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.
Tag: angst
2 Under 2: Untitled dad ramblings (#065)
I may have accepted that life might be on hold, but it doesn’t mean that there aren’t occasional bad days.
#2 is getting better in terms of us managing the colic and learning her tendencies, but one thing that hasn’t really changed is her sheer unwillingness to take naps and give us a break from time to time, and the fact that she still exists in three states: sleeping (overnight), eating, or screaming her head off, with the caveat being that the screaming is usually only remedied by having someone holding her 24/7 until she can be brought into another state, eventually
I’m on dad duty for so long that I have no time to do anything else. And when I say anything else, I mean do more work that I’d be able to do without having to have a baby in my arms, because I’m not fucking Goro from Mortal Kombat and have another pair of arms to be productive with. My house is a fucking disaster zone full of piles of things that adds to my general stress and anxiety because I’m typically a pretty tidy person and I prefer my home be such as well.
I hardly have time to upkeep personal hygiene and pretty much every shower that I’ve had in the last two months have typically been after midnight, where I’m sacrificing rest time in order to not feel completely unraveled.
I don’t have time to be a good dog owner, and since my dog is 16 and elderly, I have to keep him crated for the vast majority of the day solely because he will pee on everything under the sun if he’s left free to his own devices. I get mad when if and when he soils his dog beds, but it’s primarily frustration at the fact that I don’t even have time to even be able to take care of a dog’s base needs adequately enough.
I seldom have time to eat, and eat well, and everyone knows cooking at home is typically the key to improved eating habits, but who the fuck has time to cook much less eat it, without having to be hands-on with #2, so mythical wife and I subsist on an unhealthy amount of fast food because it’s all we can tolerate to indulge on when we’re already parked on E and need to eat while we can breathe.
Throughout the last few months, I’ve actually lost weight, I’m below my license weight which was fabricated to make me feel like not a fat fuck, but I’m actually below it now. However, I know that’s solely based on the fact that I literally haven’t lifted any weights since mid-March of 2020, and I’ve pretty much lost all muscle-mass that I’d cultivated in the decades before coronavirus, and I’m pissed at ‘Murica for not being able to do what it takes to eradicate the pandemic and how it will never end and short of me turning my garage into a gym, there’s no way I’m ever going to reclaim any muscle mass that I’ve lost at this rate, not to mention where the time would be, being a dad of 2 under 2 and all.
Let’s not even talk about hobbies and personal indulgences, and the sheer time I don’t have to be able to do any of those. One more thing I’d add to the list of unsolicited advice for new dads, would be to think of all the things you hope to accomplish in a day, and then count at day’s end just how many of them you didn’t get to. Hobbies, are probably at the top of the list, followed probably by anything you wanted to do that utilized arms not handcuffed to an infant. I’ve watched a lot of television over the last weeks, which isn’t the worst thing in the world and is something that I ordinarily would like to do, but the thing is I do it because it’s something I can do while holding an infant but when the day is over I’d rather be writing because that’s my passion hobby that I always want to be doing if I were ever to have free time where I wasn’t joined at the hip to my infant.
It’s not lost on me that the time I’m taking to write this could’ve been spent writing about anything else at all instead of another frustrated rambling of an overwhelmed dad, but as I often say, I want to remember everything, including the negative, about fatherhood, because it’s always important to be able to look back and learn from the past, even if they’re not always the most positive of things.
And unlike a lot of things where I have to write from memory and retroactively try to mentally get back to places, this is something that’s written fairly live and current, and I think it’s important to chronicle these emotions and frustrations and not let them simply evaporate until they bubble back up in the near future, and the words come out completely differently.
Weekends suck because I don’t have the free time that I have to pay for in order to do absolutely anything other than being a hands-on dad. Funny how that works out: free time, costing a fuck ton of money.
2 Under 2: Reconsideration of the worst (#064)
Last year, I came to the determination that among the worst things ever as a new parent, was if you were unfortunate enough to have a child that required an apnea monitor. At first, it is welcoming, as it is a literal safety net for new parents, to monitor the heart and oxygen rates of newborn children, but after a while, it transforms into an obtrusive ball and chain, that your child is required to be affixed to until they reach medical clearance for removal.
I stated that I hated the apnea monitor more than the former elected president. That I wouldn’t wish an apnea monitor on my worst enemy’s children. That there couldn’t be anything worse for new children and their parents.
But then I had a child who suffered from colic.
I had a revelation during one of the numerous times in which my wife and I were trying to soothe our second child from one of her daily colic attacks where she’s screaming her lungs out bloody murder, and there’s literally nothing we can do about it other than to hold her and try and bring her down which typically results in nothing but colossal failure.
I basically said that dealing with a kid with an apnea monitor was preferable to having a child who gets colic. And I meant every word of it.
At least with the monitor, we learned how to control the triggers and recognize behaviors that could result in an event beep; it’s just that we were mandated to go two straight months without any events before we could get the green light to remove it, and as the days churned on, it began to feel like a tightrope act in tip toeing towards the finish line, but we succeeded.
But with colic, there’s no hard time to strive for, there’s no definitive end to when babies grow out of colic. Some grow out of it as early as three months, but #2 has just passed the three month mark, and still is susceptible to colic attacks with the most minimal trite triggers. And when she begins screaming her lungs out, it’s nothing but feeling defeat, and feeling like failures as parents.
Without question, I most definitely rank colic as being worse than the apnea monitor. With the monitor, there was always a visible light at the end of the tunnel, but with colic, despite the existence of modern healthcare, nobody’s still been able to figure out what causes it, how to soothe it, or any sort of avoidance. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, because we have no earthly idea of when she’s just kind of going to grow out of it, but for what it’s worth, I most definitely would feel and empathize for any other parents who have to suffer from having colicky babies themselves.
2 Under 2: Hold please (#063)
I’ve resigned myself to the notion that until #2 gets onto some modicum of a sleep schedule, then my personal life is more or less on hold. 0-120 minutes a night to not be on either double baby duty, baby duty of one plus work, or work plus two kids? That’s life as it is right now. And the sooner I try to expect to have some free time in which I can actually sit down, relax, and not have to be on high baby alert, the better things might be.
Because that’s probably what’s been the greatest source of my angst and frustration over the last few weeks, is that I want to do things, but in almost all of the time, I just simply don’t have the time to do such. But if I can mentally accept that there will be no time for me for a little bit longer, then it’s slightly an easier pill to swallow.
Sure, I still feel overwhelmed and miserable when I’m in the way-too-frequent scenario of where my wife is unavailable, I’m on both kids at the same time, and I’m getting blown up by my work email. That happens way more than I wish it would, but tis the season in my particular line of work.
Salvation is, however, the fact that I am less than two weeks from starting my paternity leave, eliminating one of the biggest roadblocks to parenting for a substantial chunk of time, and I will get the opportunity to be nothing but a dad, instead of dad + corporate bitch, which I believe will take a tremendous load of anxiety off of my docket.
I have a few major objectives I’d like to approach while I’m on leave this time around, but one of the things that I plan on getting on sooner rather than later will begin some sort of sleep training with #2, as I had done with #1, which I like to credit as laying down the groundwork for her outstanding sleep habits to this very day.
And once #2 starts to get on some semblance of a nap schedule and a formalized bed time, things can really only go up from there. Because this current operation of basically surviving infanthood has been pretty brutal due to the compounding of responsibilities, but as most people describe parenthood, things tend to get easier for a little while before the cycle of difficulty begins spinning as the years progress.
But until those supposed things begins getting easier, I just have to accept that I won’t really have the time to do so many me things, be it running, watching wrestling or other television, and even writing, as much as that one hurts me so. I still jot down notes and reminders of the things I’d like to touch on, and I’ve gotten to where I don’t discount the Notes function in my phone if I’m feeling so driven.
This is parenthood, in a nutshell, where sacrifice isn’t merely a choice, but often times a necessity, in order to keep things moving with some degree of harmony.
2 Under 2: My wife left me (#062)
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.
2 Under 2: Critical mass (#060)
This is my general schedule:
- wake up at 7:20 so I can have ten minutes to let the dog out, feed the dog, take a piss, and get #1’s milk ready
- Get #1 out of bed and pray to god (1) she hasn’t leaked out of her overnight diaper because she sleeps face down and butt up and no diaper company has figured out how to solve gravity
- If she hasn’t wet herself and I don’t have to strip sheets, change outfits and give her a comprehensive wipe down, I bring her down to start her day
- Between 7:30-9:00 I hang out with my kid and pray to god (2) she’s not in a cranky mood and going to whine and fuss all morning like she is at the time I’m writing this down. On weekdays, I’m also technically on the clock as of 8:30, so I low-key act like I’m active at work but I’m just monitoring work on my work phone, and praying to god (3) that nothing substantial happens, but if it does then I have to actually work while placating a toddler for until our nanny shows up or my wife relieves me
- On weekdays, by like 8:50 I’m in my office so that I can prepare for my workday for a job I’ve completely soured on and want out of. On Mondays and Wednesdays, I have 9 am meetings where often times I’m the one driving them because in spite of the technical competency everyone is required to have in order to have their jobs, I’m the one most capable of actually utilizing WebEx, Acrobat and Outlook. All other days, I may actually have a few minutes to breathe and compose myself on company time, but those are few and far between as I am often playing catch-up on the work that doesn’t get done because I’m often playing dad throughout the workday (despite having a hard paid nanny and wife home on maternity leave).
- Throughout most workdays despite being on the clock, I’m pulled away multiple times to assist with #2, which are usually burps and diaper changes because mythical wife is doing her duty of pumping so that #2 can eat. However this often puts me behind on my workflow and has a trickle down effect to where I have to make up the time somewhere
- At some point during workdays as well as weekends, I try and spend some time to begin cleaning the numerous bottles and pump parts we go through in order to feed and provide for #2. If we didn’t have two sterilizers, I would literally never be able to catch up ever
- At noon every day, #1 goes down for her nap. This is a 2.5 hr window where only one child has to be cared for, provided her frequent screaming and crying doesn’t wake #1 up, to which I pray to god (4) daily does not happen
- By 2:30, #1 is awakened and it’s back to 2 under 2 time, except now the nanny is clocked out, and it’s my wife and I dealing with things with me back to low-key pretending to have full undivided attention to work for the next three hours and praying to god (5) that my bosses who have no respect for core hours or late afternoon meeting etiquette don’t drop a 4 or 4:30 meeting on my head
- 5:30 is when I’m officially off the clock, but often times due to my juggling acts there’s always a few somethings that need to be resolved, and I might have to punch in an extra 30-45 minutes to settle things down, provided my children will cooperate
- 6:30(ish) is #1’s bath time, followed by wind down for a 7 pm bedtime. Mythical wife and I have been having to divide and conquer between two kids here and she’s often caring for a screaming #2 while I’m taking care of #1
- By around 7:15, we’re back down to one kid, but #2 is still too early to have any routine since she’s more or less in survival mode, of eat, sleep, scream bloody murder, and any order of those three activities. It’s at this time mythical wife and I talk about how starved we are, indecisions about dinner, and how most of the local restaurants we like seem to close at 8 and we’re too late to put in a takeout order because I probably won’t get there by 8, so we eat Chick Fil-A or Zaxby’s all the time if we don’t have any palatable leftovers in the fridge
- From dinner to bedtime, mythical wife and I play hot potato with #2 because this is the time she’s been getting colic-ky and screaming bloody murder and I’m praying to god (6) she won’t wake up #1, but the majority of the physical caring falls on me since she still has to pump a few more times to keep up with #2’s increasing eating
- Anywhere from 11-midnight, we migrate up to the bedroom which usually feels like a meat locker now that our HVAC has been replaced, and wind #2 for the night with final feeds and diaper changes and praying to god (7) that there’s no colic or stomach aches and she’ll actually go to sleep before 1 am
- Once #2 is down for the night, it’s typically far too late and I’m usually so gassed that I’m not even in the mood to hate-stay up late just so I can feel a shred of having two seconds for myself to not be in dad mode, and then go to bed anxious at not getting to have any me-time to unwind and feeling fried because I’m 6-7 hours from starting all this over again while also knowing there will usually be one mid-sleep wake up to feed and change #2, and I pray to god (8) that it’s just one time
If you’ve read this far and have been keeping count, you might notice that there are usually at least eight prayers to god and fewer minutes in the day where I don’t have to be a dad.
I’m sure that last part sounds selfish and gives off the impression that I don’t want to be a dad, which couldn’t be any further from the truth. However, one of the pieces of advice I was given going into parenthood was the importance of not losing one’s identity to it, to which I definitely agree that there’s definitely a balance to try and maintain when it comes to being a parent and being ourselves.
I’m in a stretch where I’ve been incapable of having the time at all to be able to switch off being dad, and having any time at all for myself to be myself. I haven’t run in over a month now, I barely have the capacity to watch any television; only really getting to when stacked on top of less effort baby activities, and most importantly to me, I have next to no time at all to write.
In fact that only reason why this post even exists is that I’ve composed it entirely in a note on my phone, while #1 was literally strapped to my head because she’s having one of those days where if dad’s not carrying her, she’s going ballistic, and I’m up to her current height off the ground at how over her bullshit I am right now, well at critical mass at how fried I am at being in dad mode for so long, and so I just strapped her in and began writing on my phone while monotonously walking in circles. At least she’s not wailing anymore.
Like most topics I write about that sound like they suck balls and might deter other bros from thinking about having kids, this would go into the category of “someday we’ll look back and laugh at this,” but in my case I look forward to the days when I can tell my kids how much they made my life pretty insufferable when they were babies.
2 Under 2: If you’ve ever said this (#055)
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