I don’t know how to express this without it sounding a little weird, but here goes. I am needy sometimes. No, that’s not the weird part. And sometimes I want to be cradled and comforted and catered to. It’s true, I would sometimes just like to put on a diaper and cry about everything that I want and maybe just be a baby for a while.
“No, I don’t want to eat my cereal and no I don’t want any juice and no there is nothing you can do to get me to stop crying but I want you to continue to try.”
I have been through a lot lately and I don’t have to be rational, logic or even adult. I would be happy if someone would just pick me up, put their arms around me and rock me for a while. Okay, so that is the weird part. Did I tell you that I have been through a lot lately?
Somewhere along the way to becoming a daddy, I found that there was no more time for me. I don’t get the same attention from me or from my partner, but that is not a complaint, it is a fact—he has less time for me and I for him. The dreaded universe shift has taken hold. The cosmic forces have not only pushed everything out of alignment, they have fundamentally changed the dominant order. Planets that once were the center with all other celestial bodies in orbit are now the orbiters. And our little moon baby has become the sun.
I can’t be anything but a dad now and that’s what I want. But sometimes isn’t it going to be just about me? Can’t I be the center once in while? Why are there so many things to do? Can I have more than the small slice of free time that I get on the weekends—that precious two hours of Ty’s naptime on Saturday and Sunday to do everything and to take care of myself? How does one take care of oneself and partner and this old house and the dogs in such a small span of time? How do the rest of you do it? How do our friends who have two children under the age of three do it? How do Jon and Kate do it with eight? Whaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Now that Darrow and I are talking about number two, I have begun to fear that I shall never have me time ever again. And by me time I don’t mean being able to do household chores or the myriad of other things pulling on my coattails, nagging me around every corner, whispering in my ear, take care of me, and me, no, me next. Noooooooooooooooo!
No, me time is going to a coffee shop for however long I want with my laptop or drawings; taking a bath without plastic ducks floating by; reading a good book on top of the bed that doesn’t rhyme or have farm animals; going to a matinee with a bucket of popcorn and gummy bears that I don’t have to share. Miiiiiiiiiiine!
I know it’s out there—me time. My wonderful partner has offered to give me a break many times. I suppose I should take him up on it next time around. For now what I’ve discovered is that at night after Ty has gone to bed, when my eyelids start to droop, I can slip downstairs to our bedroom and go to sleep—just a little early. Our son has always loved going to bed. And maybe for now during this really crazy period I get to be a baby and have an early bedtime. Then maybe during the day I won’t be whining so much—just like a big baby.
--J
