Shit They Don't Tell You About Fatherhood: 1950s Housewife Syndrome

In this forum, I’ve oft referred to the “1950s Housewife Syndrome.” Contrary to what you might think, that is not another parenting blog… But, just in case, COPYRIGHT! Ha! I smell a spin-off.

No, the 1950s Housewife Syndrome encapsulates all the ethereal stresses and mental breakdowns that naturally come with the role of stay-at-home parent, which is compounded by the fact that ethereal stresses and mental breakdowns are so hard to describe. So, those 1950s housewives had trouble explaining what exactly was stressing them out and, because of that, their husbands thought it wasn’t really true. This, of course, added further frustration and I don’t know why I’m writing in the past tense because it’s me, okay? I’m talking about me.

Actually, my wife is incredibly sympathetic, but those stresses are real for all stay-at-home parents. And they will continue until we perfect a parenting robot and, even then, it’ll probably dish up annoying sass like that cheeky Rosie from The Jetsons. Shut up and do your job! You’re a robot!… Sorry.

To give you an idea how raw this sore spot gets, check this out. A family friend came over a few weeks ago. She’s a nice old lady. My wife was telling her how long it’s been since she’s had a real vacation. The old lady turned to me and asked about my last vacation, then waved her hand, dismissing her own question by saying, “Oh, you’re home all day. Every day is a vacation.” At that moment, I came criminally close to punching a nice old lady in the throat.

Here’s the kicker: Men handle stress differently than women. I’ve written before that I honestly believe women are biologically better prepared to deal with this kind of stuff. Or maybe that’s just my excuse for spending the first three months of my sons’ life muttering to myself as I hugged my knees and rocked back in forth in the corner of our darkened bathroom.

As a stay-at-home father, you must have coping mechanisms in place to deal with stress. If you don’t, figure them out fast. Don’t expect anyone to understand the way you deal with it or why you would even need to. It will only lead to more stress. Learning to work out the inherent stress in your day will make you a better parent and, yes, make your kids better kids. Just remember there are no wrong answers. Well, except locking your baby in the garage for an hour. That’s a wrong answer.

Shit They Don't Tell You About Fatherhood: Super-Hearing

My repeated attempts to get off caffeine fail not because I am weak, but because my boys are Gitmo-ing me with sleep deprivation again. Okay, I guess it’s not all their fault. They’re both sleeping through the night pretty regularly, but Boone has a habit of moaning in his sleep. You’ll discover when you become a parent your hearing suddenly reaches a level only describable as superhuman. I’m telling you, you will hear them blink from across the house.

This happens because, when they’re not in sight, you need to hear if they start choking or slide the lamp off the end table or pull the pin on your fragmentation grenade. From the next room, you’ll be able to tell if your baby is about to roll the red or blue Tonka truck into the dog’s face. (Hint: The blue truck has more bass.) It really is freaky. Even freakier, this superhuman hearing only applies to things your baby does, which explains why the word most often said between my wife and me is still “What?”

So, when Boone starts moaning at 4 am, even though he’s in a room down the hall, I’m up. And sometimes he doesn’t stop moaning until he wakes up at 7 am. Mind you, he wakes up full rested. Oh, and don’t worry about Wyatt. I could juggle him with a couple of STIHL MS 171 chainsaws and he wouldn’t wake up. Believe me. I’ve done it.

Shit They Don't Tell You About Fatherhood: Sleep Deprivation

When you’re expecting a child, everybody jokes, “Get all the sleep you can now.” Even people who don’t have kids. Two problems with that:

1. Getting sleep before your child’s arrival won’t help you once said child arrives; and
2. After four months of almost no sleep, you will want to track down anyone who made that joke and slaughter them.

I brushed off those jokes. I knew it would be a challenge, that I’d be tired, but I was ready. “Plus,” I thought, “I’ve had stretches of no sleep, strings of all-nighters. I can hack it.” I’m here to tell you, sir, no you can’t. But it’s okay.

Let me explain what happens once your wee one comes home from the hospital. For the next 3-4 months, you will only get sleep in two-hour blocks because your baby will need to be fed every 2 hours. That’s not an exaggeration. It’s a fact. Can’t be changed. And those two-hour blocks only happen if you fall asleep right away, not lie awake panicking about all the shit new parents panic about. And that, of course, is only if you don’t have work or chores to do or if your baby doesn’t actually sleep the whole two hours. And here’s the thing—that’s not the worst part.

Sleep deprivation like that will actually make you go bonkers. Again, not an exaggeration. You will literally go bat-shit crazy. More than once. Sometimes, for weeks at a stretch. There’s a reason they used it at Gitmo as a torture technique. During these times, you can feel your sanity snap like a wet twig, then any rational thought becomes a hazy memory. You will do and say and think things that, upon reflection, will chill you to your soul, making you question if you ever had the qualities of a decent human being.

Now, I’m going to tell you something here that some may find offensive: New fathers, your wife or girlfriend will handle all this much better than you because they are biologically prepared for motherhood. I’m not saying they won’t also slip a cog now and then, but the recovery time will be much shorter, her fuse will be much longer, her patience will be much… more patient. And yes, this will further aggravate your mental instability.

The payoff, however, is that after that 3-4 months, you do get what could be considered a normal amount of sleep. (The first time that happens, you will feel a euphoria like no drug can produce.) You will also start to see things like your baby’s smile or a look of recognition on your baby’s face as you enter the room. That, sir, is pretty fucking cool and it starts the milestone marathon, which includes rolling over, solid foods, crawling, first words, standing, walking, hugs, drawing, maybe a garage band, driving, a DUI, some jail time, then a career as an adult film star.

Lastly, let me address what are called “dream babies.” Those are the rug-rats that sleep through the night from day one and have no trouble napping. You’ll undoubtedly hear someone talk about their child like this. When you meet these people, you can go ahead and punch them in the face. It’s like a service the universe provides for sleep-deprived parents.

Shit They Don't Tell You About Fatherhood: Changing Diapers

I started this blog after the boys were sleeping pretty solidly through the night. I did this for two reasons. First, twin newborns keep you much too busy to do anything but triage baby care. Second, if I had blogged back then, the entries would’ve read like this:

…I can hear the air… HAHAHAHAHA Wait, ojfpnq[clsp3wp,d .lllulk I don’t sleep enough to dream, so my dreams are coming to kill me… TWO LANE BLACKTOP IS THE BEST MOVIE EVER! nkck[c[][q]q]]]aaw4444ewdkmswl spdqjd…

That means, however, any expectant fathers reading this might think childrearing isn’t all that tough. “Fie!” I say. And I’ll go ahead and add, “Phooey!” It’s a challenge. A challenge like no other you have faced. Ever. Yes, it’s all worth it, but you’ll have moments where you don’t feel that way. And by “moments,” I mean “most of the first 3-6 months.”

So, in the interest of helping those expectant dads sitting with stomachs clenched at the tipping point of the last drop on the Log Flume ride that is new fatherhood, here is the first in a semi-regular feature called Shit They Don’t Tell You About Fatherhood. First Installment: “Change No Diaper Before Its Time.”

As a new dad, you may find a few things at which you completely excel. For me, it was diaper changing. I was so good at it, I could have a wet diaper off and a clean one on before the baby knew what was happening. Of course, that’s not really a big deal because for the first three months, the baby won’t know what’s happening pretty much all the time. They just wear a constant look of “What the fuck?” Still, with my wife having to get up every two hours during the night to feed the tykes, I felt changing diapers was my charge. I was eager to help. I was mechanically efficient. And I was wrong.

If you smell poop, don’t feel you need to rush over and change the kid right away. Certainly, don’t let him stew in a bag of crap all day, but give him time or you will experience what I dubbed “The Poo Fountain.”

A baby’s poop is pretty fluid. If you take off the child’s diaper before he’s really done, a stream of poo will literally shoot out of him. It’s like one of those internet videos that turns your stomach, but from which you can’t look away. The first time it happened, I felt like someone just raped my eyeholes.

If you smell poop, hear the baby poop or see your baby’s Poop Face, check him. Take your time. When you get him on the table, don’t rush. He may be saving some up for a display to rival the Belaggio water show. Give him a chance to get it all out. You’ll be happy you did.