2 Under 2: You know nothing, Jon Snow (#054)

When it was revealed that I would be having a second child just 16 months after my first child, I tried to mentally prepare myself to treat everything as one, really really long child raising experience, and to not get too complacent in the time between children, so that I wouldn’t be blindsided by when everything inevitably goes tits up once the #2 arrives.

Yeah, telling myself all this stuff for nine months is easy, but trying to not let it affect life in general is a completely different ballgame.  Needless to say, no matter how much I tried to mentally prepare myself, few things can really physically prepare you for the rigors of newborn babies, even more so when you’ve there’s additionally a toddler that commands a tremendous amount of time, energy and attention on top of it.

I wanted to believe that mythical wife and I were better prepared as second-time parents, but we’ve learned that there are already many circumstances that are different now that have completely de-pantsed us, and rendered us as helpless and defeated as brand new parents probably feel, no matter how much advice they get, books they read, or any other means of preparation they embark on.

Mainly, the difference between #2 and #1 is the full-term versus a premature birth, and the fact that there was no NICU stay needed for #2, and we were really able to start being parents from day 1, unlike the first time, where we basically had to relinquish care of our child for 15 days, while she strengthened in intensive care.

So, in spite of all the pep-talks, preparation and thinking we’d be ready, mythical wife and I found ourselves mostly unprepared and not ready, to deal with a newborn child from day 1 and not day 15.  Not to mention that no two babies are ever going to be alike, and the disposition and behavior of #2 is vastly different than #1, leading to some challenges and inevitable comparisons, no matter how much parents say they try not to make.

Mainly, I feel like the thing that we were the least prepared for was dealing with a starving newborn because mom’s milk hadn’t come in yet, and we were left struggling with a baby that was probably not getting enough to eat early on, compounded with hospital procedure that doesn’t seem to feed mothers nearly enough food to have the fuel necessary to feed their babies, which resulted in an extremely fussy and endlessly crying baby at all hours of the night, leading mythical wife and I to end up completely burned out and fried from day one.

Obviously, this is all be written in hindsight, as I’m taking my sparing opportunities to write actually writing, and things have improved nominally since then, but it’s worth documenting the struggles and emotions that occurred at the hospital, and the feelings and opinions that formulated from the experience.  That is, after all what my brog is all about, in spite of how wonky of a writing timeline things can get.

However, this isn’t to say that we were completely useless and didn’t learn a thing or two from our own experience as parents before.  Where we really seemed to shine was being prepared for the at-hospital experience itself; as in knowing what to ask for as soon as we got to our room, as well as preparing ourselves with lots of snacks and supplemental food, because in spite of the common sense that moms need to eat in order to have fuel to feed their babies with, the hospital treats them like patience from My 600 Lb. Life, giving them very strict and limited calorie meals three times a day at sporadic intervals.  Our child was already not getting enough to eat from the onset, but probably would’ve famished to death if we didn’t know what we knew going into it this time.

And one other of the few unsolicited pieces of advice that I’d give to any dad or parents for that matter: no matter if you think your parenting problems are unique and can’t possibly have been experienced by another parents – I bet you money they have, as long as you Google your issues.  You will find other parents who have experienced what you’re going through, and you’d be a fool to not leverage their experiences to try and quell your own anxieties.

2 Under 2: Paternal Postpartum? (#053)

After a few days of feeling foggy and lost, both physically and emotionally, primarily on account of sleep deprivation, a question popped into my head: is there such a thing as postpartum depression for dads?

A cursory Google search says that yes, there very much is such a thing as postpartum depression for dads, and that it supposedly affects one in ten dads; it figures that a headcase like me naturally ends up lumped into that 10% chance of developing postpartum symptoms, but from what I was reading in the aforementioned link, I don’t think what I’m going through is entirely the same thing as the “classic” symptoms.  But I am definitely in this hazy, foggy mood, and I think I should be happier, so it’s really up to interpretation on whether or not this is postpartum, or just me being who I am, perpetually concerned or contemplative on whatever I’m doing being a good decision or not, even at the potential expense of the present.

So I don’t really think I’m going through “classic” postpartum, but my mood is definitely probably not at happy as it should be following the birth of a child.  I feel like, if I could pinpoint it as best as I could, which is a little bit easier considering I’m writing this after the initial period in which I went through this the most, is that I think that at the very root of things, I’m just struggling to find my identity as a dad of two children and not one, balancing the guilt of having to divide my time, and of course, the feelings of inadequacy as well as simply feeling overwhelmed with what life is going to be from here on out.

But the thing is, I like to tell myself that I didn’t feel inadequate or overwhelmed from time to time, it would reflect on my quality as a dad, because it would mean that I didn’t give enough shits about my family to where I’d feel so owned and defeated so frequently, because I just don’t want to ever let them down.  At the end of the day, my goals are to be a good dad and a husband and not let my family down, and I care enough to let those motivations dictate my emotions if I ever feel concerned that I’m not meeting expectation.

At the end of the day, much like my first time around, things will ultimately settle, calm down, routines materialize, #2 will age out of some of the more challenging behaviors, and life will get easier, and emotions like postpartum will dissipate.  As mythical wife and I have often said, now that we’ve had our agreed-upon second and final child, things can only get easier from here on out, as far as raising babies goes.  Now infants, toddlers, terrible twos, and so forth are different stories, but at least by then, hopefully our girls will know how to wipe their own asses by then.

2 Under 2: I’m not dead (yet) (#052)

This is the first time I’ve had the availability to any sort of writing since the birth of #2, and it’s solely based on the fact that I’m back to work, sequestered in my office, and where my kids are being cared for by mythical wife and our nanny.  In the downtime between periodic work emails where things are on fire, and the lulls throughout the day, I’m finding myself actually capable of finding a little bit of time to write something, and now that I do, I don’t even know where to start.

Over the last three weeks, I’ve jotted down notes and blurbs of things that I’d like to touch on, but never having the time and capacity to do so, they’ve just been amassing in a draft document and I’m debating on whether or not it’s worth trying to revisit some things but I think we all know that I probably will because I have a hard time letting go of things and ideas that were thought of, going unused.  Including the topic of having no time itself on account of welcoming a second child into the world.  We’ll see how my writing habits become in coming weeks and months, because as I’ve stated countless times, my brog is basically my lifeblood of hobbies, and no matter the circumstances it’s something I’ll never let go of.

Also over the last three weeks, I’ve gone through the a vast gamut of emotions, I’m sure that’s a surprise.  Sleep deprivation has a tendency to alter mood and emotions like that, and regardless of knowing why and reminding myself to exhibit patience, it’s still been very challenging at times to not just feel fried and angry and frustrated with things, which then leads to guilt, inadequacies and an overall shitty feeling, but three weeks in now, I think we’re kind of, hopefully, finding some modicum of rhythm, and once #2’s sleep cycles start to stabilize, or at least she manages to chain at least one sleep cycle to another, then mythical wife and I might gain some free time, which in turns would mean gaining a little bit of sanity back.

Either way, this post serves really no other purpose than to break the streak of brog silence that would ordinarily have me losing my shit to have let a week, much less three, go by without any sort of post.  Having kids seems like as justifiable reason as any to warrant it, but it doesn’t change the fact that I tend to get angsty when I don’t write for too long, which didn’t help feed the more negative emotions that have crept into my head over the last few weeks.

In a perfect more ideal world, I’ll comb through my notes and topics and try and write out some coherent and tangible stories and posts about the journeys of a second-time father and a dad of two under two years old, as well as catch up some of the other few topics that piqued my interest over the span and try to play some catch-up.

The day(s) that everything changed forever, part 2

Started on July 14, 2021

I figured I should start this post on the day before, because mythical wife’s hospital check-in time is at like 7:15 am, and even if we have to wait three hours again like we did last time, it stands to believe that the day that everything changed forever, part 2, will have culminated before lunchtime, and I won’t really have that much to have glossed over for an emotional post.

So unlike the first time, we are not going to be taken by surprise by a premature birth, quite the opposite, we’ve been ticking down the days with bated breath to a predetermined birthday that we’ve been watching coming for several weeks now.  Despite all the preparation and bracing, it’s still mind-blowing to wrap my brain around the thought that in less than twelve hours, mythical wife and I will be welcoming a new human being into the world.

I guess it doesn’t matter if you’re given a few hours to prepare for it, or 38 entire weeks, after experiencing both ends of the spectrum, I’m led to believe that it doesn’t matter at all, the feeling of overwhelming there is at the thought of bringing a new person into existence.

As detailed in my prior post, most of the day was spent mentally waxing poetic about how every single thing I did with my first daughter throughout the day was the last time I’d be doing it as a father of one, and the varying feelings of guilt at the thought that my attention will have to be divided between two instead of just her.  The other part of the day was spent preparing myself to be taking two weeks off of work, so that I can transition my new child into the world, and for mythical wife and I to try and figure out how to adapt to a life of two children and probably go through a wide gamut of emotions in the process.

I’m quite paranoid that the send later function in Outlook is going to bone me, and I’m going to look like an asshole caught red-handed sending scheduled emails for my spontaneous trip to the hospital, so that I can chalk it up as personal/sick days instead of burning up days out of my more-finite vacation bucket.  But they’ve already been queued and I have to have faith that they’ll send on time and nobody will be the wiser.

As it is a Wednesday, it means that mythical wife and I pick up Chick Fil-A and watch Handmaid’s Tale, but since the season is over, we’ve been watching Loki, and we both feel very fortunate that tonight was the season finale, since the reality is that who knows when we’ll actually get to watch television on a schedule anymore in the future now that we’re soon to have two children.

Continue reading “The day(s) that everything changed forever, part 2”

2 Under 2: the Last Times (#051)

I’m sure this won’t be a shock to any of my zero readers, but as excited I am for the impending arrival of my second child, I’m also extremely emotional and often suppressing feelings of guilt towards my first, bringing in a second so soon, and while she’s still in a stage of her life where the world is her oyster and should really have the undivided attention that many children at her age really should be getting.

Everything I’m doing, I’m realizing is counting down to the last times in which I’ll be doing all sorts of mundane things – as a father of one.  The last time bathing my daughter, putting her down to bed.  The last day in which I’ll be logging her feed times and nap minutes.  Picking up her toys and resetting all of her play area books and blocks.  Washing and then preparing the next day’s bottles that are hers and hers alone.  The next time I go to bed, and awaken the next morning, I won’t even be there to wake her up, since mythical wife will be required to be at the hospital very early. 

I can’t guarantee I won’t be fighting a tidal wave of emotion before bedtime next.  Because once I’m a father of two, who knows how long or if things like these will ever get back to a similar point, or what’s really going to happen in the future.

Although I am supremely confident in mine, and mythical wife’s capacity to love our children, and that everything will be just fine in the end, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still harboring all these feelings in the days leading up to the big arrival.

A little over a year ago, #1 showed up at 34.5 weeks, definitely, unexpectedly early, and most certainly classifying as a premature arrival.  This caught me, mythical wife, and all concerned parties completely off-guard, and if not for our own preparations, would have been in a really tricky situation after it had happened.  Even still though, it did lead to some scrambling, and as much as we look at the 15 days of her in the NICU with some angst despite knowing it was the best place for her to strengthen and start her life, it did afford me some time to truly get the house ready, seeing as how she didn’t actually get to come home for over two weeks.

That’s hardly the case, this time.  #1 showed up unexpectedly early, but #2 couldn’t possibly have been more content to stay in the oven, leading mythical wife down a path of new pregnancy experiences like debilitating insomnia and the general discomfort for having a small watermelon inside of her.  She’s not on track to be full-term, she is very much full-term at the very instant I’m writing this line right now.

We passed the milestone of #1’s early arrival, and have been doing nothing but getting ready for #2.  Mythical wife has gotten her hair done in advance.  Which made me realize that I could go and get my haircut in advance, something I couldn’t really do last year because of the surprise arrival plus the start of the pandemic.  The second nursery is almost entirely complete.  My job has been kept abreast and is fully prepared for me to be out for a few weeks as I’m going to finally cash in some of my vacation time that I’ve been sitting on for this specific reason.

All things that were not the case the first time around.  And for all those reasons that frankly nobody could have any control over, I’m still feeling guilt, irrational as it might be, I can’t always help it.  #2 is almost certain to be bigger and stronger upon her arrival, having almost an entire month to keep cooking.  The NICU, god forbid, should be avoided this time around as a result, and she will probably get lots of things that my first couldn’t get, like getting to sleep with us in the hospital room, taking to the breast, and coming home pretty immediately; all things that #1 did not experience, even if she won’t know it, we do.

Eight, full months of knowing this day was coming, and all the preparations and readiness, and I’m still feeling increasing anxiety and unpreparedness as we get closer and closer.  Like I said, I have all the confidence in the world that everything’s going to be fine, but the whole point of all these dad brogs is to chronicle the shit that goes on through my head, as a father of one, and soon to be a father of two.

2 Under 2: Realization (#050)

Just the other day, I was having one of those parenting mornings where my child was very cranky and fussy, and nothing I could seemed to be capable of placating her frustration.  There was lots of crying and tantrums, and as mythical wife and I have coined the phrase, I was getting fried.  By the time noon rolled around, my patience was completely eroded and I couldn’t wait to put her down for her afternoon nap.

Once down, mythical wife I were chatting about the particularly challenging morning, but then she said to me that the number of days left of where it’s going to be just the two of us in the morning is ticking down to zero; once #2 gets here, which is literally any day now, then mornings like this, where it’s just #1 and myself together aren’t going to be happening with any frequency, regardless of if it’s she’s being an angel or a hellion.

That realization, hit me like a baseball bat.  She was right.  It really is a bittersweet realization that once again opens up the door of guilt towards my first child, because once #2 gets here, my attention will be divided at times, and I will no longer be capable of giving her the undivided attention that I feel that any child deserves from their parents.  Suddenly, I’m feeling like an asshole for getting fried at having my patience tested by what was probably more than likely the aggravation that comes with teething for her, which is something I should know a great deal of these days, but I still let it get under my skin and burn me out.

Once #2 arrives, not only will things be much more difficult across the board, but there will be plenty of times in which I will have to divert my attention to the much more critically demanding needs of a newborn baby versus the slightly less demanding in comparison to a toddler baby, and then I’m sure I’ll be pining for the simplicity of having to only care for a single child versus bouncing around between two.

The guilt is real, although I know it’s unnecessary since the love I have for one child does not mean it will be stretched out with the arrival of a second.  Everything will work out in the end, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve probably been taking my time with #1 for granted on some days like this one, and I know that I need to treasure what little solo time I have left with her before life as I know it changes forever, again.

2 Under 2: Inevitability (#049)

In preparation for the arrival of #2, I went ahead and put together the double stroller that we will obviously need.  As nice and fancy as it is, with tech that probably rivals the Mach I Iron Man suit, it’s about as bulky as the Mach I, and at 36 lbs. it’s not a weight that I can’t handle, but it is cumbersome given its dimensions, even when folded.

Needless to say, I’m looking at this folded stroller, and it definitely looks like it will take a solid 20% of the entire cargo area in my car.  By itself it’s obviously no big deal, but looking into the future, where there will be road trips, vacations or any sort of outing that will require the need for the stroller as well as some cargo space before/afterward, and I’m beginning to wonder if my car is big enough for my growing famiry.

Keep in mind, I switched to my current car in 2019 in preparation for the famiry that mythical wife and I were starting, and this was “the big car” that was meant for famiry utility and being a responsible adult.  I went from a compact hatchback to a crossover SUV, and barely two years of car payments into it, and I’m questioning myself on whether or not it was the right choice, because two kids showed up a little faster than anticipated, and suddenly all the space that I thought was adequate might not actually be.

Here’s the thing though: I have zero qualms with the notion of getting a minivan.  Mythical wife however, absolutely does not want a minivan, no matter how beneficial and logical they are.  To say she has a jihad against minivans would be an understatement; it’s almost as if minivans crashed into the Twin Towers on September 11th in her mind, they’re that horrendous of an idea to her.

It’s debatable how much of it is joking and how much is truth, but I like to throw hypothetical situations at her, like if we went out one night, and I drank too much, and she’d have to drive the minivan home, would she?  Absolutely fucking not; we can Uber home.  What if I needed a ride from the airport, and I have a ton of stuff, would she bring the minivan to pick me up?  No fucking way, we’d instead be those assholes trying to squeeze a ton of things into her compact car, while Atlanta rent-a-cops on power trips blow whistles at us for obstructing traffic.

However though, a minivan would undoubtedly put all spaces woes to rest in two seconds, and probably still give us enough room to haul the big dog with us if we ever wanted to go somewhere dog-friendly.  Not only could our gargantuan stroller fit inside of the cargo of a minivan, but some full-size luggage would probably be fine, and still have space to spare for the inevitability of buying shit or other things.

I don’t give a flying fuck of the optics of being a dad in a minivan.  I’m a fucking parent, and one with a brain that puts value in versatility, utility and functionality.  Plus the general safety and wellbeing of my famiry.  I’m too old to be self-conscious over the car that I drive, and if it’s imperative for me to have “a cool car,” I’ll figure out a way to get a side car so that I can make myself somehow more adequate to those that care.

Regardless, if the need for space and utility continues to grow, in spite of my wife’s jihad against them, I feel like there’s always going to be the possibility that a minivan, may become an inevitability.  Ain’t no skin off my back.