Whale-Baby: Day 10 at home with my three-month-old son
A careful disorderliness
There is a scene in the novel in which a man falls into the empty head cavity of a whale. The man is Tashtego, one of the harpooneers, and he has mounted the upturned whale head that has been hoisted over the side of the ship, in the business of extracting from the head the waxy, milky, oily substance known as spermaceti (once widely used for candles and ointments). Tashtego has a long-handled spade used to break up the head matter and a well-bucket, which he drops into the head cavity. When the bucket is hauled back up, it is brimming, “all bubbling like a dairy-maid’s pail of new milk”. Tashtego and crew have dozens of bucketfuls of the sperm when, whether through recklessness, ill luck, or the “Evil One himself”, he falls headfirst in the whale head. With a “horrible, oily gurgling”, Tashtego and the head sink into the sea. Queequeg dives in. After many tense moments — the ripples subside — the two harpooneers thrust out of the water. There is much rejoicing. Queequeg, we learn, has delivered his mate from the head in much the same way as an obstetrician, heaving and tossing and head first. “Midwifery,” Ishmael says in conclusion, “should be taught in the same course with fencing, boxing, riding and rowing.”
I am not sure what this has to do with child rearing, but it seems very important.
Despite thoughtful prepping last night and having no need to scramble this morning, when we get to Lauren’s office we realize we have forgotten her bottle bag. I can see where it sits on the kitchen counter. Hagen and I turn around to fetch the bottle bag. How are we doing today? I ask the universe, looking for a general thumbs-up/thumbs-down assessment.
Aboard the Pequod, things are getting real and getting messy. The crew is on their A-game, roping in a whale every couple chapters. Ishmael, as can be expected, spares no detail in describing the manner in which the men dispatch and hack up these animals. Whaling, I’ve come to learn, is also 90% fluid management. Through all this activity and Ishmael’s unblinking cataloging of it, we see that he is quite proud of the Pequod’s crew, his role in their collective endeavors, and the broad tradition of whaling. Sometimes, this comes at the expense of others. When they come upon a fellow whaler, the Jungfrau (Virgin), he laughs off that ship’s pointless attempt to chase down the speedy, “unnearable” finback whale, saying German ships “are among the least” — straight throwing shade. Ishmael, at his cockiest, also assumes his place next to the legendary whalemen of whaling’s rich, storied history: Perseus, St. George, Hercules, Jonah, Vishnu.
All of that to say: in these final days of my paternity leave, I find myself wondering how I’m doing. Am I being a good dad? Am I holding his head the right way when it’s bottle time? Is he in the Ergobaby correctly? Is he happy? What does Lauren think? Do I ask her enough questions about her day? Have I struck the right balance of provider and nurturer and teacher and pal? Would an independent observer see the two of us and think, At last! That there’s a father-son bond like no other…?
We grab the bottle bag and return to the office in no time thanks to light Spring Break traffic. How are we doing today, universe? Today, the universe replies, we’re doing OK.
Hagen and I have a lot to do.
First, we have the HVAC service coming to tune up our system. It seems like we just did this. I wonder if it will be Garrett again this time, but it’s not. It’s two guys, one very young, the other in his fifties, Tommy, a man I recognize from a previous visit. I come to the door with Hagen strapped to me. He is asleep. Tommy and the young guy, Dallas, put red protective booties over their shoes before stepping in.
I say, “Come on in.” Levon, locked in the bedroom, loses his mind. I show them the thermostat, the unit in the basement, the unit outside, Hagen strapped to me all the while. I want Tommy or Dallas to make a comment about him and me. “Well look at the little guy”, or “We’ve got a Mr. Mom here”. They say nothing. They have jobs to do.
While they work, I am in the bedroom with Levon and Hagen, trying to quiet one and feed the other. The white noise machine is cranked up very high, but Levon hears every knob twisted, every screw turned. I know he’s doing his damnedest to be a good boy and guard dog, but the barking is stressing Hagen and me the heck out. I am sweating. Must get through this bottle before they’re done working or else Hagen will pitch a fit, but also must not feed him too fast or he’ll get the trouble bubbles (aka gas) and/or spit up. I am sweating. Cannot take pants off because visitors.
I have Hagen on the changing table, about to change his diaper, when Tommy and Dallas have me sign some papers. Tommy tells me our system is very old, but working fine, but could also go at any moment, but could also last five more years. There’s a bit of the enigmatic soothsayer in the way he says this, crooked smile, eyes glinting. I do not want to be sold something today. I just want to change the diaper on my son, who is about to start crying, which would make me sweat more…
But Hagen is good. He is great. He is happiest on the changing table — why is that? He plays with his hands, a little schemer.
Tommy doesn’t try to talk me into anything, just hands me the papers I need to sign. When I’m signing, I again want Tommy or Dallas to say something about Hagen. Tommy shuffles papers. Dallas scrolls his phone. They say nothing.
I suspect the reason I want them to say something — You got your hands full today, huh? —is just so that I can brush it off, trap them in narrow thinking, act like this is the commonest thing there is — behold, a man on paternity leave who has everything under control. I hate that I think this, and I know I do not need, nor am I entitled to, special praise for caring for my son. We all do what we can. I’m sorry, Tommy and Dallas — so young, too young to have children of his own — sorry for implicating you in this imagined one-upsmanship.
Before they go, I tell them I’m interested in getting a quote on a new system, just in case. Just as Garrett recommended.
We have errands to run. How enjoyable it is to run errands with this little guy! The simplest, most mundane things are made new, more challenging, more interesting. We have been to a grocery store nearly every day these past two weeks — a few things here, a few things there, cashiers goo-goo eyeing him— and we would go again right at this very moment. Tell us what you need.
We need dog food from the bougie pet food store where the employees are somehow always sharing good news — The next one will be free! Take a few of these, on us! I lug the food under my arm and stride out. A broad-shouldered hipster guy in thick rimmed specs sees Hagen strapped to me, says, “Man…I need one of those for my puppy…” We don’t say anything. We are out the door. We are doing things.
We also need a few items — mayonnaise, pineapple, raisins — from the bougie human food store just across the way. To get there we take the short tunnel that runs beneath the road. (This tunnel reminds of a scene from a Harry Potter movie, where Harry encounters a Dementor in a tunnel, and for the time it takes to walk through the short tunnel, I am moved tremendously by a new, deeper understanding of the Harry Potter series: it is the love of his parents that makes Harry indestructible in the face of great evil. I know that love. Go get ’em, Hagen!) At the checkout, as I grab my bags, the woman behind me holding two bottles of juiced things says, “Well that baby sure is happy in here!” We don’t say anything. We are out the door. We are doing things.
Finally, we stop by Macy’s. We are returning some things for Lauren. At the customer service desk, I anticipate some transactional difficulty from the woman helping me — stand tall, don’t slouch, show off your son — but she scans a few things, asks me to sign, and tells me the money is back on the card. I thank her, thrilled by the ease with which we’re doing things today. I buy a bowtie. On our way out, past the perfume department, where I think I should hold Hagen’s nose, we pass by an older woman who says, “You want me to hold that baby for you?”
I say, “Yep — sure!” and keep walking. Come and get him.
However, my back is quite sore. It would be nice for someone to hold him for just a minute.
At the risk of being repetitive (or maybe that’s my point here), our evening goes the way most evenings have been going.
Lauren gets home looking beautiful, glowing, in clothes that fit her well, looking like an actual adult, unlike others of us in t-shirts that have been stretched and drooled on. We decide about dinner — we briefly discuss abandoning Whole30 and drinking beers outside somewhere but end up eating leftovers, because we’re adults. After dinner, we take a walk. Levon rolls on something that looks like bird poop and ash. When we get home I give him a bath, which he hates: revenge for his earlier barking. Next, I do the dishes and Lauren hangs out with Hagen — he is a flirt with his mother. I scrub bottles, the rack at full capacity tonight. I start a load of laundry. I make tomorrow morning’s coffee. During some of this I listen to Moby-Dick on audiobook. This still counts.
We prepare ourselves for bed, some of us earlier than others. I take Levon outside. He’s still naked — no collar on — from his bath. He sniffs the breeze, which picks up suddenly, swaying the tops of trees. I stand there a moment, take a deep breath.
How are we doing today?
“But how? Genius in the Sperm Whale? Has the Sperm Whale ever written a book, spoke a speech?
No, his great genius is declared in his doing nothing particular to prove it.”
I’m on paternity leave for two weeks with our son, and I’m going to write about it. During this time, I’m also reading Moby-Dick.
