As you add kids it feels like another opportunity to do it better. It feels like a playoff series went from single elimination to a best-of-three series. Well, in my case, more like right to the best-of-seven. Do overs certainly aren’t free, but they exist.
My wife is the first to remind me of my actions and inactions from early 2018 onwards. That was the birth of our first son. As the narrator tells the story it appears that I was inherently unhelpful. The infractions that I did not know (at the time) were sins will live forever in the timeline of her mind. I have a curiosity as to how much weight the early moments of fatherhood actually count towards my final grade. A real “Anyway, how as the play Ms. Lincoln?” situation on my hindsight as they overshadow much of the story.
Shit all started when I fell asleep. I dont remember why I was lying down. I vaguely remember that there was instructions to “get some rest” for the both of us. I guess I took that literally and my wife took that in 9 to 13 minute increments. Where I was interrupted by weird dreams that matched the rythm of the beeping monitors, she was interrupted by the multi-hourly bomb that would go off in her uterus. Anyway, I fell asleep.
I’ve always been really good at falling asleep. No better evidence than my 6’5″ frame curled up on the 5’6″ hospital bench. I swear those hospitals make furniture like they expect two moms to give birth. How do you think that big ass baby got there Doc? Should have brougth my own futon.
Sleeping is a survival mechanism I picked up in college to deal with stress and anxiety. I cannot say it’s a great long term solution, but the more depressed I got, the more anxious I felt, the easier it was to just be tired and close my eyes. Apparently, ten-ish months after sleeping with your wife is a TERRIBLE time to use sleep to cope with anxiety.
I was awaken by the staff and the energy was heightened. Truthfully, I don’t know when the doctor and the three or four nurses got to the room or what I slept through. I think I was self-aware enough at the time to be embarrassed. To feel the weight of failure. I also couldn’t see for shit because I couldn’t find my glasses. Yet, as my feet hit cold hospital tile I was immediately given sterile clothes to slip over what I was wearing. I had seconds, they said, as they unlocked the bed and wheeled her into the OR. Little boy was stuck and his heart rate was dropping… pushing was over and cutting was happening. It has been said that fathers should be around when that happens.
We came home four days later. I think I went back to work pretty soon thereafter- like immediately. Another memory of “sleeping” through my responsibilites. Only this time, I was awake and physically absent instead of asleep and physically worthless. I didn’t prioritize my wife and her split stomach.
SIDEBAR: No one prepped me on what a c-section actually meant and that the recovery is far worse than you bitchy women who like to brag about vaginal births like you did something right. Like you earned that split down the middle any more than a build-a-bear earns it’s split. Well, maybe your husband is too small to make a properly big-headed baby? Ever thought of that? Ever think, damn, that baby got stuck in the birth canal because that baby has a huge brain, what a warrior mom for carrying around a big brain child that cannot slip through a vagina because that brain is so large? Ever thought of that?! Ever been like, damn, that girl went full “Alien” and popped that motherfucker right out of her belly? You didnt think of that. You were too busy high-fiving your other vaginal shoots and ladder sisters. I’m just saying, ab-splitters deserve more credit.
I digress…. In short, I didn’t know how to help when I was home nor did I understand what man I was supposed to be at that time. I felt more pressure from my job than I did from my family. I gave in to that pressure. I failed.
Somewhere along the way, about thirty days later, my wife began sleeping with my son in another room. It was a two bedroom townhome which now consisted of me in a king, my son in a crib, and my wife on a pull out love seat in the nursery. It’s hard to type that out- woof.
My wife remembers me saying that it would be better for her to sleep on the couch because I, as father, cannot nurse the baby so what’s the point of both of us being awake for it. I am not sure if that happened or not, but it really doesnt matter because the outcome was the same… I was physically unavailable. I certainly did not fight for the opposite to happen (her to stay, me to help) and that’s equally as bad if not worse.
I don’t know when the first memory is of me being a good father. No one reminds me of that, to be honest. The stories of me sleeping through (literally and figuratively) the first phases of my son’s life tell a lot better than the opposite stories of when I did something ok. And maybe they only tell well because the conclusion is that I am not a fucking deadbeat so stories of major miscues seem funny now.
It is not hard to spend a lot time circling all the places I let my son dowm over the last 8 years. If you’re a dad reading this, maybe you can do the same. I don’t know if these let downs are eveen true or not, partially or wholly. I also wonder if thinking this way is normal. I hear my dad, every once in a while, apologize or mention stupid shit. Shit that I know he thinks about in terms of what he would change, alter, tweak just a little in our upbringing. It’s only in his head though. Not once have I thought about what I wish my father was or dwell on what he could have done differently, but I think he thinks about it all the time. And now I do.
Perhaps this is just fatherhood. It’s looking back trying to do better next time- whether that means with the same kid or the next one.
The question I have with my new, youngest son is not, “Will I have regrets in raising him?” because I think that is ineveitable. What I need to be careful of, however, is owning those regrets. We are in this early stage where everything can be blamed on something or someone else. There are comparisons that can sneak into your mind- “This is better than he had it” or “This is a trait he learned somewhere else” or even “I am working with someone else’s child.” All of those are evil, chicken-shit thoughts.
The youngest boy, and his sister, are starting to feel like my children only. The youngest especially because he cannot verbally express anything different. He cannot tell me he misses his “real mama” like his sister can tell me. Although it’s only been 90 days, I feel like a football coach in his second or third year after being hired. Maybe early on you can blame those losses on the coach before you and his shit players. However, eventually, those players, this program, is all yours and the wins and losses can only get attributed to one coach.
Even as I type this I think of ways I’ve let all my children down- especially my eldest. It feels, often, like I did not steer his wheel hard enough in a better direction on certain things. Most of it is contrived, I am pretty sure.
If I am completely honest, I would describe him as so kind, so creative, so funny, and so tender-hearted. If I could ask for anything from God, I would ask for him… I just don’t want to fall asleep again.
Leave a comment