Since my time on paternity leave is almost complete, I feel that I can finally speak authoritatively on the experience of being father to a baby of the under-one-year-old variety. And, charitable man that I am, I’m going to share that authoritative wisdom with you, dear reader. So here is my First Year Fatherhood Wisdom™ (Part 1):
Speed is the Essence of War
Get good at doing things quickly. I’m writing this post feverishly–like an anarchist writing a manifesto on speed because he knows any moment the feds are going to bust down his door and Sacco and Vanzetti his whole thing. Except in my case, the feds are my son and the door busting down is his nap ending.
Do you like a leisurely meal? Not anymore you don’t. Inhale that food as fast as you can. Better yet, eat only the portions of the meal that are essential to you functioning: chicken is for eating; that’s got protein, and protein equals energy. But parsley? What has parsley ever done for you? Don’t waste your precious time eating some do-nothing garnish.
Showers–don’t take them. Sure, you could take a fast shower, but the fastest way to do something is to not do it.
Your Life Is Interesting (to a Baby)
There’s some good news/bad news here. Bad news is that no, having a baby hasn’t made your life more interesting. (Talking about your kid to anyone who doesn’t have kids should help underscore this point.) Even after my son was born, I was still me, and the daily events of my life were unconscionably mundane. Good news! A brand-new human doesn’t know how boring those daily events are! So if I describe something with a lot of enthusiasm, I can always drum up my son’s interest regardless of how lame it is. If I loudly and excitedly proclaim, “now we’re putting your oatmeal back in the cabinet,” it starts to sound pretty ‘Grammable to him. Sometimes I even add some extra pizzazz by waiting a beat and then tossing in, “yeah, we are!” As if my son had been dubious, “Daddy, there’s no way a couple of two-bit so-and-so’s like us could be doing something so choice.” (In my mind, apparently my son talks like a beat reporter from the 30s.)
You’re in a Store and You’re Singing
If I’m not narrating something, I’m singing it. I discovered early on that if I’m singing, my son is having a good time. It doesn’t matter what the song is, which is how I learned that you can sing the words “brush dad’s teeth” to the tune of “Stand by Me.”
But, sometimes the choice of song is crucial. You’re going to want to make sure you can sing about the mechanical inner-workings of a bus, specifically its wheels and how they go, as well as the activities of its driver and passengers. Being able to do this in public with little to no shame has enabled me to deescalate several crying meltdowns, or at least delay them until we could flee the scene.
Your Child Won’t Remember Any of The Particulars (So Take Advantage of That)
Most of my day I spend entertaining the Young Master, so it’s important for me to do little things that are just for me, with the full and glorious knowledge that he can’t comprehend and won’t remember them. Example: when my son is drinking his bottle, I’ll chant “chug, chug, chug” because, why not?
I’ve also lied to my son on dozens of occasions. During his bath the other day, I regaled him with the story of how I mounted a campaign in the early 70s to have the hinge added to the list of simple machines, but that I was laughed out of Congress. And one day, I’d have my revenge. My son does not know that the hinge is not a simple machine, or what a simple machine is, or that I wasn’t alive in the early 70s, or that taking revenge on a member of Congress could be prosecuted as a felony depending on the form that the revenge took. And it doesn’t matter, because he’s a baby and he won’t remember that I said any of those things. Just like he won’t remember the time I explained how all penguins are anarchists and that’s why they refuse to get a boat license.
pygmanlion 