PREFACE
It seems to me, from being in the trenches of fatherhood for 18 months now, that there aren’t many dads talking about their journey of being a father in an open, and honest way. When asked how things are going, there’s the usual “Uh… good, good. Can’t complain.” and more of “Um… hanging in there.” and “You know… good enough.” When in reality, I know you just want to scream out “Actually, I firmly believe that my kid is a monster and I genuinely feel like she is actively trying to kill me.” I have read and listened to a lot of books, blogs, and podcasts about how to be a dad in this ever-changing world. Most people sugar-coat the parenting experience or simply mumble over the pain, because talking about the ugly side of things are considered in-bad-taste, or worse, makes you look like a bad parent. God forbid we ever talk about how terrible and homicidal-thought-inducing some aspects of parenting truly is. This hush culture is true, especially among men, because men are inherently fathers. I understand that this is the most obvious statement in history. What I mean to say is that we as men, cannot be mothers to our children. Never 100% of the way, unfortunately. Mothers, innately, have this deep and undeniable connection with their children. It’s amazing to witness the genuine moments of pure understanding and love when a mother is interacting with her children. We dads kind of get there, but never seem to cross that finish line. No matter how hard I have tried, I’m always just the sidekick. I am forever an Etta Candy to my wife’s Wonder Woman. Look it up if you have no idea what I’m talking about.
To clarify, I am not jealous of my wife’s connection with our child (just a little pissed off about it). This isn’t to say that I am not looking forward to a more meaningful relationship that my daughter and I will hopefully have in the future. I absolutely am. I can’t wait. I am filled with glee and all those fluffy feelings just thinking about even the possibility of having a good relationship with my kid. But that’s at least two decades away. Call me cynical (and many have, every day of my life) but I am just bracing for the inevitable muddy minefield that I have to traverse in order to get to that point. So now you know where I’m coming from.
WHO I AM
I just turned 34. I feel older than the age suggests. I am what many consider to be Xennial (the micro-generation between Gen X and Millenials). I remember the days without internet. I remember there used to be a whole room dedicated to a computer. Now we carry one in our pockets at all times. My world before the child used to be nice and quiet. A good solid job where I liked the majority of people that I worked with (a feat in itself), a kick-ass wife who reminded me every day how lucky I am to have found her. I also have a nice, modest house in a suburb area not too far away from downtown Seattle, where I could truly get away from all the noise and bullshit. You could say that I enjoyed my life. Almost at peace with myself and my surroundings. I’m what you call an “old soul.” That’s just a nice way of saying that I’m grumpy most of the time. I am not necessarily a mean person, but people have told me that I act and talk like an old, cynical man since I was about 12. At first, I thought that was a rude thing to say to a child, but I don’t mind since I catch myself being that way from time to time.
DAD BEGINS
Most horror stories begin with a picture-perfect family. I like to imagine that’s what my wife and I were. A nice couple in love, living free of any obligations and responsibilities. We were free to make our own choices… weekend getaways, go to movies and have a social life. Do whatever we felt like whenever we felt like it. Simple luxuries like “Hey, let’s go get a froyo because I feel like one right now at 10:30 pm.” Everything felt good and right with our world. So naturally, we wanted to spice things up. The decision to have a child was innocent enough. Of course, we wanted to make a miniature version of ourselves. What this world really needs is just more of our DNA. Things were going well, so why not bring in something that’ll complicate everything? Great decision.
When Cora came into our lives, it truly was one of the happiest days of my life. I will forever remember the day she was born. Every single detail, good or bad, are imprinted onto my memory core for eternity. Looking at your newborn for the first time is an out-worldly experience. No one, no literature, no movies can prepare you for that moment in your life. I did not know I was capable of having that many emotions at the same exact time. Like most men of my age, I was taught to keep all emotion bottled up deep down and never talk about it; like a man. But manliness be damned, Cora blew open that bottle with a grenade. Happiness, though being the biggest emotion at the time, fear was also definitely present. My whole body felt like it was shaking, though I knew I wasn’t moving at all. Although you feel your child to be some perfect little thing, no one ever tells you how weird your baby will look when she is first born. My first thought was “Wow she’s perfect.” followed immediately by “Damn. She looks old and uncomfortable.” You may know what I’m talking about if you have a child of your own. If not, I suggest watching a little movie called Benjamin Button.
I’ll be frank. Your child will not look “good” at first glance like everyone makes it out to be. It is not like the movies. She will be covered in protective goo and be in this purple hue. The nurses will be entirely too rough with your kid (so you think), and you will want to punch the nurse’s flipping lights out. Mind you; all this is happening within a minute of your kid being born. I was really gentle with the umbilical cord at first, and I still remember the nurse shouting “Really get into it. Come on!” Okay… easy. This was my first time. It was 2:23 in the morning. I am not used to having these gigantic emotions, so I’m a little stressed out. She could have taken it down a few notches is all I’m saying.
Cora was a healthy 17 inches, weighing in at just 3 lbs 12.1 oz. She was premature by three weeks and an IUGR (Intrauterine Growth Restriction). That’s just medical-talk that meant Cora was born a very tiny baby. This earned her a spot in the NICU. Now, this isn’t a laughing matter by any means. Once born, they carted Cora off to NICU without my wife ever holding her newborn (emergency C-Section). I went with Cora leaving my wife on the operating table alone because a parent has to be present with the baby. Once at NICU, it was a sudden storm of doctors and nurses working stupid fast to ensure the health of the baby. Dozens of tubes were suddenly attached to her, and multiple testing began almost immediately. I did not realize at first, but there was a nurse just for me to my right, quietly watching over me in case I fainted or something. A lot of needles ended up poking Cora within minutes of her being born. That was very painful for me. More than I thought humanly possible. Although I understood intellectually what was going on, if you knew the murderous thoughts that were going through my head, you would have me locked up.
All in all, Cora was in NICU for ten days. My wife and I learned to change, feed, and care for her at the hospital. None of that was what we had planned out. In fact, the whole pregnancy was not what we had imagined. Although the doctors and nurses were very warm to us, a hospital, by default, feels very cold and detached. The small tinge of disinfectant never leaves the air and despite your efforts, a genuine moment of being alone with your family is tough to come by. All the relatives that came to meet Cora for the first time were at the hospital. Since it was NICU, family and friends alike were only let in one at a time. Do you know where else they have this policy? The prison.
Oh, here’s something. Hospital food sucks a major one. If you work in a hospital kitchen, no offense, but good lord. It’s terrible. My wife and I spent a total of 9 days at the hospital (pregnancy complications, among other things). Nine days equal to 27 meals. I went through their entire menu. Twice. I must have eaten the same burger at least ten times. I remember during college, I used to hate it when my mom would bring me home-made food. I will never complain again.
On July 26th, we finally took Cora and headed home. I remember the day being a beautiful, sunny Seattle summer day. Not a cloud in the sky. Now if you’re a dad reading this, you’ll back me up on this… I have never felt more nervous driving a vehicle like that in my life. The AC was on full blast, but I was sweating bullets the whole drive home. I didn’t realize it until after coming home, but my hands were sore because apparently, I white-knuckled the steering wheel the entire ride. The rest of that day was fairly normal, considering. Nothing too exciting to report, but by that point, I was ready for a bit of normal. I thought, finally, we can relax and enjoy our time together. Little did I know, Cora had other plans for me in sight.
TO BE CONTINUED…
