dba:daddy
Fun with Play-Doh...
"I don't know any other father that does what you do."
–My Mom
Shortly after the birth of our daughter my mother was utterly amazed that I cut the cord. When she (and most women of her generation) gave birth, men were not even permitted in the delivery room. Fathers-to-be paced the halls outside the waiting room until it was time to dole out cigars.
More and more women are sacrificing their social lives during their 20s and early 30s to continue their education and/or professional experience in lieu of settling down for a life like their mothers'. Today's ambitious women seem to be faced with a choice between the promise of a happy connected family or a powerful rewarding career. Positions of prestige once exclusive to young men who identify themselves and their worth by accomplishment and acquisition alone, are now within a woman’s reach as well...and the diving lines between the sexes are fading faster than a photo of Marty McFly before the Enchantment Under The Sea Dance.
Age-old gender roles, first popularized by our ancestral hunter-gatherers, are evolving. It is the Indian Summer of a modern era in which women not only bring unique skill-sets to the table but often higher EQs as well. With an aptitude for complex problem solving and technical ability equal to that of a man's; woman are collectively extending their reach for the golden rungs. The result? An increasing number of women today (40%) are earning larger salaries than their male counterparts and are more commonly finding their way into executive leadership roles.
Anne Marie Slaughter is a professor of Politics and International Affairs at Princeton University and formerly the Dean of the Woodrow Wilson School. She also served as Director of Policy & Planning for the State Department. I had never heard of her until coming across a piece she wrote in The Atlantic entitled: “Why Women Still Can’t Have it All”. The July/August issue of Princeton Alumni Weekly Magazine (AKA: PAW) featured her follow-up perspective which discusses the responses she received from fellow Princetonians entitled: ”You Can’t Have it All” Although the subject matter is regarding working women, a lot of it translates directly to stay-at-home dads whose life-altering decisions to be with their children is (contrary to what I’ve been reading) similarly dismissed both socially and professionally as a sign of weakness and lack of ambition.
The following excerpts are my favorites:
“…I have been consistently congratulated for making career choices that reflect great ambition, but often come at the expense of personal relationships…On the occasions that I do reveal the most important motivation behind my move, I am often met with subtle but noticeable eye rolls or worse, patronizing lectures…No more do I want to be unemployed than do I want to be the power woman who goes home after work to eat moo shu pork alone in her apartment. Why then should I be proud of investing in one goal, and be embarrassed of investing in the other?...Princeton taught me well how to succeed and how to value professional ambition. But after the cutthroat Ivy League environment, I am trying to teach myself to value relationships. Ironically, the only way I can do this is by looking at my relationships as a professional goal, the only thing I know how to attain.” -Cale Salih ‘10
“Few things rival the deep satisfaction of having a profession that you love and have mastered. But one of those few things is the joy of deep connection to those we love...so why should we look [only] to the professional as the principle yardstick of prestige?” -Nannerl Keohane: Former President of Duke and Wellesley
“As a society, as a university, we say we value family. But when women (or men) choose family over professional promotion, they very often are devalued…I certainly am not suggesting that we should devalue professional ambition. But people must have the option of pursuing a different but equally respected path where we see them as peers who are investing equally…” -Anne-Marie Slaughter ‘80
Although there wasn’t any shame or awkwardness initially upon making the sensible decision to stay home (like 650,000 other men in America), not getting dressed for work has me in a funk lately….kind of like being sick.
If I wasn't showered, shaved and dressed it used to be because I had nothing to do or because I was sick….or worse depressed. Even if I had been working around the clock on a project or new restaurant opening, I would produce a fresh exterior on an un-showered body with hair that was at least washed in the sink…but there was some degree of effort there due to the fact that colleagues, clients, customers and superiors expected to see me looking presentable….and not being able to manage one's appearance would mean not being able to handle one's job. Now I keep catching myself completely un-kept due to simply not being able to pick up any semblance of a schedule in my new job...and it's been a bit overwhelming to say the least.
It’s been well-documented that our external appearance has a direct correlation to how we feel internally. Whether or not one causes the other is debatable but unimportant. I'm no longer just working from home and handling the brunt of the domestic workload. I've been given a promotion. I now have a new position and my new boss notices everything.
I am her primary reference for what it means to be an adult. It has just occurred to me that, not only are my spoken words and physical examples important, but so too is my perceptible level of confidence, self-respect and self-awareness…and the body language that accompanies.
If a dog can sense fear then I’m sure this smart little girl can detect my being mentally and physically organized. Starting tomorrow, I am going to wake up yet another hour earlier to look as good for my daughter as I would for any client.
A few things my wife and I recently discussed as really being the best gifts/things we ever received/purchased for our Catherine (outside of her car seat and miniature kitchen which both count as necessities in my book).
I ran into Catherine's room last night when she cried out for her Mommy who was on-call. Trying to fill my wife's shoes, I quietly knelt beside her bed and while gently rubbing her back to comfort her asked:
"What's wrong baby?
"Ouchie!" She replied.
"Oh no! what hurts!?” I questioned.
"My hair!" She cried.
"Whats wrong with your hair!!?" I asked.
"You're on it." She sobbed…
Matthew 6:3....literally.
Having a wife with an incredibly demanding career means she misses out on experiencing many small magical moments and some significant milestones in our daughter's childhood. Witnessing most of her growing up is priceless! It makes my job of being a full-time parent so rewarding. But one of the strange and challenging aspects of this transition has been dealing with my wife's frustration with feeling excluded.
It's difficult to know she's missing out on things…and to feel, at times, very much alone myself. I wish she was able to share all of these memories with me. I can only imagine how frustrating and sad it must be for her too. Of course, it’s easy to forget how painful it must be for her when she gets annoyed at not knowing where the can opener is kept… or says things like "You’ve got it easy!" or "Sure, you know all the neighbors...they'd rather hang out with you than with me!" or "That is something that is very special and important to me and you totally excluded me!".
As a stay-at-home dad, I've learned to compensate for some of the inherent distance. Using my blackberry camera to take pictures of everything from cute outfits to bed-side table lamps enables her to shop, to some extent, by proxy. My wife loves the fact that, every morning, I send several shots of Catherine coming down the stairs so that she can see her outfit and how well (or poorly) daddy styled her hair. I think the videos I take of everything from cuddling with the dog to shopping at the supermarket makes her feel a little less disconnected. I seriously take pictures and videos of everything....so much so that I can fill the memory on a phone in less than a month if I don't regularly sync my media. It must look absolutely obnoxious to anyone watching.
But I realize that no amount of documenting our daughters life will ever be an adequate substitute for actually being there. On several occasions, my wife has directed the frustration of not being there at me....which has been the fundamental issue underlying a few serious relationship-shaking arguments. I loose my cool and raise my voice in these situations but eventually try to remind her, that it is her job that excludes her from regular participation in the family and not me. Using me as a target for things that frustrate both of us is a hazard to the longevity of our marriage….and probably is for any single income family. I love and admire my wife more than she will ever know. I recognize the importance of her bettering, and often saving, the lives of countless children everywhere… but it doesn't make sharing her with them any easier.
"Bye Bye Mommy" started out as a sad cry upon my wife’s departure for work every morning but has now finally evolved, for both my daughter and me, into a sincere farewell based on an elevated comfort-level with Daddy being here.
“Bye Bye Mommy!!! Have a good day!” Catherine says several times at the garage door. Then she'll blow a bunch kisses and excitedly call: “Catch it Mommy!” after each one.
Our cheerful and heartfelt goodbyes now serve as my daily reminder that we’re going to be o.k.
"Bye Bye Mommy!" is beginning to sound more and more like a prophetic mantra of the American family whose structure is undergoing a gradual tectonic shift.
Thank God for Perfectionist Moms! I know a few and would never mention them by name as it seems cruel to label anyone who has my sincere sympathy. We’re not all-together that uncommon. I often find myself being pushed to accomplish the impossible and be the best parent I can out of fear that I’m not doing enough or offering the right things (I know I'm sounding a little The Road Less Traveled here...). These tightly wound women are the moms that push their children to be potty trained at 10 months old and drill math, language and spelling flash cards at 12 months. I’m not saying it’s wrong to raise children that way. Hey, to each his (or her) own….but I don’t think additional stress brought on by the pressure to perform that far ahead of the curve is doing much more that transferring stress and anxiety to the child….and I see it in the meltdowns and inability to discern sarcasm with these kids. I think a child who develops with encouragement, acceptance and access to the tools that can help them end up being far more comfortable in their own skin and socially well-adjusted….which I believe will allow them to excel later in life.
Speaking of tools to assist in development... I wouldn’t have a clue as to what is available out there without these overly-ambitious moms. I am grateful to all of them. Without them I would never have discovered: the Sprout channel, Super Readers, Word World or Apps like: Memory Train, Alphabet by Piikea, Dora Skywriter & Dora ABC’s, Hungry Guppy, Umi Numbers, Alphabet tracing, Italian Cards, Dot to Dot Numbers and Letters, Nick Jr’s A-Z and Count Bees. (Catherine's i world has considerably grown from what used to be flash memory super-saturated with Max and Ruby episodes to now include Toca Band, Toca Tailor, Toca anything really…episodes of Jake and The Neverland Pirates, Pinky Dinky Doo, Micky Mouse Clubhouse, Doc McStuffins, Small Potatoes, Diego and Peppa Pig.)
It's tough not to feel inadequate or at least question my fitness as a parent when I fall in the trap of comparing myself to others doing an incredible job. After being faced with subtly raised eyebrows and awkward pauses upon my explaining that Catherine was not yet potty trained at 2; I uncomfortably remarked: “I’m pretty sure she’s not going to show up for junior high wearing a diaper….I mean, I don’t know of any fifteen year olds who are still crapping in their pants.... It’ll happen.”
That comment went over as well as Drag Show at a RNC engagement.
I continue to appreciate Perfectionist Moms not only for their exemplary child management but also for the deluge of educational tools they bring to light. Although it requires a bit of filtering, Catherine would not be thriving as well as she is in a world that, even at 2, seems to be pretty damn competitive sometimes.
This is my Hell Week.
My wife has been on-call more nights than not and my load has doubled overnight.
I sometimes wonder if what has become a painfully monotonous routine for me, is actually a healthy and stable environment for a two year old….and then I realize that a daddy whose brain is turning into tapioca can’t be healthy for anyone.
I read somewhere that the human mind craves complex problem solving and if it’s one thing I feel more than anything, it’s the absence of that.
My greatest challenges this week are:
1.)Fighting the feelings of guilt associated with loving my daughter more than anything in the world but simply seeking an end to the adorable but non-stop chatter that often prevents me from being able to form a complete thought and on the occasion I do...actually get it out.
2.) Developing a comfort-level with abandoning any and all game plans at any given moment and completely changing direction on a dime.
3.) Taking our debilitated dog out to go to the bathroom in the backyard with a little girl. I’ve tried allowing her to stay inside on a couple of occasions when she didn’t want to go outside with me but, to be honest, I just can’t take knowing that something bad could happen to her and I’d never hear it. When she DOES come outside with me, she demands constant attention and the look of complete heartbreak rises up in her when I don’t rush to collect the leaves... or dandelions... or whatever she’s found and lovingly offered to me as a present.
It's not so easy to quell my inner riot when I'm trying to get a dog which is mirroring my energy and lacking full use of it’s hind legs, to relax long enough in order to generate a solid bowel movement... and at the same time, mentally prepare for the possibility of having to give our 120lb long-haired dog a bath in the event her shit gets all over her fur…as it usually does when she has diarrhea as a result of stress. That's an intimate moment neither of us enjoys.
4.) Taking a shower. Frequently, when I’m in the shower, I suffer a level of anxiety that seems just a bit north of rational. I’m paranoid that something horrible is going to happen and I’m not going to hear it. I imagine my daughter bleeding out or not being able to breathe as a result of some accident that has just occurred close-by without my even knowing. Sometimes I think I hear a thud or her crying out and I’ll back away from the showerhead ...or worse, run out of the shower (as I have done on several occasions) only to find her quietly playing with her i pad... safe and sound) It’s kinda like being so sure you hear your cell phone ringing….so you stop for a second… and listen… intently… and then realize it never did. Well…I guess it’s like that... times 1000.
“We thought of inviting you ...but then figured you probably weren’t interested in hanging out with a bunch of moms.” -Almost every stay-at-home mom I’ve ever met
Play dates, although awkward at first, are proving to be another great way to break the mind numbing monotony of our days while offering the opportunity to enjoy conversation (albeit brief) with another adult human being. I think it doesn’t occur to most stay-at-home moms that I might have a lot in common with them….like a sincere desire for company and fun with my child.
I’m learning to “let-go” more and more. Attempting to stick to a schedule with a child who can’t yet comprehend a “Deadline” or “being late” for something seems more and more like a naïve exercise in futility. Allowing myself to live in the moment and embrace the chaos (or mess) created by a two year old little girl who just wants to have fun and explore her world is not only proving to be therapeutic but also allowing me to bond more closely with her.
Today I allowed the inevitable unraveling of the toilet paper from the roll (a previously very annoying and stress-inducing occurrence) to evolve into a game in which we saw just how far we could drag that sucker through the house before it broke. Instead of taking the time to roll the unraveled paper back onto the roll and create something that closely resembles an abstract on cotton candy, I decided to see it as spending 99cents on what could be 15 minutes more of fun. We played with the broken strands of toilet paper, ran around with them like streamers and then finally manufactured the longest pieces into several dresses and accessories. The way she smiled at me when we were finished playing “Toilet Paper Dress-Up” was soothing. It was more than a smile accompanying the fun and excitement we shared. It was more than her looking at me with love in her eyes…. it was different somehow…like complete and total acceptance. Like she thought I was really cool.
This place should be called: The Please Don’t Touch Me Museum...or better yet, The Germ Factory. Catherine and I both get sick within 24hrs. of every visit…but it’s her favorite place in the world so I knowingly let down the face mask and willingly enter this petri dish of fun and subject myself to a myriad of germs.
A large majority of people visiting this place seem like a control group offering me the opportunity to gaze into the future… and see why adults are the way they are. It’s like social psychology on steroids!
They could sell security footage here and make a fortune.
Every trip is part beautiful exploration & discovery - part “P90X-level” exercises in restraint. Yesterday, I watched this little “alpha male” rip a rubber ducky right out of Catherine’s hands and then push her aside. I wanted to take this kid’s father by the pony tail and quietly suggest that he correct his son’s behavior and apologize to my daughter….but I know that I won’t always be there and that it’s important for her to see how she navigates through situations like this on her own. So far, much of fatherhood seems to be made up of moments where I’m rapidly processing, deliberating and considering impacts of a.) Allowing her to naturally develop instincts or b.) Manage and protect.
I left well-enough alone and let the situation play out….although I was ready to spring into action if little Ike Turner touched her again. All I really did was acknowledge what happened to her (loudly enough for anyone within a 5’ radius to hear) as unacceptable and “not nice”. I then told her that “…we don’t want to play with, or near, people like that” and moved on.
The last thing I ever want is a confrontation but I do want to address unacceptable and potentially violent behavior so that #1-she is removed from any dangerous situation and #2- she doesn’t interpret my silence as acceptance of inappropriate behavior.
So, I married a surgeon...and that means more nights alone than I would have ever imagined. Some friends of my wife took pity on me and invited me over to their place for a play-date and a glass of wine last night. I feel they thought I was a total freak. The visit began with them sitting at their kitchen table having a conversation with me... while I stood at least 30 feet away trying to keep an eye on my 2 yr. old daughter who was playing with their 2yr old in the next room. I'm honestly not sure if I'm an over-protective parent or if they really don't see the possibility of injury....everywhere. Maybe they're simply detached? Are they relaxed because they know I’m there… and probably watching both children? I can’t understand how they can sit down and chat blissfully unaware (and apparently without concern) of what their 2yr old child is playing on, near or with. They probably just think I’m ridiculous. I'm sure they wouldn’t believe the, often gruesome, trauma stories my patient wife shares with me at the dinner table. We frequently discuss interesting congenital anomalies that are often quite lengthy due to my lacking a base knowledge of physiology...and therefore asking too many questions. However, we also talk about the many trauma cases in which children arrive in the ER as the result of something that happened when their parent or babysitter “…just left the room for a minute.” I used to see these cases as the "Nascar crashes" for which some people endure the whole entire race just to witness....but now they have gone from exciting and crazy highlights to genuine fears and fuel for my anxiety.
It’s still amazing that, in the course of my day, my ability to see any task (from pouring a glass of water or folding laundry to completing a bowel movement) through to completion without interruption is impossible.
There are two other things that never cease to amaze me are:
1. Driving slowly in the left lane is not considered a moving violation and grounds for immediate impound of the driver’s vehicle.
If you’re driving in the left lane and you can travel at the same speed one lane to your right… then please move over. The left lane really is supposed to be the passing lane.
and
2. Parents training their children to mind them only when they are screaming out of utter frustration.
If you calmly tell your child to stop doing something or there will be some consequence… and they don’t stop immediately…then bring on the damn consequence!... regardless of how inconvenient it might be.
I wish there was a term to accurately describe what I'm doing so that I could more comfortably answer the question: "So, What do you do?"
I often hear people using the term “Stay-At-Home-Dad” in everyday conversation… and have also seen it abbreviated as: “S.A.H.D." which not only looks like “SAD”…but would also be pronounced phonetically as: “SAD”. I’m amazed that the term was actually ever even coined because “staying home” is the exact opposite of what I do every day.
“House Husband” is as insulting as “House Wife” regardless of whether or not it conjures up images of the reality show “Real Housewives” who seem to be as disconnected with reality as they are their children....or thoughts of the more traditional "House Wife", who are unjustly stereotyped as lazy shopaholics who start every day with Pilates and enjoy martini lunches after tennis. Either way it’s undeserving for the men and women I know who are the primary care providers in the family.
“Professional Dad” sounds like someone who is taking themselves way too seriously… and I question the professionalism of any occupation with the word “professional” in the title.
“Mr. Mom” suggests some gender role reversal between mom and dad resulting in dad becoming a man with a penchant for gossip and an addiction to the ellen show... not to mention the notion that somewhere out there coming through the front door at any moment is “Mrs. Dad”… which is far too frightening for me to even imagine.
“Full-Time Dad” would be o.k. because it suggests a high level of multi-tasking however, neglects the additional role of “Part-Time Mom” most other “S.A.H.D."s and I assume.
"Sherpa" may be offensive to Sherpas.
Perhaps the absence of an appropriate moniker is due to the fact that my generation is still on the cusp of redefining gender and parental roles.
What about “O.H.P.D.T.F.P.M”? It's an acronym for: One Hundred Percent Dad & Twenty Five Percent Mom?
Or is that too long?
I’ve got it....
“New American Dads” which can be abbreviated “N.A.D.S.”
A three hour (and sometimes two and a half hour) nap simply isn’t enough time to get any real work done. The stop and start is killing me…which shouldn't surprise me since I wasn't ever able to get enough done in a normal work day before. I have an obsessive compulsion to continue working on segments of projects that are always “almost done”… if that makes any sense.
Although I don't believe I'm one of those people who confuse working longer with working harder...my definition of significant progress seems to be “just a little more” than what I’ve accomplished once I realize it’s time to head home. I hate leaving much of anything “on the table” for tomorrow. And now, it's even worse. I’m going to have to add late-night hours to the mix. Since Catherine goes down at around 8:30-9:00pm (a bedtime my mother delicately but persistently reminds me: “is not good for a baby”) so I should be able to do some additional work done from 10 until 1 or 2 in the morning.
Ever since she was a little girl, my wife wanted a Newfoundland. After researching the breed a bit, I could see why. They are undoubtedly the most gentle breed on the planet and perfect for a family with small children….or in our case, a baby.
From the moment we brought her home, we had issues. The dog seemed to suffer from stress and a chronic case of diarrhea. We thought, at first, that it was a food allergy and weaned her on and off of four different foods before turning to pharmaceutical resources. Heavy doses of Metronidazole, intestinal flora powder and a diet consisting of boiled chicken and rice mixed with kibble costing more than kobe beef seemed to help.
A few weeks ago I noticed that Lulu, who is still less than a year old, was very tender around the lymph nodes under/behind her ears. When I asked the vet to check them out for me, I could tell from the not-so-subtle sigh and eye-roll that I was now officially “that guy”. When they returned seconds later saying: “Yup…it’s nothing. She’s fine.” I knew I had been permanently labeled as the hypochondriac owner of whom everyone was tired and that Lulu would never get a thorough examination again. When Lulu had trouble getting up from laying down the following day, we knew something was seriously wrong and when she fell over in the yard yelping two days after that, I threw her in the back of my Suburban and took her to one of the premier emergency veterinary hospitals in the area (VRC) for her mystery diagnosis. Within 12 hrs. they diagnosed her as having H.O.D….a condition that usually only presents in Weimaraners. She was admitted for a few days of observation which meant spending a couple hundred dollars a night on top of the emergency costs, meds, radiographs, etc…Slowly but surely this was tallying up to equal the cost of a summer vacation. But at least we finally knew what was wrong with her and had a potential answer to any and all previous issues.
Shortly after the three week recovery, we noticed that she was limping again. Another trip back to the vet revealed a torn ACL which was another few thousand dollars to repair using a procedure known as a “T.P.L.O.” in which two metal bars and 8 screws are used to take the place of the ligament. We requested a cosmetic closure (stitches on the inside) to prevent her from licking or chewing them which could possibly result in yet another trip to the animal hospital and thus make Lulu the “Six Thousand Dollar Dog”. The vet stressed the importance of strict adherence to the supportive therapy in order to prevent the other hind leg from blowing out (as is typical in giant breeds) and I took him seriously. He explained that some people get both done (like changing both headlamps on a car when only one burns out I presumed) as a precaution, but if we stuck to the routine…it shouldn’t be an issue.
I’ve been spending the past few weeks adding the care for a debilitated animal” to my list of “Things To Do Today”. Lulu needs to be fed, cleaned and cleaned up after, needs help going to the bathroom, given medication, etc… It’s like having an old smelly relative that requires round-the-clock-care move in with us.
For the past six weeks I’ve been Jepetto-ing this dog around the backyard on a sling like a marionette…which isn’t good for a 39yr old man suffering from sciatica and an inferiority complex. I can’t help but feel like my job is, literally, getting shittier….not to mention the fact that we could’ve bought a KIA with the money we’ve spent on this dog so far.
But Lulu has come to mean so much to my wife and our daughter in such a short time. The look in her eyes is starting to get to me as well. It’s like she wants to tell me how much she appreciates everything I’m doing. I think she understands and is both grateful and embarrassed…if that’s possible. She’s such a good dog and as much as I hate giving her baths to clean the shit out of her fur, I am falling in love with this dog all over again… like Queen Latifah and that Scott McKnight in “Just Wright”.
My late night schedule is working out pretty well. At the cost of going to bed with my wife, I’ve been able to take the lead on some legwork and re-package a construction debt placement proposal. Successfully managing this client is going to require some creativity in selling the developers on weekend site visits and meetings. It shouldn’t be too difficult as most of our conference calls can be scheduled during my daughter’s daytime naps. We hired a new assistant who should be able to work on this with me and fill-in when I’m “otherwise engaged”. I’m also working with a client who can only meet on weekends (perfect!) and has a fairly large portfolio of un-leveraged properties which should make recapitalizing them require much less time than I had originally expected. The heavy lifting required here is the creation of a global financial snapshot (which can be done at any hour) once I have all of his records. This just may work out after all. Shopping the debt piece shouldn’t take very long and can be done one phone call at a time….again during Catherine's naps. I have a third client for whom I’m providing restaurant consulting services. We’ve already developed the concept, identified three potential sites and prepared his financials. The only things left to do now are: his operations manual, new hire orientation packets and redlining the counters to our LOIs…all of which I can do from home as well. It’s probably going to be exhausting but it is the only alternative I can think of to stave off industry irrelevance and professional atrophy in general.
I love my daughter with every ounce of my being but my ego keeps beating me up and making me feel like a glorified baby sitter. I’m just feeling unproductive. I need to be productive. I miss conversations with adults and being interested in my day. This amazing little girl of mine wants nothing more than to have me as her playmate. To play or paint or pretend with me. It’s a remarkable challenge to constantly come up with ideas and activities that are entertaining and fun for both of us. I try to adopt the mindset of a child and build cardboard castles or pillow forts but after 10 minutes, it’s all I can do to stay awake. I’m bored. I need to figure out a way to continue working …part-part-time. Something. Anything from home, Perhaps I can get some work done while she takes her three hour nap. That should be enough time to make a few phone calls and review a contract or two.
