Week 1
It’s 3am and I’m clearing the dishwashing racks. Looking out the window, there’s a surprisingly large number of lights on at the Courtyard Marriott across the street. Why are so many people awake right now at the Courtyard Marriott in a northern Virginia suburb? Or is the Courtyard Marriott just not energy-friendly and regularly leave lights on? Wait, are the dishes I’m putting away clean or dirty? Have we been using the dishwasher as a drying rack for clean dishes like Asians normally do, or were we actually using the dishwasher to wash dishes?
This has become my life as a sleep-deprived new dad. Becoming a father is one of the greatest experiences in life, but I’ll be honest, it hasn’t completely hit me yet. While I’m hopelessly in love with my little guy, I’ve also noticed a lot of my attitudes have not matured yet. I get annoyed having to clean the imitation Grey Poupon little man left in his soiled diaper (yeah that’s what baby poop looks like post-meconium, pre-solid foods), as it takes time away from binging the next episode of “The Americans.” I do think for the most part this arrested parenthood is a paternal characteristic. There may or may not be science to this theory, I’m too tired to research something as mundane as facts right now, but it seems logical. Women have been growing and nurturing the baby for 40 weeks, so when the child comes, they’re more adjusted and have been mentally processing this moment for more than 9 months.
We dads are different. While we’ve witnessed and tried our best to assist our significant others through pregnancy, the bottom line is our bodies haven’t done a thing. Except gain mass and lose definition because of that bullshit excuse called sympathy pregnancy. Nah, bros. We’re just lazier and less motivated. Just accept it.
So when baby pops out, boom! The mental adjustment truly begins. The first adjustment I’ve had to realize is that - as a man, this ain’t your show. You’re Robin, mom is Batman. Check that. You’re Alfred. My respect for my wife, mothers, women, has grown exponentially witnessing the natural transformation of my spouse becoming a mom and the physical pain that can be involved. For me, like many men, we try to be problem solvers. What's the issue? Okay, let me figure out a way to solve it. But when it comes to babies, you really can't do too much. Baby crying? Send in mom’s boobs. You want to help your wife get some sleep and rest, but if the baby’s fussy, you’re helpless. There’s a physiological bond between mother and baby that dads just don’t have. I’m talking about biology, organisms, beakers and shit.
I have a poor sports analogy that it reminds me of. Growing up in Southern California, I used to think USC-UCLA was one of the greatest rivalries in sports. I always felt it was disrespected when the national conversation came up about the biggest college rivalries. Then I lived in Alabama and witnessed the passion of the rivalry between Alabama and Auburn. I realized USC-UCLA is JV, Alabama-Auburn is varsity. I had to witness it myself to fully understand. That is watching your wife give birth and nurse. You’ve heard stories, seen documentaries, maybe even got a glimpse from relatives, but until you’re in it, 24/7, you don’t realize what moms are truly going through. If you don’t come out of it with a newfound respect for women, you’re either oblivious or just a chauvinist.
I’ve read several dad-focused pregnancy books as well as all the paraphernalia we received from multiple OB-GYNs and pediatricians. All of that literature boils down to the exact same thing: support the shit out of your partner. That’s it. Being a dad to a newborn is like being an assistant coach, but not an offensive coordinator when you’re calling plays and making major decisions, it’s more like you’re the assistant to the strength training coach who just carries around all the water bottles to keep all the players hydrated. So, actually instead of an assistant coach, you’re a waterboy. You’re Bobby fucking Boucher!
I can only speak of my very new experience as a father to a child that’s being breastfed. Perhaps formula newborns are different. When it comes to a breastfed infant, when it’s feeding time - it’s on mom. Doctors recommend feeding in the first couple weeks every 2-3 hours so that the baby can regain the weight lost after birth. I didn’t know this, but babies will lose weight immediately after birth by vacating all the fluids in his/her body that have been keeping him/her alive in utero. It’s important for babies not to lose any more than 10% of their body weight, hence the constant feeding.
With feedings scheduled so frequently, mathematically it seems like 50% of your day is devoted to this single task, but when you count all the fussiness, pumping, diaper detonations, it ends up feeling like 80%. I’m so tired I sit down to brush my teeth… when I remember to brush my teeth. Getting 3 straight hours of sleep feels like a 3-hr orgasm. My speech and thoughts run incoherent. In fact, I forgot where I’m going with this sentiment. Perhaps as we get to the Week 52 entry, if I’m still doing this blog, it’ll be far more poignant.
I should note this blog isn’t a how-to-dad guide. I don’t have any answers - especially on how to clean my baby’s butt during a diaper change while simultaneously making sure he doesn’t pee all over me and any adjacent furniture. I’m writing this blog so that my brain can retain something other than Disney lullaby tunes on Pandora. I'm writing this as a time capsule because I know I'll forget all these details in a few months. Maybe you can relate, maybe you will relate, maybe you're just reading this out of a friendly obligation. Whatever the reason you're here, hope you'll enjoy and it'll trigger memories of your own experiences. Now if you excuse me, I'm going to go take a nap.
This has become my life as a sleep-deprived new dad. Becoming a father is one of the greatest experiences in life, but I’ll be honest, it hasn’t completely hit me yet. While I’m hopelessly in love with my little guy, I’ve also noticed a lot of my attitudes have not matured yet. I get annoyed having to clean the imitation Grey Poupon little man left in his soiled diaper (yeah that’s what baby poop looks like post-meconium, pre-solid foods), as it takes time away from binging the next episode of “The Americans.” I do think for the most part this arrested parenthood is a paternal characteristic. There may or may not be science to this theory, I’m too tired to research something as mundane as facts right now, but it seems logical. Women have been growing and nurturing the baby for 40 weeks, so when the child comes, they’re more adjusted and have been mentally processing this moment for more than 9 months.
We dads are different. While we’ve witnessed and tried our best to assist our significant others through pregnancy, the bottom line is our bodies haven’t done a thing. Except gain mass and lose definition because of that bullshit excuse called sympathy pregnancy. Nah, bros. We’re just lazier and less motivated. Just accept it.
So when baby pops out, boom! The mental adjustment truly begins. The first adjustment I’ve had to realize is that - as a man, this ain’t your show. You’re Robin, mom is Batman. Check that. You’re Alfred. My respect for my wife, mothers, women, has grown exponentially witnessing the natural transformation of my spouse becoming a mom and the physical pain that can be involved. For me, like many men, we try to be problem solvers. What's the issue? Okay, let me figure out a way to solve it. But when it comes to babies, you really can't do too much. Baby crying? Send in mom’s boobs. You want to help your wife get some sleep and rest, but if the baby’s fussy, you’re helpless. There’s a physiological bond between mother and baby that dads just don’t have. I’m talking about biology, organisms, beakers and shit.
I have a poor sports analogy that it reminds me of. Growing up in Southern California, I used to think USC-UCLA was one of the greatest rivalries in sports. I always felt it was disrespected when the national conversation came up about the biggest college rivalries. Then I lived in Alabama and witnessed the passion of the rivalry between Alabama and Auburn. I realized USC-UCLA is JV, Alabama-Auburn is varsity. I had to witness it myself to fully understand. That is watching your wife give birth and nurse. You’ve heard stories, seen documentaries, maybe even got a glimpse from relatives, but until you’re in it, 24/7, you don’t realize what moms are truly going through. If you don’t come out of it with a newfound respect for women, you’re either oblivious or just a chauvinist.
I’ve read several dad-focused pregnancy books as well as all the paraphernalia we received from multiple OB-GYNs and pediatricians. All of that literature boils down to the exact same thing: support the shit out of your partner. That’s it. Being a dad to a newborn is like being an assistant coach, but not an offensive coordinator when you’re calling plays and making major decisions, it’s more like you’re the assistant to the strength training coach who just carries around all the water bottles to keep all the players hydrated. So, actually instead of an assistant coach, you’re a waterboy. You’re Bobby fucking Boucher!
I can only speak of my very new experience as a father to a child that’s being breastfed. Perhaps formula newborns are different. When it comes to a breastfed infant, when it’s feeding time - it’s on mom. Doctors recommend feeding in the first couple weeks every 2-3 hours so that the baby can regain the weight lost after birth. I didn’t know this, but babies will lose weight immediately after birth by vacating all the fluids in his/her body that have been keeping him/her alive in utero. It’s important for babies not to lose any more than 10% of their body weight, hence the constant feeding.
With feedings scheduled so frequently, mathematically it seems like 50% of your day is devoted to this single task, but when you count all the fussiness, pumping, diaper detonations, it ends up feeling like 80%. I’m so tired I sit down to brush my teeth… when I remember to brush my teeth. Getting 3 straight hours of sleep feels like a 3-hr orgasm. My speech and thoughts run incoherent. In fact, I forgot where I’m going with this sentiment. Perhaps as we get to the Week 52 entry, if I’m still doing this blog, it’ll be far more poignant.
I should note this blog isn’t a how-to-dad guide. I don’t have any answers - especially on how to clean my baby’s butt during a diaper change while simultaneously making sure he doesn’t pee all over me and any adjacent furniture. I’m writing this blog so that my brain can retain something other than Disney lullaby tunes on Pandora. I'm writing this as a time capsule because I know I'll forget all these details in a few months. Maybe you can relate, maybe you will relate, maybe you're just reading this out of a friendly obligation. Whatever the reason you're here, hope you'll enjoy and it'll trigger memories of your own experiences. Now if you excuse me, I'm going to go take a nap.
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