About Being a Dad

"Any man can be a father but it takes someone special to be a dad." -Anne Geddes

Last week was Father's Day. I didn't write a traditional post about it. Instead, I wrote one about me and my dad. I wanted to take a step back and reflect on the actual day.

Since my daughter is now four years old, Father's Day is starting to really mean something because she's old enough to be aware that there is a special day for me. And right there is where I have trouble.

While I certainly appreciate the wonderful cards (I actually choked up reading my wife's card because it was so spot on. How does she do that every time?), the gifts, the chocolate chip pancakes, the extra attention and affection, it makes me uncomfortable.

To me, every day is Father's Day because I am a dad every day. It's why I didn't mind planting some shrubs in the front yard and trimming the hedges on Father's Day. We don't get a day off. And while I truly cherish the rare opportunity to sleep in, I actually look forward to waking up early with my daughter on the weekends... most of the time. I work twelve hours a day, including commute. I get to see her for three hours a night during the week... maximum. And those hours are usually jam-packed with obligations like dinner, potty, teeth brushing and bath time.

Don't get me wrong, I find sleep to be a wonderful thing. We used to get along swimmingly. There was a period of time where we were best buds. Now? While I sleep well, I just don't sleep a lot. Fine.

There is something inherently magical about sipping a cup of coffee while sitting on the couch in her play room. She is immersed in her Calico Critters, asking you to help her dress them. Then surprising her by saying "Let's go to Dunkin' Donuts" because it's 7:30am and you've already been awake for an hour and don't know what else to do. And no, you don't have to change out of your Dora nightgown first.

Sure, I teach her the rules and the manners and the traditions and I discipline her and protect her. But I love having fun with her the most.

How she sees me
(apparently with one mutton chop)

What does my daughter think being a dad is all about? Well, she knows I am her ultimate playmate, I'm the guy she can knock around and - for the most part - get away with it. She knows that when I'm serious, she's in trouble.

She even knows what I wear to work. One morning recently I went into her room to kiss her goodbye and she was already awake. So I pounced on the unique opportunity to spend a little time with her. She asked me why I wasn't wearing a tie. And thus began our introductory lesson to casual Friday.

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Wake Up Call

"Words like violence break the silence.... Can't you understand, oh my little girl?" -Depeche Mode, "Enjoy the Silence"

 

You're sound asleep. Not a care in the world. This is the rare, precious time that peace and tranquility reign in your mind and in your home. You half wake up without opening your eyes just to shift into a more comfortable position. And you fall right back asleep.

Only a few moments seem to pass when... you hear it in the distance.

The creak of the floorboards underneath shuffling footsteps. A door slowly creeps open, hissing ever so slightly. Then more footsteps: slow, methodical, somewhat staggered.... accompanied by the familiar rattle of the Lammie.

She makes her way down the hallway, stalking you. She enters your room. Then she speaks.

"Mommy, may I watch something?"

Are you serious? It's six in the morning. On Saturday. This is ridiculous.

"Sure, come on in," my wife answers as she welcomes our daughter into our bed. Then delivers the all-important caveat: "But you have to be quiet so mommy and daddy can sleep more."

So my wife moves closer to me to make room for the peanut. The television comes alive with Sprout. Our quiet dawn is shattered with the annoying sounds of Blues Clues and God knows what else as we try to muster another hour of sleep. Some days, my daughter will say she wants to go downstairs... and she wants one of us to go with her. And we say just a few more minutes.

This is our new normal. And it's all our fault because the first time it happened, we weren't prepared and we just let her in the bed. Now it's a thing.

What happened? Why is she doing this to us? She's always been such a good sleeper. She's been sleeping through the night since she was three months old. And she's woken up at eight, sometimes nine o'clock.... especially on the weekends. She naps... every day... two to three hours a day.

That's it... maybe she can't nap anymore.

So now we are confronted with a choice: give up the nap, and the two or so hours of productivity or rest or both that comes with it. Or keep with the dawn wake-ups.

The one thing I remember hearing the most as expectant parents was about sleep deprivation. "Rest up now," these unhelpful oracles would warn us as if we could bank sleep before the baby comes and use it on those restless nights. I wrote about that, among other things, in my first-ever post here.

More than four years later, we're finally paying our dues. I know we're spoiled, but it doesn't make it any less of a rude awakening.

By the way, this is probably why I Need a Nap, as I wrote here a couple of weeks ago.

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