Being a Dad is Hard

Day 3 of NaBloPoMo brings a different voice to the blog. It feels a bit like stream-of -consciousness, and definitely went to places I didn't expect when I first started writing, but it proved very cathartic for me nonetheless. Hopefully, as the reader, you get something out of it, because I know I did.

If you weren't aware, I am the very proud father of 3 children: fraternal twins (boy and girl), who will be 2 near the end of this month, and a nearly 7 week old daughter. This statement alone should clue you in to the fact that, on the best of days, our home is a seething mass of chaos. Toys litter the landscape for as far as the eye can see, Cheerios and Goldfish constantly crunch underfoot, and tantrums are almost as common as Brangelina tabloid headlines. It's a far cry from the life my wife and I once shared, as two professionals living the DINK lifestyle. Ah, the carefree days of being able to get up when you wanted to on weekends, not being afraid to go out for dinner and uninterrupted nights of sleep. And while I wouldn't trade my life now for anything, I'm here to say, without reservation, that it's damn hard.

To put things in perspective, while writing the introductory paragraph, I left the computer no less than 3 times, to comfort my son, who should have been asleep some time ago. It seems that he chose this evening to discover his shadow, created by him jumping in front of his light-up musical aquarium in his crib, and deciding that he really didn't like it. Both my wife and I were up in the twins' room, comforting both the little ones (my son because he was scared and my daughter because she was so worried about her brother), wondering exactly how to convince him that his shadow is nothing to fear. Clearly, the first time didn't work, as she and I alternated trips up to calm our slightly shaking and very upset son a few more times before sleep won the fight and they now both are quiet.

Also, my lovely infant daughter seems to be able to produce more gas than your average elephant, and as you would imagine that makes her rather uncomfortable. This in turn makes us uncomfortable, because a screaming infant that you simply can't console isn't the epitome of a relaxing sound or sensation. Just as a sidebar, I never thought it could be possible that a child that small could clear a room with her noxious emissions, but trust me, it's possible.

I'm running on less than optimal sleep, because our oldest daughter was up 4 times in the night between the hours of 2am and 4:30am. She was in some sort of distress, and for the first time that I can remember, she cried out, "Dada! Mommy!" in the night. Most of the time, she either just moans or screams us awake, so this must have been serious. Some big hugs and tucking in later, she finally settled to allow us at least a bit of uninterrupted slumber.

All of these things have happened in just the past twenty-four hours, so you can only imagine what else has occurred recently. To be honest, I'm not sure exactly why I'm relaying all of this to you, the faceless, nameless reader. Therapy, maybe? There is the possibility that if I just get some of these experiences out of my head that they won't seem that bad. It's just that there are days that feel like they'll never end, and even when they do, there's another one just like it waiting for me with the rising of the sun. I won't lie to you, or me for that matter, and say that it's not discouraging at times. Talking to my wife, I sometimes liken the experience of parenthood to a hamster wheel that you can't get off. No matter how much you desperately want to stop running and just 'be' for a moment, the inexorable march of time and the needs of your children keep you running, running, running...

To go along with all of the responsibilities of being a parent, there's also the struggle with my inner child. You see, this immature little beast really wants to still be able to get up at noon on a Saturday and do whatever he wants. He still wants to go out and buy all the latest and greatest electronics and video games. He still wants to go to as many sporting events as he can secure tickets for. He still wants...well, he still wants to do whatever the hell he wants to do. The cold, hard reality of the situation is far different, though. Now, he is at least partially responsible for the care and well-being of three little lives, lives that would not exist if not for him. The twins are an alarm clock with no snooze button. Being home on weekends is no longer a restful experience. The running joke with my coworkers is that, "Work is where I can go to rest," but it's only partially a joke.

I switched to the third person in the last paragraph, at least in part, to try to separate myself from that aspect of my personality with which I struggle every day. To give in to the selfish wishes of my inner child goes against everything I need to do as a responsible parent. I need to be the best that I can be for them, to provide them with a roof over their heads, food on the table, clothes on their backs, and the opportunities to prosper in the realities of today. Along with the material requirements, I need to be attentive to them, show them the love and care that I received while growing up, so they never have to wonder if their parents love them. These responsibilities conflict with my desires for downtime and 'goofing off,' and there is a daily struggle for the dad I need to be to convince the child I want to be to put down the toys and fulfill the grownup obligations that just won't go away.

Now, if you've read this far, there hasn't been a whole lot of upside or anything to lead you to believe that I enjoy being a father. To the contrary, there are so many moments throughout the course of a day that make me take pause and realize just how blessed I really am. A smile from my infant daughter as I lay her on the changing table and let her kick her feet and wave her arms; my older daughter running into my arms for a "Big hug!"; my son, giggling uncontrollably as I crawl on the floor toward him, threatening him with tickles the whole way; the way they say "Please" and "Thank you" as I hand them their milk cups; the amazing reception I get when I come home from work, consisting of the kids screaming "Dada!" at the top of their lungs and grabbing me around the legs as I walk through the door. These are but a few of the incredible, unforgettable and amazing moments that help me cope with all the harsh realities of being an adult and causing me to stop and think about how lucky I really am, and that I wouldn't want it any other way.