Not that I would’ve had any objection to have had a son, I low-key was hoping for a second daughter, for the explicit purpose that I could purchase a set of women’s tag team championship blets for my two daughters to become the lifelong tag team partners they were meant to be.
Anyone who’s seen the modest gender reveal video my wife and I did with a balloon filled with blue or pink confetti, when we popped the balloon and pink confetti rained over my kitchen, you better believe that within at least 3-4 minutes, my mind was already thinking about the tag team blets that I would have to inevitably get for my girls.
It took a few months, but I just so happened to be vigilantly on watch when the day came where the WWEshop dropped these specific blets to the price threshold I was awaiting them to hit before pulling the trigger.I couldn’t have been more excited when they arrived, and not just because they made mythical wife’s eyes roll like Marble Madness.
Y’see, there actually was an endgame in mind for these blets, and I’m going to share it here, because it’s really going to be a toss-up if my brog lasts long enough for my kids to eventually read this, and that’s even if they’re even remotely curious to want read about dad’s online dear diary for the better part of what will probably be like 35-40 years old by the time they might be curious.
Today is a special day in the life of my family.#2 has made it to day 100 of her existence, and this is an actual occasion in Korean culture, known as baek-il (백일).
Historically, this became a thing back in the olden days when Korea was so ravaged by poverty, famine, disease and Japanese people, the life expectancy of children was so low, that even making it to 100 days was considered monumental.Sure, the passage of time has changed some things quite drastically, but the occasion has stuck, and baek-ils are acknowledged by Koreans all over to this very day.
Ironically, not much has changed since #1’s own baek-il from last year.Considering the fact that coronavirus is still very much around and killing people on a daily basis, and that America has basically become a third-world country with an economy that’s surpassed by at this point, multiple countries, there’s a loose comparison to be made about disease and poverty.
That being said, it is, more noteworthy that #2 has survived the first 100 days of her life, than it really should be, but that’s the state of the world we live in.
I know I’ve been using my brog over the last few months at something of a sounding board of how much I’m struggling with two kids, but what I really hope is that in future years whenever I look back through the On This Day plug-in, I’ll re-read a lot of the things I’ve written under fatigue and exasperation, and either shake my head, laugh, or just cringe at the mental frying I went through raising two under two.
No matter what I say, how frustrated I come off as, and things that I may insinuate under duress, I love my kids and I love my wife, and I will continue to do so no matter what.Collectively and individually, they are the best things to happen to my life, and even if I lose my shit from time to time, I always come back and always remember that they are my everything.
100 days down, onto the rest of our lives, with only the best things being wished for.
Going to Disney World with the kids was definitely something that was going to be inevitable, given its place as far as mythical wife and I are concerned.A wedding in central Florida where the wife was to be one of the bridesmaids accelerated the trip, and no matter how ready or not we were, the time had arrived to take the girls down to Orlando for a lengthy trip that was chock full of memories, lessons, trials and tribulations, as far as I was concerned.
Oof. Even out of context, writing those words stings, and I hope that I’ll never have to write those specific words again.
But yes, mythical wife took #2 and went to go spend a few days with her parents, and I am at home with #1. No, this did not stem from a fight and we’re already on the rocks after two years of marriage. It was a call that she made on account of observing the fact that I’ve been operating at a stress level of 170 out of 100 and it’s only been getting worse over the last few weeks as the job that I’ve already lost my favor for tends to get seasonal this time of year, adding to the fuel of anxiety, frustration and negative short fuse, and that I could use a little bit of a break in from the constant screaming and very hands-on requirement of #2.
She’s not wrong at all, but the days leading up to this, I had a hard time digesting the whole plan, no matter how much I actually did need some quiet time. No matter what anyone tells me, I can’t help feel a sense of failure or shortcoming at being a partner and father to my children, because I have been becoming increasingly short and miserable dealing with two under two, and the sheer lack of time I’ve had since the arrival of #2 to occasionally catch my breath, decompress and feel like a normal human being again.
But I really did need a break. Pretty much since #2’s arrival, I haven’t had 30 minutes to myself where I haven’t been working, sleeping or being actively hands on as a dad, and the sheer lack of time to come back to earth has been grating at me and grating at me, every single night where I go to bed thinking about all the things I wanted to do but couldn’t do, and then it compounds each and every night.
As gross as it sounds, I’ve basically been showering once a week because I just frankly can’t find the time to do it more regularly. Even though I know I’m getting grosser and grosser in between them, the time it takes to clean myself up seems more like a chore and a nuisance, and that I’d rather spend that 20 minutes doing absolutely anything else more self-serving than personal hygiene.
A similar sentiment exists for sleep itself, where in the past, I’d probably embark on the whole notion of revenge staying up late, where I’d sacrifice sleep for personal time because I’m so resentful that I didn’t have any time to myself that I’m going to take some in spite of the need for sleep. Fortunately, cooler heads prevail most of the time, and I remind myself that the only ones getting hurt by me being gassed from not getting enough sleep are my wife and kids, and I opt to get sleep more often than making poor choices.
And as the days turned into weeks, my general state of being was not in a good place. My patience deteriorated into nothingness, and just about every little thing would set me off. #2’s frequent crying would grate at me, and I’d begun making more tasteless jokes about killing myself as a result. All I was feeling was that every single day was wake up, work, and then clean, clean, clean baby stuff until it was time to go to sleep again, with nothing but feeding, diapers and thanklessly trying to calm a screaming baby in between everything. And it basically began breaking me.
However, the notion that my wife has to take my fussy child away from me in order for me to not feel the like I’m burdened by responsibilities makes me feel sad, makes me feel defeated, and makes me feel overall lousy, even if it I am getting the opportunity to write in silence and stare at the wall in between the typing. This is one of those instances where I do not feel like I have done well as a father, and it’ll probably stay with me for a while, but hopefully it will change my perspective a little bit, teach me a little more patience, and help me grow as a dad.
All through my life, my mom would accidentally call me by my sister’s name, before correcting herself and addressing me by my name. There were younger points in my life where I would let that piss me off, but eventually it more or less because everyday occurrences, and I stopped really noticing them beyond hearing them when they happened.
It didn’t even take a full 24 hours to pass before I had already called #2 by #1’s name. It happened more frequently in the AM hours where we were struggling to get any sleep we could. But by day two of #2’s life, I had already slipped up numerous times, and even the times where I stopped myself from making the mistake, if there was ever any hesitation in my flow of speech, mythical wife would pick it out and know that I was on the verge of using the wrong name again.
Therefore, I have become my mother in this regard, and I can only hope that as their lives progress, they can forgive their dad for being just like halmoni, and roll with the slights as well as I eventually learned how to do as I got older.
I know it might seem like a lot of the things I’ve written since the arrival of #2 might seem a dour and with a negative lean. Sleep deprivation, temperamental screaming babies, having almost zero time to decompress and catch my breath, yes there’s no denying the tremendous amount of work and effort that goes into raising kids, especially under these specific circumstances of having two under two.
I’ll be the first to admit, as much as I might regret or feel ashamed of it, of how often I’ve lost my cool, get frustrated, and generally get fried, because I’m human and this is reality of just how hard things can be.
But then there are moments like this specific photograph, of where my oldest is giving my youngest a gentle kiss, after knowing her new sister for all of five days, and all my anxieties, stress and negativity washes away like beads of water off a waxed surface.
One of the biggest concerns mythical wife and I had about having a second child, especially so soon after the first, was the potential for jealousy and the resulting behavior from the first. We can talk about plans and ideas all we want to try and help mitigate things, but we wouldn’t really know what was going to happen until the day came where we introduced the kids to one another.
And much as my first has often times met or exceeded my expectations, she appears to have welcomed and accepted her little sister with no complaints or objections. If anything at all, it’s mostly fascination and curiosity at her smaller doppelganger, but no real signs of aggression or animosity, yet.
The above sight was something that instantaneously melted my heart and took my emotions to a place that is seldom seen, which is how I know it’s genuine and perfect, and that in the end, no matter how much stress, hardships and bullshit I might go through or think I’m going through as a parent, this is all worth it.
May my daughters accept each other as not just sisters, but as the lifelong tag team partners I hope they will become, with the blets to prove it.
This, or anything like this, to me, or to anyone who was expecting a child not their first: “oh if your first child was good, that means the second one is going to be a nightmare”
Fuck you. Just fuck you. Why in the fuck would anyone want to put these ideas into the heads of parents knowing that they’re already going to be re-embarking onto the already tremendously difficult path of new parenthood, but knowing that the subsequent children are already pegged to be nightmares? That fucking sucks, and I genuinely mean it when I want to tell everyone who insinuated this to me, that fuck you.
It has come from friends, it has come from family, and it has come from colleagues, all the same. I know it’s just conversation, it has no bearing on the fate of our relationships, but fuck you all the same.
I say all this because I am living this. As much as I love my second child and will continue to love my second child, there’s no sugar coating the genuine difference in difficulty with #2 than there was the first time around. #1 was a vastly more chill and low-maintenance baby, and I know comparisons are inevitable no matter how much I can tell myself to try and not make so many, but there’s no denying that #2 has been substantially more challenging, and it has been testing my patience on a daily basis since her arrival.
I’ll go ahead and say it, just about every single night since her arrival has sucked. This is no knock on my child, but because her circadian rhythm is all out of whack and night is day and day is night, when it’s time for conventional sleep is when the most challenges emerge, and mythical wife and I have been pushed to our breaking points numerous times, and I’ve gotten angry and broken way more than I’d like to admit. Now things have improved slightly since I’m writing things in retrospect at this point, but without question, the first two weeks, every single night sucked, and I burned out repeatedly.
Accurate to this very second, #2 exists solely in three states of being: sleeping, eating, or screaming her head off bloody murder. There is seldom any moments of normalcy; typically what seems normal or calm are usually precursors to indigestion-related screaming bloody murder, or the next starving like a UNICEF child screaming bloody murder. Calm is when she falls asleep, but it’s really only a matter of time before the clock gets too close to the next feed, and if a bottle is not prepared in anticipation, it’s going to be eight minutes of agony of waiting for a bottle to warm while she’s screaming her head off the whole time.
Suffice to say, it’s back to being Desmond from Lost, where we exist on these windows of time of 90-120 minutes where she dozes off where we can catch our breath, and if we don’t prepare well, then it’s a punishment of more soul-grating screaming until a bottle is in #2’s mouth.
By no means do have any feelings other than love for my second child, but at the same time, there’s no way I’m not going to document any of the bullshit and how much she’s driven me mad in the first few weeks of her life. I love my child and I love both my kids, and I love being a dad. But I also believe in being honest and transparent, and relay the fact that not every aspect of parenthood is a walk in the park.
In fact, I already look forward to the days when my daughters are older and savvy, and I can tell them stories of how #2 was a nightmare baby early on. Or better yet, when the day eventually comes when I become a grandfather, and I can relay stories to my daughters whom might becoming new moms about how #2 was a ballistic disaster, and that it’s almost ironic payback that she’ll have to endure a crying baby of her own, much as mythical wife and I had to endure her.
I love my daughter. I love my kids. But this is reality and in the spirit of transparency and honesty, these are the stories that I’ll tell about it all, good and hellacious
Going to Disney World with the kids was definitely something that was going to be inevitable, given its place as far as mythical wife and I are concerned.
All through my life, my mom would accidentally call me by my sister’s name, before correcting herself and addressing me by my name. There were younger points in my life where I would let that piss me off, but eventually it more or less because everyday occurrences, and I stopped really noticing them beyond hearing them when they happened.
