I have been capable of talking or writing a good game when it comes to being a father, but there are, granted, times where patience runs thin and there is a reversion to whatever offers expedience or an easy response. In those moments where I'm losing my temper or just cutting corners to get out the door or the like I feel like the laggard of the partnership. For example:
When brushing teeth during the bedtime routine, I more often than not forget to wash his hands and face. Same thing with sunscreen when heading out for the day.
Last week, I left a developmental screening report from his daycare in my backpack neglected long enough to become a sopping wad in the torrential rains that fell last Friday. A great "my dog ate it" variant.
I've let him stand instead of sit. (Discuss in your groups.)
I often forget his water bottle when heading out and have to buy him bottled stuff en route.
I mix up his indoor and outdoor shoes at daycare and bring him home in the wrong pair.
I had refrained from slathering every part of his zone with cream before sealing up his diaper. I also preferred the pull-ups over the tape tabs even though I recall practicing with pins and cloth in the 1980s when I took a babysitting course and was willing to go the cloth route for the first few weeks of his life until I was overruled in favour of more sleep.
I occasionally rush ahead a step or two on a Lego project when his attention has drifted instead of trying to recapture it or setting things aside. I mean, c'mon, it's Lego!
I skip entire pages rather than mere adverbs in his books when it is time for him to nod off and he is adamant about his quota before turning in.
I've laughed when I shouldn't such as the time that he squeezed a bottle of ketchup and geisered a wad of the red stuff onto his shirt, his hair and myself.
Those little things out of each week or day or hour leave me conscious about the opportunities that are constantly available to me and leave me convinced that I'm the second-stringer or the laggard in the task of raising Gabriel. I wonder if I have taken the verb "father" more literally than I care to admit. "Father" doesn't have the long term connotations that the verb "mother" does and perhaps there is something wired in me, despite my better intentions, that prompts me to slack off or become reluctant to put on the original Disney score that he prefers when my jazz is playing.
I do, however, remind him to look someone in the eye when he says, hello, thank you, good bye or sorry. I stroke his forehead or rest a hand on his stomach when he is too restless to find sleep and I get the chance to tuck him in or settle him down. I've gently pointed out the proper use of "because" and "so" which he has mixed up regular in phrases such as, "It's raining because I'm wearing boots." I've even tried to work a second language into his head by practicing Japanese and a bit of French with him.
Perhaps it all stems from being the first one to leave the house after he arrived and in the nearly four years since he was born, starting with that rush to the pharmacy to get some formula while we were still waiting for the milk to come in. In that time there have been so many moments that I have missed out on, things I have only heard afterward, secondhand. I have not been synched with his every need the way that my wife has whether it is from the moment of his arrival or going back to the closer synchronization that they once shared.
Regardless of the cause, when I am on duty alone there always seems to be an error or two or an oversight to make me self-conscious. My wife assures me that there isn't a wrong way and that is a brief bit of balm. Last week, though, when I had full on Dad duty to put Gabriel down for the night, he was finally signalling it was all right for me to go with the see-saw rhythm of his sleepy breathing. I slipped out of his bed as stealthily as a could and promptly activated the hard rock guitar riffs of one of the toys that did not get put away (by me? by him?) before turning in. A froze on the spot as a litany of curses went through my head. I paused to see if I could detect some disturbance in his sleep. On the crest of his snoring he uttered a drowsy, "I love you," and remained asleep.
Whew.
When brushing teeth during the bedtime routine, I more often than not forget to wash his hands and face. Same thing with sunscreen when heading out for the day.
Last week, I left a developmental screening report from his daycare in my backpack neglected long enough to become a sopping wad in the torrential rains that fell last Friday. A great "my dog ate it" variant.
I've let him stand instead of sit. (Discuss in your groups.)
I often forget his water bottle when heading out and have to buy him bottled stuff en route.
I mix up his indoor and outdoor shoes at daycare and bring him home in the wrong pair.
I had refrained from slathering every part of his zone with cream before sealing up his diaper. I also preferred the pull-ups over the tape tabs even though I recall practicing with pins and cloth in the 1980s when I took a babysitting course and was willing to go the cloth route for the first few weeks of his life until I was overruled in favour of more sleep.
I occasionally rush ahead a step or two on a Lego project when his attention has drifted instead of trying to recapture it or setting things aside. I mean, c'mon, it's Lego!
I skip entire pages rather than mere adverbs in his books when it is time for him to nod off and he is adamant about his quota before turning in.
I've laughed when I shouldn't such as the time that he squeezed a bottle of ketchup and geisered a wad of the red stuff onto his shirt, his hair and myself.
Those little things out of each week or day or hour leave me conscious about the opportunities that are constantly available to me and leave me convinced that I'm the second-stringer or the laggard in the task of raising Gabriel. I wonder if I have taken the verb "father" more literally than I care to admit. "Father" doesn't have the long term connotations that the verb "mother" does and perhaps there is something wired in me, despite my better intentions, that prompts me to slack off or become reluctant to put on the original Disney score that he prefers when my jazz is playing.
I do, however, remind him to look someone in the eye when he says, hello, thank you, good bye or sorry. I stroke his forehead or rest a hand on his stomach when he is too restless to find sleep and I get the chance to tuck him in or settle him down. I've gently pointed out the proper use of "because" and "so" which he has mixed up regular in phrases such as, "It's raining because I'm wearing boots." I've even tried to work a second language into his head by practicing Japanese and a bit of French with him.
Perhaps it all stems from being the first one to leave the house after he arrived and in the nearly four years since he was born, starting with that rush to the pharmacy to get some formula while we were still waiting for the milk to come in. In that time there have been so many moments that I have missed out on, things I have only heard afterward, secondhand. I have not been synched with his every need the way that my wife has whether it is from the moment of his arrival or going back to the closer synchronization that they once shared.
Regardless of the cause, when I am on duty alone there always seems to be an error or two or an oversight to make me self-conscious. My wife assures me that there isn't a wrong way and that is a brief bit of balm. Last week, though, when I had full on Dad duty to put Gabriel down for the night, he was finally signalling it was all right for me to go with the see-saw rhythm of his sleepy breathing. I slipped out of his bed as stealthily as a could and promptly activated the hard rock guitar riffs of one of the toys that did not get put away (by me? by him?) before turning in. A froze on the spot as a litany of curses went through my head. I paused to see if I could detect some disturbance in his sleep. On the crest of his snoring he uttered a drowsy, "I love you," and remained asleep.
Whew.
