to give her the west nile virus, that the staircase to your front door is a deathtrap.

In the first days of fatherhood, I could not put Baby down for more that 30 seconds without checking her to make sure she was still on her back and still breathing. For her first few nights, I held her all night, afraid to lay her down. I've gotten over that, but I still check her whenever I can, tickling her cheek just to see her facial expression change. It's a grim watch, I know.

After being born incredibly small, she's taken to eating and belching like George Wendt. Conssequently, she's growing fast and her baby clothes almost fit her now.

She's more alert now than last week. She can look at me for extended moments, and can even smile at me. It's during those moments that it hits me. I'm it. I'm the rock, the provider, the problem solver. I'm the one who must have all the answers. I'm the one who is supposed to "make it better".

To her, I'm the lifegaurd. To me, I'm the kid hanging on the side of the pool, too afraid to go in the center.

I'm the same guy who did all those stupid things, ...lighting bottle rockets out the window of my own moving car (almost blowing the heads off of my two friends in the back seat when I released the rocket too early), drinking 13 whisky sours in 2 hours, joining a rock band at the age of 31. You get the picture.

I don't feel like I've changed, but I must have, ...because I would not do those things again. I still think about new cars, computer upgrades, video games, beer, ...but I don't act upon those feelings.

Thankless restraint. The MO of the father.