Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Dad

To begin with, there was an enormous amount of vomit. Our boy had a "trick gullet", "bad-gag-instinct", "faulty esophageal occluder"... Whatever you want to call it, the kid could puke. That's one of my few very clear memories of the treadmill that was my first year of parenting.

My wife and I were struggling financially and, no surprise to those who know us, she was far more capable of earning something like a real wage to pay for our shiny, new and massive mortgage. She was not so keen to leave our son at home and head back to the salt mines after a scant 3 months of mom-time, but that was our only real option. Nowadays there are better benifits for new parents, but back then maternity leave was basically the idea that mom goes on the pokey for a maximum of six months, which was only 60% of your regular income. I was never able to understand why the government thought that, with a new baby in the house, we were supposed to eliminate 40% of our expenses. Those politicians are so smart, but maybe they need to brush up on their grade 8 math.

My wife's milk never came in really strong so, much to the disapproval of the la leche league (we called them "tit-nazis"), we were forced to put our boy on infant formula. Oh I recall the joys of combing the city for the lowest-riced Enphalac and hoarding it as much as our greatly reduced cash-flow allowed. The sanitation and boiling and cooling and heating and rubber nipples and all.. yes, this was my domain. Being a kitchen dad and foodie, this wasn't too bad. Later I also made all the home-made baby food. Anyone for steamed yams and squash, lovingly mashed a la mano? These things my boy heartily yakked back upon the man who made and administered them.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. By the time a year went by (or 1000 laundry cycles) the vomit was within normal parameters. My son is a sweet and gentle boy and he offered me very little friction in those early days. Certainly I got off better than my mother did, but that's another story. I've observed the hellcats that some of you are trying to wrangle into adulthood and I feel that I got off pretty easily by comparison. Also, we only have the one, you see... so we outnumber him.

I did all the stuff you're supposed to. He went everywhere with me. We were often at the park with the strollers and the other moms. These women tolerated me with reasonable friendliness most of the time. I think it was because they sincerely believed that, because I was a dad with a baby, it was clear that I no longer had a penis. As such, I was often awarded an honorary vagina and allowed to hear all the details of every single epesiotomy, c-section, epidural, hemorrhoid, and even the occasional vaginal birth. They would sit there, glowing and beautiful in the full-flush of their yummy-momminess and lactate at me. It was a privilege to be in their company, and likely kept me from going completely bonkers, but at times it was a lonely sisterhood for me.

There were the occasional know-it-all moms who couldn't resist the urge to correct my shoddy parenting. I fondly recall the woman in the photo-lab (had to develop the new batch of baby pics!). I had the boy cradled in the baby sling, dozing. She confronted me with "That's not how you use the sling. Baby isn't comfortable. I know because I have one just like it." That day I really didn't feel like I had a penis.. If I'd had more testosterone at the time I likely would have told her to fuck off.

The main reason I'm looking back at this today is that tomorrow is my son's 11th Birthday. I've noticed that my recollections of the earliest days of parenthood are pretty blurry, especially if I don't refer to the photo albums. Must be due to the the life-changing exhaustion, emotion and exasperation that that phase entails. When you talk to your folks they might try to warn you about how the years start to just fly by. Today I feel like I'm looking through a telescope backwards and peering at the tiny past. I wonder if the next 11 years will feel so blazing. We've got many hurdles ahead, what with puberty, relationships and sexuality, post secondary school, and the ultimate vacating of his room. I hope it won't go by too quickly, and that my future memories won't be so blurry. In the meantime, I guess I'll get busy making them.