If you ever wanted a viewpoint as to how different the sexes are, read the following:
“Baby L is now Little L. Rolling progressed into crawling that has now become wild running. Receiving blankets are no longer a staple for going out, but good shoes definitely are…
I guess I have some “big feelings” that I’m not sure what to do with, either. :/ And though I love entering this new season, full of life and laughter and learning, I am admittedly a little sentimental about how short the last one turned out to be. The sleepless nights were hard, as were the clingy days, but how quickly the rain and the haze have brought forth the flowers’ bloom.”
“Justice, when did you write this?” I don’t think so, jack.
I will grant you that yes:
- this is truly poetic
- only someone who has truly mastered the prose art form could write it
- this was not written by anyone with testosterone
- this was *definitely* never written by any man who has ever fathered a child.
I will grant you that reading those words touched me (or would have if I were not hard as a diamond and cold as steel), but not because of some wispy, flowery nostalgia for the “good days” of the first two months of my daughter’s life. No I am touched because this article indicates that my wife has suffered short term memory loss. Show of hands, dads…who out there actually wishes they could go *back* to the days of their child being 1 or 2 months old? No no, not you with the tiny dog in the stroller walking down Davie Street. That is not a baby, and you are not its father. Put your hand down.
Let me tell you as the half of the greatest marriage in North American history that actually *remembers* what those first months of my daughter’s life were like, I do not miss them at all. The only thing I can tell you is that my daughter is fortunate that she has a superhuman for a father, because a lesser man would have faked his death and ran out of town after the first 6 weeks. But no, for the sake of his family, yours truly managed to keep it together despite replacing his traditional workout routine of 17 thousand bicep curls with a “routine” – if you could call it that – of:
- walking around in a circle with my daughter for 4 hours at a time to put her to sleep
- sitting down and realizing in the dead of night that since she was in my lap and I couldn’t wake her, the only thing I could do was stare into space.
- Play a funny game with myself I liked to call “have 5 minutes passed or 5 hours?” every 5 minutes (or was it five hours?)
- passing my daughter to my wife so she could have her turn at this for a couple of hours (except with added nursing)
- lay down in bed, pray for death
Repeat every day. Forget about the gym. When you are doing this grind for months at a time, just being able to look yourself in the mirror without bursting into rugged, hyper-masculine tears is a gigantic accomplishment.
You might think that a man who spends all of his waking hours staring into space and mentally rattling off the names of all the Generation 1 Transformers (in catalog order*) to keep himself sane does not have a ton of time available for the gym. You would be correct. In fact I had no time for the gym. For months. And it was in this sorry (yet still handsome) state, looking in the mirror four months later, that everything began to change. But that is a story for:
Next time: probably *not* the continuation of this story!! But it’s coming! Take a look at this heartbreakingly pretty face instead to pass your time…
* what did I tell you?