fragmentary/ruminant: rumination 6: beginnings of fatherhood

I was told with conviction that I would cry when my child was born, and I was told that parenting was an unalloyed joy. In my opinion, the people who say such things tend to have forgotten what it's like to be childless. I don't blame them. I've largely forgotten it myself. But my experiences were nothing like that. I felt lost at sea, and with good reason, too.

The transition to parenthood is a monumental thing, but not because of the ontological greatness of the transition, but because of how herculean the task really is. I know that the physical burdens of pregnancy are visited exclusively on the woman, but often the difficulties for the man are downplayed or ignored completely.

First, it is unfair to dismiss the difficulties of the man on the grounds that the woman simply suffers more. It's never been possible for me to watch my wife suffer and go about my affairs as if nothing were happening. Her pain has tremendous impact on her husband; she may be too ill, uncomfortable or in too much pain to notice, but it's still there. We have to be loving and supporting. We hold the bucket during morning sickness, and make dinner when the physical burdens become too much. We worry and fret while we're at work all day, hoping everything is going well at home. Many women find comfort in unloading their complaints on men, that too can be a burden. It feels as if all we do to help just isn't enough.

Second, there are some distinct advantages that women get during this transition. For women, the transition to parenthood is a far more gradual thing; they have the benefit of an intimate communication of kicks and motion for weeks before the baby's actual arrival. The husband gets the medical equivalent of a Rorschach test, and then a new baby is in his life, screaming. The suddenness is harsh, and there isn't really any solution to it. That's just the way pregnancy works. I'm sure it's fair for the woman to get the consolation of a relationship with the child beforehand, due to all the physical burdens she carries. Nevertheless, it's quite easy for the father to get left out of the loop. Even when he is included in some way (such as feeling kicks through the belly), it's not really a similar experience to that of the woman.

Third, while the woman is going through the physical hardships of pregnancy, there are mental rigors that (at least in my experience) wear down the man. For me, it was always worry about finances. I would spend all day with a calculator, worried sick about where the money would come from for this or that expense. It's possible that the worry is in part hormonal, possibly it's just stress. But for the most part, it's endured alone.

There is a balance to be struck in most things in life. I think it's true that man and woman work together to bring forth new life, and the pains of transition are different for both, but present for both.

When a woman is in travail she has sorrow, because her hour has come; but when she is delivered of the child, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a child is born into the world. (John 16:21)

And for some, that joy will be immediately apparent. For others, though, there's a lot of growing into that joy. I have never been one to coo over newborn babies. By and large, they are a fragile, unresponsive and frightening lot. I'm always afraid I might hurt a newborn.The first night we brought our son home from the hospital, we were both scared out of our minds. What if we messed up? What if something mysterious and inexplicable happened? How would we know what to do? We put the child in his Moses basket and cowered in the corner, checking to make sure he was breathing every fifteen minutes and dreading the possibility that he might wake up.

As our son grew, so did we, I suppose. My definition of "good night's sleep" was changed forever. I started putting the baby to sleep in the evenings, singing to him and rocking him. I took my turns in the middle of the night, even as I do now, though less frequently. Teething was painful for the whole family. The fear faded quickly, leaving two adults run ragged by the new, tiny human in their care.

For me, joy has always worked the opposite of how it's popularly described. It's like like learning to ride a bike: working through the transitions and looking back to find your life enriched. When Sheila and I first got married, we honeymooned at her grandparents' cabin on the shores of Lake Wenatchee, Washington. We foolishly decided we were equal to the task of climbing the mountain across the lake, Mount Dirtyface. three thousand feet and six hours later, we were on top of the mountain. It was a wonderful experience, though afterwards I was as sore as I've ever been. I've never experienced true joy as a wave of euphoria or an emotional pang. I've experienced it as I did that mountain climb: an awareness of accomplishment and acknowledgment of gift.

I truly started to feel the joy of my son when he was about three months old. Children become more interactive at that age, with big smiles and vocal noises. Since then, I feel I've really grown into parenting. I get along quite well with my younger son, and the older and I are fast friends. I can't imagine what my life would be like without them. But it's worth stating, in case any fathers-to-be are reading, that it's not instant, and it's quite difficult. It's worth the wait, but it takes a true and permanent adjustment.

I think the permanence of the adjustment is the hardest aspect. Men get attached to doing things their way. It's easy to feel resentful of the tiny creature that came into your life with the iron fist of tyranny. Nothing is fair anymore. If you had a bad day at work, you can't go home and lick your wounds. You have to go home and be the moon and the stars for your child. If you have a fever, you still have to get the baby into the high-chair and get him food. You can't break down, because you have to comfort the child when he breaks down. That might be why our culture has a fatherhood problem. Either you grow, or you quit. There's no middle way.

It's a mystery to me how anybody does it. If I stop and think about it, it's still a mystery to me how I do it. Fortunately, I never really have the time to stop and think it through. It makes no sense: in some cosmic way, it appears that the anguish of the transition gives rise to joy. That's like saying big shoes cause big feet. But it's still true.

Source: http://frag-rum.blogspot.com/2012/08/rumination-6-beginnings-of-fatherhood.html

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