At the The Domes

Being a man and staying at home with a child is a lonely existence. Two weeks ago I decided to take Ada to Milwaukee's horticultural conservatory known as "The Domes." Immediately upon entering, I found myself surrounded by young mothers with kids in tow. There must have been about 40 women. Babies were strapped to their chests and backs, while older children were walking hand-in-hand at their side, grabbing the fabric of their skirts. Public breastfeeding was a common sight at the entrance to the tropical forest exhibition.

A few shot  quick glances in my direction as I crossed the main lobby, making a bee-line for the men's bathroom, which, of course, was almost completely devoid of people. Men on this day were about as rare as an open electrical outlet at an urban cafe. Ada was strapped to my chest. She was sleeping and her neck was contorted sideways at a near 90 degree angle. Somehow she was fine. Dare I say Ada was comfortable. Nevertheless, I was self-conscious that some of the moms would comment upon the way in which I was letting my daughter sleep.

It was as though I had stepped head-long into a sacred "rearing hut" full of female power and the generational wisdom of grandmothers and mothers who came before. I felt like the metallic pinball in a machine that was titled. Everywhere I went, it was as if I was grazing the forbidden boundaries of the course, throwing off warning signals that I didn't belong, or at least that I was over-stepping my bounds. They ignored me for the most part, which was good. Because, quite honestly, their conversations--at least from what I could hear--revolved around the pain of nipple tenderness, weight-loss after pregnancy, and church groups. It's fair to say that although I'm an opinionated person, I literally would have had NOTHING of substance to say.

Maybe I'm being a bit too harsh.  It's very reasonable that the women found me to be an interesting and welcome distraction. A few of them whispered to their friends that it was "adorable" to see a dad with his young daughter. Nevertheless, Ada and I continued on our path as lonely as before. I whispered the names of the exotic plants to Ada as she slept. When she woke, she feigned interest in knowing that black pepper is harvested from a vine, or that tequila comes from the root of blue agave. She was way more concerned with ingesting the napkin I picked up at the food court. We stayed about an hour at the domes. Ada got restless and began to fuss. I had not the patience (nor the food supply) to appease her oncoming hunger! We jumped in the car, drove back to Riverwest, and spent the remainder of the afternoon reclining on the floor, chasing plastic stars, hearts, and rings. Fun times.

I don't know what it is about the internet, but it knows everything about me. I'm serious. Whenever I'd surf the web pre-Ada, I would be bombarded by advertisements enticing me to buy the latest music release, a sports jersey, or an air ticket to Cozumel or Alaska. Recently, however, I've been hit with ads for baby formula, diapers, breast pumps, and the latest styles in post-pregnancy fashion. I'm sorry, internet, but aqua blue blouses with low neck lines for easy breast exposure would have been attractive to me when I was sixteen. As a thirty-year-old bald dad, it's just sad, sad, sad....

The advertisements serve as another constant and rather intrusive (and unpleasant) reminder that I don't belong. Men just are not expected to stay at home. There are very few print resources, on-line forums, or support groups for dads. So, as a guy, I take Ada to places that I find comforting: on hikes, around the river, to art museums, AND, much to the shock and horror of a few of the women in my life, the bar. It's not odd for a man to bring a child to a bar. Ada enjoys the lights and the sound of glasses clanking.

Hey, don't judge me. It's an excellent place for her to be socialized and come into contact with a myriad of what I call "stimuli."  :)

As I've written many times before, I am being intentional in staying at home as a man. I want to experience the challenges that come with caring for a young baby. We ask women to sacrifice their careers ALL the time, so as a male, I believe that through my struggles as a parent, I'll be able to empathize with women and mothers when I'm back in the workforce on a more regular schedule.

I now know what it feels like to work all day to care for  Ada as she screams for a nap, as she throws-up on my face, as she relieves herself on my hands. I've become accustomed to the sour stench of rotten milk, the acrid smell of dried urine, and the silky fragrance of an infant's skin. It's extremely physical and sensual raising a child this young. And I'm blessed to have this experience.

I also know the frustration of having to prepare meals, do dishes, and care for the entire household. Jamie is working hard to establish her teaching career. We are both working extremely hard to make life manageable. Neither of us make a lot of money, and all of our relatives and family are distance, residing hundreds of miles away. There are moments where we feel completely alone.

But, in those moments, we both take solace in watching Ada smile, scream, and laugh, exploding with the unabashed joy of experiencing life in all it's complex and fantastic forms.

Ada Updates!

It’s been over a month since I’ve fallen into the role of stay-at-home dad.  The transition at times has been extremely difficult. Barriers to my full metamorphosis into super dad stem from my prior work responsibilities and commitments. While I’m scrubbing Ada’s sticky feces into the toilet, I’m also planning nonprofit meetings and conferences. While milk becomes scalding hot in the bottle “warmer”, I shoot of a couple phone calls to donors. While Ada naps, I work. When Ada’s up, I work. When I’m chopping onions, boiling water, grating cheese, and flipping cardboard pages in an animal book, I work.

Finding equilibrium in a schedule that is so topsy-turvy is literally impossible. At times I find myself reflecting on the fact that I’m doing both of my jobs—being a father and a nonprofit administrator—half-heartedly, leaving much to be desired. I guess it’s the plight of all working parents in today’s America. However, it doesn’t mean I have to like it. I understand that some of my fellow Americans have horrific notions of what “socialized” Europe does to people and morals, but I want to assure you that what they do for families is LEAPS AND BOUNDS better for family stability and child-rearing.  In fact, just this past week, I read an article discussing Germany’s recent move to make both paternal and maternal leave mandatory. The ability afforded young parents to stay at home with job security and pay is a luxury too few Americans and children are able to enjoy.

The business of my day-to-day routine, while it brings stress, also fosters joy and feelings of accomplishment. Just recently I returned from a challenging trip to Moldova, and I’ve begun to relish watching Ada progress and develop. Whenever there is a small victory during the day, like when Ada, squeezing and flexing her abdominal muscles, sits up to look me square in the face, a rush of what you could call “positive vibes” envelopes my body from hair follicle (in my case, literally, hair FOLLICLE) to toe nail. Ada is beginning to see clearly and in color. She has begun imprinting my face (and eyes and nose and ears) into her memory. When she looks at me, she leans in extremely close (like so close her-nose-grazes-my-nose close) and darts her eyes back and forth, looking directly into my pupils. She also rips my glasses off. She wants THE WHOLE FACE, nothing but the face. It’s as if we’ve communicated through our hearts and souls, not through tongues. After all, Ada can’t talk. And if we really did want to communicate in “tongues,” I would be on the losing end of the deal. Her milk breath is literally AWFUL. And her tongue is coated in lactose residue. 

I’m sure none of you want to hear about me, though. Ada has been growing quite a lot. She no longer goes cross-eyed when attempting to focus on a stuffed animal. Nope. To the contrary, her blue eyes are alert and sharp. Her head is constantly darting around as she tries to focus on all the activity of life around her. Just this past week we’ve spent over two hours together in the post office. Ada relished watching the postal worker fold envelopes, stick stamps, and type on the computer. The cacophony and activity of paper ripping and sticking was enrapturing! 

On our daily one-hour walk around the Milwaukee River, Ada notices the vibrant purple flowers of late-blooming New England Astors and tries to reach them. Too bad her arms are only about 10 inches long. She never gets them. So, of course, me being the “good dad” that I am, I rip the flower heads off and gently place them in the palm of her tiny little hand. In two seconds flat, said New England Astor Flower is in her mouth. She spits it out. She hasn’t learned that not all beautiful things are edible.

Ada no longer “eats dirt” or what we would call “face plant” into the rug immediately upon being placed on her stomach. To the contrary, she rears her head up, arches her back, squeals and cries, raises her left hand skyward and orients her body to what I call the “roll-over” position. About two weeks ago, I was giddy when I saw Ada use all her muscles and might to throw herself from tummy-to-back. But now I can honestly say that it’s been the worst thing ever. She is supposed to play on her stomach to strengthen her core muscle areas and arms. Well, Ada is smart and lazy. And has figured out that if I put her on her stomach, all she needs to do is lift up her left arm, roll her head sideways, and let gravity do the rest. And in no time she is on her back, staring up at the hanging plush cloud and stuffed Tucan. She wins. I lose. Every time.

Long gone are the days when Ada couldn’t control her motor functions, let alone stick her hand in a bowl of rice and squeeze the rice into a soupy, slobbery concoction of gruel. But she does that now too. If you put something in front of Ada, it is going to get grabbed: Cat: grabbed and fur pulled; book: ripped and crinkled; bowl of cereal: pulled on top of herself; tomatoes: smashed;  pens, iphones, chips, salsa, fruit, yogurt, bags, glasses, everything is at the mercy of Ada’s trembling hands.  And while Ada has become quite the master of “grip”, she is still learning how to let go. Upon grabbing a toy, she will whip it around in the air about 100 times, realize that she doesn’t want to hold that toy anymore, get frustrated, keep swinging the toy, and the eventually release the toy at such an angle that if goes flying across the room. Every time this happens she wears an expression of surprise and revulsion across her face.

Overall, Ada is well-adjusted. She is full of smiles. And RARELY fusses in public. We’re lucky!

Stay-at-home dad

Jamie has gone back to work.  She has decided to pursue her passion for teaching and has been fortunate enough to receive a full-time teaching position at a local Montessori school, where she’ll be teaching 4^th grade Earth Science and Ancient History. What this means for Ada is something rather shocking: mom will no longer be her primary care-taker. That responsibility lies at my feet. Recently, I read an article discussing the social norms and habits of the Millennial Generation— you know the group of lazy young adults more concerned with driving ink-filled tattoo guns into their skin than actually paying down their record student-loan debt. But I digress. Anyway, true to Millennial form (with my generation’s emphasis on education, inclusiveness, acceptance, and anti-racism) heterosexual couples have relished taking a sledge hammer to the household gender roles of generations’ past--at least in principle. In a recent study done by  a university and subsequently published in the New York Times, it found that nearly 80% of young couples expressed a desire to be more equitable in the rearing of children. Meaning, that a full 80% of men my age claim that they WANT the opportunity to stay at home and sacrifice a few years of their “career” to raise a son or a daughter. Millennial women, it is assumed, are not pressured by their partners to be the sole caretakers of the household and the child. One could say that the Millennial notion of work and family responsibility is way more egalitarian than 40 or even 20 years ago. The problem arises, of course, when young adults enter the work force. It’s not that having a job makes one abandon their ideals, but rather that the work environment is still controlled by social norms implanted there from prior generations. What this looks like in concrete terms is this: lower wages for female professionals;  the industrialized world’s worst maternal leave practices; an obsession with the supposed “inappropriateness” of breastfeeding in public; an emphasis on working over-time to the detriment of one’s health, not to mention family life; rampant sexual harassment in the workplace (specifically in areas where women are not the predominate gender); and calcified definitions of masculinity and femininity that leave limited space for re-imagining the family- gender dynamic.

Out of a desire to support Jamie in her attempt to pursue her dream job and out of a desire to raise my daughter and be an “involved dad,” I have offered to stay at home. I will be juggling both work responsibilities and that of child-rearing. It’ll be difficult. But I’m sure that by taking on what is still considered a “woman’s role,” I’ll gain priceless insight into some of the stresses that affect a vast majority of women. I’m excited to invert the social norms and experience first-hand the beauty, stress, and difficulty that come with parenting. I will never be a dad proud of the fact that “I never changed a diaper.” That would be a badge of embarrassment, not pride.

I’ll continue to write about this journey as it goes….

Reflections on birthing and such

It's been nearly a year since I last posted anything of actual substance on this blog. No, wait, since I posted ANYTHING at all. The last time I've recounted a story or a thought, it was in July of 2014, and I was most likely sitting in my cramped teachers quarters in Owerri, Nigeria, writing to the pulse of the gas generator, as cockroaches scurried at my feet, while I heard the rhythm of Igbo drums pound into the humid night.

Today, I'm in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Spring has arrived. Overcast skies have brought soft, cool breezes onto Southwestern edge of Lake Michigan. But flowers are slowly blooming and the maples and oaks are just beginning to bud. 

It's pretty unbelievable that Jamie and I have kept this blog for over 7 years. What initially started out as an avenue to communicate with family and friends while we lived in the Czech Republic, has become an ongoing chronicle of our lives together. We've written about our experiences in Erie, about our move to Milwaukee, my time spent at Marquette, our cross-country bike trip, and  about countless, mundane day-to-day observances. It's become an open repository of our memories. 

The blog has served as the forum through which Jamie and I have been able to share our life's adventures and experiences. And while we've been through a lot together, at the beginning of this April, we both entered a completely new realm of reality, as we threw on the cloak of becoming "mom" and "dad." 

Ada as born nearly three weeks premature. Essentially nothing went to plan. And, yeah, while I'm well aware that most birth plans are foiled, it is nevertheless shocking when your well-laid vision and preparation are essentially thrown to the curb, because the labor experience was, well, insane...

Throughout the months of February and March, Jamie and I attended a birthing class. While there, we learned all sorts of breathing techniques and labor positions that are proven to aid in birth and delivery. We would go home, talk about the positions that were most comfortable for Jamie, and then discuss the way in which we would engage those positions while in the hospital. Our goal as a couple was to have a natural birth--well, as natural as one can get in a hospital. We wanted to avoid an epidural at all cost, and were open to the idea of pain relief, but really wanted to avoid medicines as much as possible. 

So when Jamie's water broke at 4:40 am on Monday, April 6th, we packed up our extensive "labor bag" and prepared for a long, laborious delivery in a hospital, with Jamie experiencing the ebb, flow, and ultimate crescendo of pain and pressure that comes with a vaginal delivery. Too bad for us, Ada had other plans. She was breech. Not good. She punctured Jamie's bag of waters. Double not good. And she wanted out of the womb IMMEDIATELY, inducing labor. Triple not good. The midwife at the hospital evaluated Jamie for exactly 10 minutes, said she believed we would have to have a c-section. And then went outside to discuss with her colleagues. All Jamie and I heard from the nurses station were hushed, shocked exclamations of "Ruptured Breech!"...."Ruptured Breech?"...."Ruptured Breech!?"

The doctors evaluated us. Told us we needed a c-section. The news came all at once. Within 20 minutes there was a cavalcade of doctors, nurses, beeping machines, and needles being produced. I felt as if I was in a whirlpool of chaos and was getting sucked farther and farther into the vortex of "immediacy" and emergency that seems to run rampant at hospitals. I wanted to slow the process down, to make sure Jamie was comfortable and able to articulate her wishes. I did so only periodically, when many of them left our room. At 7:00 am we entered our room. At 8:30am, Jamie was led into the cold, white operating room. I was forced to (literally) wear what they call the "bunny suit" and stand in the hallway, left to peer through two panes of glass. I wondered about the pain Jamie would experience when the spinal would be inserted in-between two vertebrae. I knew she was in a panic. I only hoped that the doctors and nurses would attempt to calm her nerves. After all, a c-section is as far away as one can get form a natural birth. 

When I was led into the operating room, I could see in Jamie's eyes that she was enclosed in fear. Luckily, I was given a seat next to hear. I stroked her hand and touched her forehead. It was awkward. I had not imagined that one of the most intimate moments of our relationship--bringing new life into this world--would end up turning into a terrifying ordeal of bio-hazard bags, splatter shields, and doctors' masks. Once Ada was extracted from Jamie's womb, I was told to look over the operating curtain. I did. I couldn't make out whether our newborn was a boy or a girl. Her labia were inflamed due to the hormones of birth. I took a guess. "A girl!?" Thankfully  no one laughed. I had been right. Ada was whisked away to a heat machine, where she was weighed and measured. I asked the nurses to get Ada immediately on Jamie's chest--well, what was exposed of her chest. They did after some prodding.

After witnessing a c-section first-hand, I am amazed at how nonchalant we are in our public discussion about c-sections as a common birthing option. It's major, invasive surgery. I would NEVER recommend this unless it was absolutely necessary to ensure the health and safety of the mother and child. To me, it's as though the conversation around this type of surgery goes like this: "Well, I don't want to go through labor pains, so I'll just get a c-section." That's insane. The recovery time after the operation is easily 6x as long. Jamie is still in pain, as her incision heals. There is a lot of bleeding, you're unable to lift more than 10 lbs, and you can't drive, walk, or...ahem...have sex for quite some time. It's really challenging. And, quite frankly, it's not as safe as we say it is. Studies have shown that women who opt to undergo a c-section birth are 8x more likely to experience medical complications during childbirth and die during birth. 

Now, I'm not some crazy radical anti-medicine zealot, with an idealized vision of "down-home" medicine as it was practiced on the 'ole farmstead. But I do think it's necessary for us to evaluate the rate at which hospitals are opting for c-section births....

Well, enough of that rant. 

Ada was healthy. She couldn't eat though, and had trouble suckling. It's common for young children, especially those born prematurely, to have to learn the act of sucking. Ada got it after about three days of struggle.

And just as she arrived, Ada was discharged one-day early. And that's when the real adventure started. More on that later...

Thoughts on being pregnant: Meet Ada

This morning I woke up because I thought I had peed myself. After finding that there was no urine in my underwater, I felt my heartrate rise. Had my water broken?! Quickly I changed my underwear and waited in the bathroom to see if any more mysterious fluid would appear. Yep, I was pretty sure my water had broken. Jeremy was just as shocked once I told him and we started preparing to go to the hospital.

When we go the the hospital they confirmed that yes my water had indeed broken. By this point it was a pretty steady trickle.  I was also 1cm dialated and I let them know that on Friday baby was breech. I should have known something was up when after the midwife nurse left I kept hearing "ruptured breech" being whispered in the hallway.

By 7am I was taken upstairs, given an IV and my doctor confirmed that yes, baby had not turned and was still breech.  What this ment I was not prepared to hear. Since my water had already broken I would need a c-section, and since I had eaten some breakfast before coming in I would be scheduled for noon. Oh boy. This was not part of my birth plan. I was supposed be having a natural birth. My plan had me avoiding an epidurl, I never imaginged anything beyong that. A c-section ment a spinal, major surgery and intense recovery.

Since I was having steady contractions my doctor checked me again to see if I had dialated any further. I was now at 2cms. My doctor left the room for a few minutes and came back with the nurse anesthesis and told me that since I was progressing they would be doing the c-section within the hour so that I couldnt dialate enough that something could go poorly for the baby. After a whirlwind of information I got prepped and before I knew it, I was numb from the chest down and laying on an operating table. I will not go into detail concerning the procedure, however I will say it was one of the most terrifing things I've ever experienced. Jeremy and my nurse-anesthesistis got me through it and for that I am thankful.

Weirdly Jeremy had a more in depth birth experience. He saw the procedure (he had now seem more of my body than I have). He coached me through my tears and fright. He anounced that we had a baby girl, and to cut part of the ambilical cord. He got to hold her.

Reality started to set in once the numbness wore off and I was able to hold and keep our daughter. Every movement hurt, but our little Ada was healthy. Holding her skin to skin is something I will charish forever and is the memory I am trying to burn into my memory from this experience.

Welcome Ada! It's going to be a wild ride.

Thoughts on being pregnant: week 37

Pregnancy has been pretty boring thus far. No morning sickness. No weird cravings. Baby's heads down. I was feeling.pretty good about things. This week changed that.

Two weeks ago I measured small. Then last week I measured small again, so my doctor had me go for an ultrasound. I went in  on Friday and baby measured fine - about 5.5 pounds. But contrary to what I had been told, baby was sitting breech. And I was low on ambiotic fluid. Wait, what? These were two unexpected findings. The doctor was worried that I was leaking fluid, so I had to get tested that day and come back for another ultrasound on Monday. If for some reason I was leaking fluid, or my water had broke without me realizing, I was told that I would be induced. Good news is there was no leak. Had my water broken I would have been scheduled for a c-section that day, and lord knows we were not ready for that.  But that still didn't explain the low fluid. Should I be worried? How low can I be before it is dangerous? Do I just need to drink more liquid? And the baby is breech, does that mean I am going to need a c-section regardless? Is there still time to get baby to turn?

So much left unknown.

Thoughts on being pregnant: week 36

I'm now at 36 weeks and it definately feels like our baby is on the way. My back and hips hurts all the time   and I'm pretty sure I've started "nesting". The problem with my nesting is that it isn't in my nature to keep an area clear of clutter for very long (I am a horizontal organizer) so I keep tidying up the same things over and over again. But have also organized all out baby things and clothing as well as started to pack my labor bag. I've also been trying to make space for all the new things for baby, which has been quite the challenge in our 600sq foot apartment.

This week will be our last baby class and we will also take a tour of our birthing center. The classes have been really helpful with what to expect during labor and postpardum, but I must admit I am nervous for when baby is actually here. What will our baby be like? How will I know what it wants? Will I be an emotional wreck? Will I be super protective?

I guess we will find out soon enough!

The Northern Lights came to Milwaukee

It is nights like this when I wonder what we ever did without social media.  If it weren't for Facebook I probably wouldn't have even known that there was a chance of seeing the Northern Lights in Wisconsin.  If I has not searched Instagram and found hundreds of amazing pictures being posted of the lights in real time from around the world I probably wouldn't have ventured out to see if I could actually catch a glimpse.  I'm so glad that I did.

It's unusual for the Northern Lights to dip down as low as Wisconsin, let along be seen in a city with as much light pollution that Milwaukee has. I truly had my doubts, but I went with a friend to the darkest spot in the city I could think of and what do you know, there they were.  Of course they

Thoughts on being pregnant: week 33

I've gotten to the point in my pregnancy when things are starting to get uncomfortable and challenging. I need help with my socks and shoes. I get stuck when trying to roll over in bed. My calf muscles are in knots. And I have to hold my abdomen during every sneeze. All this being said, pregnancy is still a fascinating and surreal experience.

I have always known that babies live and grow surrounded by fluid, however it hasn't been until recently that I connected all of our babies movements to that fluid. When I am standing baby is sitting

Thoughts on being pregnant: 30 weeks

We found out in the beginning of September that we were going to have a baby.  September also marked our third year in Milwaukee and the start of a new job for me working at an elementary school. In October, my doctor confirmed the pregnancy and announced that I was already 12 weeks along. That was a surprise!  Of course we kept tradition and didn't let anyone know until 20 weeks.

It has been funny tracking my pregnancy with the school year. When I was hired, I was my normal self, but as the weeks went by, changes in my body started to happen.  I remember the day that it started to become uncomfortable to ride my bike to work...oh nooooooo!  However, it was now mid-November and the winter

Thoughts on being pregnant: 25 weeks

"Are you expecting?"
"Nah, it's just a new diet I've been trying."

It's becoming more apparent now that I am pregnant, but I am also still small enough that people still wonder. It is interesting how many people comment about my size or ask me how I am feeling.  I don't mind these questions at all, but I know that some women find them annoying or invasive. The more questions people ask me, the more I come to reflect on what is actually happening to my body. 

I am currently at 25 weeks.  I've gained 10 pounds and my waist size has grown from 28 inches to 34. Like I mentioned before, most