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!
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