I Know What’s Going To Kill Me
It’s fatherhood.
Being a dad is going to be the death of me. It’s also the current and future life of me, but still.
It’s gonna kill me.
Four years ago, during a simpler time when my wife and I just had one daughter, I wrote and joked frequently about the semi-humorous joys and imagined fears of being a new parent, dealing with all the tired headaches and pains you are faced with when you first bring a new life into this world. My sense of humor was still intact, despite reluctantly moving my family to a new city (Dallas) and starting a grueling new job (EP of a nationally syndicated morning show) and working an awful schedule (3am — 3pm).
Oddly, life felt very simple. Almost EASY. I boasted about how great our baby was, rarely crying, who was very easy to get to sleep, essentially daring the universe to spite me for spouting such stupidity. My wife will tell you that I was 1) mostly a zombie from lack of sleep due to an absurd schedule so what the hell do I know about that time in our life anyway, and 2) an idiot because she wasn’t that easy of a baby.
When we found out we were pregnant with our second daughter, I was confident life wouldn’t change much, if at all.
“We got this,” I’d say.
That’s because I was dumb. You’ve never “got” parenthood. It’s always “got” you. You’re always just trying to survive.
There’s a familiar creak of door hinges followed by tiny steps coming up the stairs.
“Mommy, I had a bad dream.”
It’s late. Not sure how late because I’m scared to look, but I’m certain it’s nowhere near sunrise.
“What’s wrong, Lily?”
I’m trying to help, doing my best to be an ever-present dad and FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, give my wife a break every once in a while.
“I DON’T WANT YOU! I WANT MOMMY!”
The response doesn’t burn anymore. I hear words like this nearly every day from our 3 year-old who’s in a very “only Mommy” phase right now. It’s quite normal — so says WebMD — but from a firsthand account, our 5 year-old went through the same phase and now really loves me. That, or she’s a hell of an actress and somebody better get CAA on the line ’cuz I got the next Meryl right here.
But this kind of shit — and trust me, we’re deep in the parenthood shit right now — hurts my wife. She’s like an emotional jungle gym, where we all climb all over her when we need her, which is typically all of us at once, then abandon her when it gets (metaphorically) dark. It’s a bad situation. And this is the FOURTH night in a row during the week of Thanksgiving that Lily has come up in the middle of the night, making this already sleep-deprived bad situation even more sleep deprived. SLLEEEEPPPPP DEEEPRRIVVEED.
“Lily, you should be nice. Daddy is just trying to help.”
The voice is not my wife’s. It’s my 5 year-old, Maggie, who unbeknownst to me, is already in our bed. I cannot find this fact more confusing.
“How long has SHE been in here??”
A long, exasperated sigh comes from my wife.
As a husband and dad who’s trying to be more present, this is a response that does burn.
There’s a moment at Chicago’s Millennium Park Ice Rink when the zamboni is pulling off the ice and the giant mass of people are shoving their way — IN ICE SKATES — across the rubber padding to the tiny, single-person gate that leads to the ice. That moment? That’s one where you’re positive you’ve made a mistake.
“Daddy, everyone is shoving me.”
Sweat is pouring down my lower back as I grasp Maggie’s arms in an attempt to guide her to the ice for her first time skating without getting trampled to death by day-drunk tourists from Northwest Indiana.
“That’s because everyone here is being an ASSHOLE.”
“What’d you say, Daddy?”
“We’re okay. This is gonna be so fun, right?!”
At this moment, she’s so confident this is going to be the greatest day of her life she hugs me and tells me how much she loves me, profusely thanking me for making it all happen. As she does this, she falls WHILE STANDING STILL, nearly getting trampled by a bunch of snapchatting pre-teens. Instinctively, I snatch her up from the ground, where again, SHE FELL WHILE STANDING STILL, and she proceeds to tell me she knows in her heart she’s going to be great at ice skating and I don’t need to hold her at all.
This. This is the moment of realization that being a dad is both the life and death of me. I’m sure I’ve had that realization before, but this is a particularly poignant moment of discovery:
During these early years of life, it’s my job as a Dad to keep them both safe AND happy — two things that frequently fly in the face of one another.
I don’t know that my same sense of humor I had four years ago is still intact. The carefree whimsy and silliness is certainly gone. It’s been beaten and battered by lack of sleep and actual fears and a constant desire to make sure my kids are both safe and happy. Honestly, it’s so intensely stressful to be a parent it’s a wonder we as a human species are all still here. I mean, [25,000 words on the physical, emotional and mental toll the Trump administration will take on us over the next four years redacted], am I right?
But it’s also the greatest thing ever. Exhausted after work last night, Lily brought me a blanket and a pillow so I could be “comfry n’ cozies” while she sang me a song as I laid down on the couch for a few minutes. My heart swelled. What “only Mommy” phase??
Five minutes after we got on the ice, Maggie is sobbing about how much she hates ice skating and that she wants to go home. I don’t disagree. This place is terrible and ice skating is stupid. I’m holding her up as she continuously kicks her feet and my back and arms are BURNING. M-I-S-E-R-Y. For both of us. But dammit, we came this far, and I’m a Dad. This is what we do. We’re going around this rink at least once.
Even if it kills me.