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.