Welcome, Offbeat Mama readers!
Today I was the featured DILF at OffbeatMama.com: http://offbeatmama.com/2010/09/single-dads-are-extra-dilfy.
Maybe with all the attention I’ll get around to adding some new entries to this here little blog.
Welcome, Offbeat Mama readers!
Today I was the featured DILF at OffbeatMama.com: http://offbeatmama.com/2010/09/single-dads-are-extra-dilfy.
Maybe with all the attention I’ll get around to adding some new entries to this here little blog.
Okay, your new child is two days old. You’ve been camped in your bedroom for the past 36 hours, wrapped up in all things baby. But you’ve run out of bread and milk and coffee and so it’s time to go to the grocery store.
So you leave your partner with the child, throw on some sweats, and head to the store. You wander the aisles, checking off your list, humming along, and in your head you’re thinking to yourself, “Wow. It’s so nice to be doing something normal again.”
But in your heart all you want to do is race down to checkstand 3 and grab the microphone from the cashier and yell, “WHY ARE YOU PEOPLE ACTING SO NORMAL? CAN’T YOU SEE — I JUST HAD A BABY!”
You could swear it’s obvious, like there’s a big asterisk stamped right on your forehead. All your normal routine little things — things you used to do automatically, reflexively, suddenly have this grandiose context wrapped around them. It’s no longer “getting coffee”; now it’s “getting coffee/just had a baby”. “Paying the bills/just had a baby”.
Of course, nobody can see this asterisk – but that doesn’t mean it’s not real. And don’t worry, eventually it goes away. Well, actually, it doesn’t: instead that asterisk becomes the new normal, and you wonder how you ever managed to pay the bills without it there to keep you company.
This one is probably obvious to most people, although the reasoning behind it might be a surprise. The days after your baby are born are amazing, energetic, frantic, sleepy, exhausting, exhilarating times. You don’t want to miss a second of it. It’s a no-brainer that you’ll want to take a week or so off work to be there for the first days of your child’s life.
But don’t stop at one week! You need to take all the vacation, sick leave, and paternity leave that you can. Because after a week or so, things start to settle down a bit. Life starts to feel a little bit normal. But when that “normal” returns, it isn’t the same normal as before. There are new rhythms and details and unspoken little habits that emerge and become part of your own private culture of parenting. If you’re not there to understand and help shape those details, then you’ll be playing catch-up for the next 12 months.
Two weeks’ leave is a minimum. Four weeks should get you well on your way. The optimum is 6 weeks (best described as “42 nights”). Or, you can do what I did and make stay-at-home fatherhood your full-time vocation. Whatever you choose, rest assured that time spent at home in the first few weeks is time well invested.
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Here’s a slideshow showing Fort Rubinskaya from paper scratches to completion:
Now is a great time to become a father. Never before has our culture granted men such leniency in defining the role they wish to play as parents. You can be more engaged in all aspects of your children’s live. And there’s no better place to start than at the birth.
Among many little joys and terrors, two things about the birth really stand out to me.
The first is the gift of being beside your partner as she undertakes an incredibly difficult and inspiring journey. You’ll see her experience physical and emotional stresses unlike anything either of you have experienced before. Just to watch, let alone participate as a birth partner, is wonderful.
Ruby’s birth was quick, intense and went fairly smoothly except for one complication: the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck. This was a dangerous situation; paramedics were called to the birth center as a precaution. Kate was giving birth naturally and drug free, and she was barely lucid from hyperventilation and the intensity of her pain. As things became more critical with Ruby’s condition, we had to make some important decisions about how the birth was to progress. We were about to go down a less-than-desirable course when Kate took matters into her own hands. She was exhausted and weak from labor, but she told us to wait. She gathered her energy, focused, and in three quick contractions Ruby was born. It was an incredible moment of determination and focus and resolve. In terms of scale, it was unlike anything I’d witnessed before. It was an honor to be there with her and watch her plumb the depths of her own strength.
The second gift is to be there when your child takes her first quick breath, tastes the sweaty, musty world we live in — and announces herself. I’m not much for metaphysical spirituality, but when I heard that noise, of Ruby telling us she had arrived, I lost touch with this world. I wept. For the duration of that cry, I floated in the sound. During those moments a piece of my soul was removed and placed into her, and I felt it happen. It was a moment of pure, sweet joy to match the intensity of everything we’d experienced in the preceeding hours.
You can’t have one gift without the other — they’re a matching set, with the intensity of labour setting you up for the sweet release of a new life. Be there, and you get them both.
Maybe it’s just the age we are, or the age of our generation, but it seems like everywhere I look, people I know are having babies. There are four babies due in 2009 just at work, and another handful scattered among my social network. Since most of these parents are first timers, I thought I’d put together some tips to help see them through the next few years of their lives. And although many will work for both parents, I’ll mostly be writing with the new fathers in mind.
If you’re staring longingly at your half-grown peas, wishing you could be enjoying that fresh spring taste right now, then I’ve got a great recipe for you!
You might not know it, but the entire pea plant — shoots, leaves, flowers and pods — is edible, and all of it taste like peas. I often grab a random pea leaf to munch on when I’m strolling in the garden. They also stand up to grilling, and the flavor is a great match with freshly grilled shrimp. Here’s how you do it:
The pea leaves help to protect the shrimp from drying out in the high heat of the grill, and they provide a nice, subtle hint of pea flavor that goes well with the light sweetness of the shrimp. We enjoyed ours with some other springtime favorites: grilled asparagus and sweet Walla Walla onions. Add some simply dressed lemon-parsley noodles and a glass of wine and you’ve got a great spring meal!
A few weeks ago, I was walking to lunch with a coworker who has a son about Ruby’s age. He mentioned that he and his wife have been trying to avoid using spelling or oblique references in their son’s presence. For example, if there’s a debate about whether to have ice cream for dessert, they won’t start spelling I-C-E C-R-E-A-M while they hash out the details. Instead, they try to involve him in their conversations even if the subject might be one they’d rather avoid or where their decisions might not mesh with their child’s easily predictable desires.
The notion of transparent parenting stuck with me as an interesting ideal, and it’s something I’ve thought about a lot since then. Part of it is giving Ruby an honest presentation of how the world works; before decisions are made there is a conversation that is a critical part of the process. Exposing her to the complete process teaches her about compromise and empowers her by bringing her into the process. Decisions don’t spring fully-formed from Papa’s forehead; instead there is back and forth where we talk about feelings, desires, how close it is to bedtime, and whether we should save the treat for a more special occasion.
But transparent parenting isn’t an absolute ideal.
Kate, Ruby and I were driving back from a camping trip and about an hour down the road we stopped in a little town to stretch our legs and explore. As we were getting back in the car, with a three-hour stretch of driving ahead of us, Kate suddenly realized that we’d left Ruby’s water bottle back at the campsite — and stated as much. Ruby’s favorite water bottle, the only water bottle she’d ever known her entire life, with the cute picture of the backpacking dog and handy protective cap, was now gone.
Ruby cried for an hour. She’d compose herself, grow quiet, and then think about her lost water bottle and start wailing again. If you’ve ever been cooped up with a crying toddler in a small car you’ll know what kind of a drive that was. So yes, there are times when you want to withhold information from your young charges.
It’s certainly easier to be a less-than-transparent parent. Involving a toddler in decisions can be frustrating, exhausting, or just plain cruel. Three-year-olds in particular are just beginning to learn about their own independence, and their psyches can be frail as a result. I know that mentioning the words “ice cream” or “playground” will immediately fix those conclusions in her head, even if they are just remote possibilties in mine. There is a tricky line one needs to negotiate. But as parents, I think we can lean towards the convenience of opacity a little too often.
We were sitting around the breakfast table this morning and Kate was telling us about her previous evening, when she’s spent some time with friends at a bar. Apparently some of her friends had gotten pretty “drunk“. That was just how Kate said it: whispered, under her breath, so Ruby wouldn’t hear. But really, saying the word “drunk” around Ruby isn’t a bad thing — it’s exactly the kind of information about how the world works that we want her to have.
Transparent parenting isn’t a hard-and-fast philosophy, or even a general rule of thumb. It’s just something to consider as your child matures and becomes more appreciate of the world of adults around her. It adds a new challenging layer to parenting, for sure, so it is best applied judiciously. But keep the idea in the back of your head; soon you’ll find yourself spelling less and dealing directly with your child more often. After all, isn’t that what parenting is all about?