Yesterday morning, I was working on my laptop prior to going to the pumping station I'm working at these days, when MTM came downstairs and said to me, "I had a really bad dream last night."
"Oh I'm sorry honey. What happened?"
"You left me."
"Well, technically I leave you every day." (Yes, I was being purposely obtuse; sometimes I can be a bit of a psychological sadist.)
"No, I meant you left me left me."
"Like I do when I go to work?" (What can I say? The horse looked like it needed more beating.)
"Stop it. I think it's because last night you joked about leaving me, but said you wouldn't because I was pregnant."
"I never said that." (The truth is, I don't recall whether or not I said anything. However, what purpose is there to "pregnancy brain" if not to get the husband out of trouble, I ask you?)
"Well, I thought you did."
"Nope. I would never say that." (Or, at least I would never admit to saying that.)
"But I still feel sad about you leaving me."
"I'm sorry honey. I'm sorry I left you in your dream." (Apparently, even when she thinks I did something wrong, I have to apologize, regardless of whether or not I actually did anything.)
I have a favour to ask all of you. I'm going to add a "Best Of" section to my sidebar, and I'd like some input from my readers about what you think are my best posts. Rather than run another post with links (like my 500th from last month), I figured I'd email whoever was interested, and they could reply with their opinions. If you're interested in helping me out, either leave a comment here (with your "share email address" box checked in your blogger profile) or email me at talesfromthedadside [at] gmail [dot] com. If you have a favourite post, you can also mention it in the comments.
I originally wrote this post to run Wednesday, but then I wrote about my mother, which seemed to require a clarification, so I'm running this today. Let's just pretend that it says "five weeks from yesterday everywhere, OK? OK.
Five weeks from today (if everything goes according to plan, which, if I am to be completely honest, I don't feel 100% confident about right now) MTM will give birth to our son.
Five weeks from today, we will no longer be three, but four. We will be balanced in the gender spectrum (which, for a man who grew up in a female-dominated household, is a big deal).
Five weeks from today, my daughter will get the one thing she seems to want more than anything in the world these days: a real live baby of her own to hold.
Five weeks from today, I will have run out of time to figure out how to split the already inadequate amount of time I have for my kids in half.
Five weeks from today, I will once again see that mixture of pain, exhaustion, uncertainty, and joy on my wife's face as she holds our son in the recovery room.
Five weeks from today, my wife will once again breastfeed a baby, and this time I will take more pictures and videos (we have few images and no videos of the munchkin breastfeeding; it is something MTM often bemoans).
Five weeks from today, I will see my son for the first time.
Five weeks from today marks the beginning of a new chapter, not just in my life, but in our family's story.
* * *
Waiting for number two (heh, I said number two) is so very different than waiting for our first. With the munchkin I was more excited than anything, and other than that I was uncertain, but not scared. This time, I sometimes feel like the excitement is secondary, overshadowed by the uncertainty which brings about fear, which occasionally overwhelms all other emotions.
Part of the fear comes from knowledge. The first time around I was too ignorant stupid to be afraid of anything, but this time I know that we're not having a vaginal birth, I know that there's surgery involved, and that scares me. I worry about my wife's safety. I worry about the baby's safety. I worry about the recovery time, and being able to take care of not just my wife and new baby, but also my daughter. I worry that she will watch more television than is healthy for a three year old.
And when I convince myself that the initial few weeks will be OK, that we will figure things out and everything will be fine, I'm still left with the uncertainty of the rest of our lives. For the foreseeable future, I am the sole breadwinner, so I occasionally have mini-panic attacks about finances. I remember how much of a money vacuum an infant can be, and I worry that we won't have enough money (deep down, I know we will, but I worry about having to eliminate things from our budget and how it will affect the four of us, and whenever I find myself worrying about money, I feel like a failure as a breadwinner).
I can always convince myself that everything is going to turn out fine, but sometimes that convincing takes a lot out of me. Sometimes, instead of "I just can't wait to see him" it's more like, "I just can't wait for us to get on with this". And that makes me feel guilty, because it seems like I dread his pending arrival, when really I don't. I just don't like wondering what things will be like once he gets here.
Yesterday, I inadvertently injected myself into the so-called "Mommy Wars" given the tenor of the comments. There is, quite sincerely, nothing that could be further from my intention than that. I attempted to clarify my position with an edit, but that seems to have been insufficient.
First, the purpose of writing yesterday's post was to provide some additional insight into my childhood, using a conversation between MTM and my mother as a launching pad. Trying to restate without repeating, my mother chose work over being a mom. She was physically unable to do both, and knew it, but still chose working for her own selfish reasons. Had she been able to work and be somewhat of a parent (like my father, whom I resent for a whole host of other reasons, yet still made an effort to be a parent), I would have had no issue with her working. However, her choice put a massive burden on my sister and I, as well as took away a vital part of our upbringing, and for that I am bitter.
I feel it is important to note that I never generalized my feelings to indicate they should apply to all mothers. I wrote only about my experiences with my mother. However, if I offended anyone with yesterday's post, I apologize.
* * *
There are benefits to having a SAHM, not the least of which is a stronger parental influence by the simple reality of additional time spent together. There are a host of other positives. However, there are also drawbacks to kids being with a SAHM, including a potential for lack of proper socialization as well as increasing incidents of separation anxiety.
Having children in day care or preschool or whatever non-SAHM situation you choose has benefits as well. Kids tend to be more socialized, and in many cases more knowledgeable about different cultures or ideas by the presence of a variety of different people. There are drawbacks too, such as different discipline philosophies than at home or reduced adult to child ratios.
Bottom line, neither solution is perfect. Some women want to be SAHM and cannot because of economics. Some women can afford to be SAHM but for a number of reasons (two common ones are a love of career and an inability to spend all day with young children) choose not to. Ultimately, it's up to the family to make the best decision for themselves, regardless of what society's pressures indicate.
And one final note: it's been my personal experience that for every person who argues that working moms are wrong for not staying home, there's another saying that SAHMs are just too lazy to work in the "real world". Enough. Somebody else's childcare situation is none of your damn business. Live your own life without judging everyone else. (Note that I am not speaking to anyone specifically, but rather to anyone who would judge another family based on their decisions when it comes to child care.)
On our way home from our last visit to my parents, after the munchkin had fallen asleep in the back seat, MTM turned to me and said, "I had an interesting talk with your mom this weekend.
Oh fuck, what did she say this time? "Oh really?"
"She remarked how lucky I am to be able to stay home with the munchkin and not have to teach again. She said that she would have loved to be able to do that, but there were layoffs at your dad's plant, so she had to go back to teaching. She said she wanted to be a better mom to you guys than that."
Bullshit. That is so not how the story went. "Interesting."
"What's interesting?"
That despite the rapport I thought you two shared, she would lie to you so easily. "What she told you isn't exactly true."
"What's the truth then?"
The truth is that my mother is a selfish person who was only concerned with her happiness and personal satisfaction. "My mom did go back to work when money was tight because of the situation at my dad's plant, but things turned around at the plant. And mom continued to work for another ten years after that."
"But why, if she didn't want to?"
Because she got used to having "her" money. When she was bringing home a paycheque, my dad didn't give her a hard time about buying new clothes, or getting her hair done every week, or getting weekly manicures and pedicures. "Because she liked the money; she stayed at work so she could buy things for herself that my dad wouldn't."
"But all she did was sleep when she got home."
Except for when she was at the salon, or visiting relatives. "Pretty much. Bottom line: mom didn't work because we needed the money. Mom worked because she wanted to spend money on useless stuff."
* * *
My mom is really sick now, but she was rather unwell years ago when she was working. She never had the physical stamina for a full-time job, at least in the timeline of my memory. She was a primary teacher, which meant that she had a lot of work to bring home at night (preparing crafts for the next day, marking papers, et cetera). Unfortunately, she often lacked the energy to complete the work, leaving it to my younger sister and I to do the bulk of it. In exchange, she "paid" us with gifts - toys, CDs, video games - to make herself feel better because then we were "getting something" too.
On Saturday morning, she would be driven (at first by my dad, later by me) to get her hair done, and then her driver would pick her up and take her to get her nails done. Then she would come home and sleep most of the rest of the day. On Sunday, she would go to church and then visit with my grandparents for a bit, and then go home and crash, again for the bulk of the day.
We didn't need the extra money. We didn't need the toys or other bribery gifts. We needed a mom; someone who didn't make us feel like servants, who would cook us dinner or take care of us; not someone who we had to take care of.
* * *
This was written in response to smiles4u's comment on my Blocked post, where she suggested I write about my growing up years.
edit:to be clear, my issue was not with the fact that she worked. My issue was with the fact that her working meant she could not be a mother at all.
One morning this weekend, the munchkin slept in until 7.30am. The other morning, she got up at 6.15am.
One evening this weekend, I slept through the night. The other night, I set my alarm and was up from 2.30am until 4.15am to watch the men's basketball gold medal game.
I'll let you guess which wakeup time matches to which evening of sleep.
* * *
The weekend was a weekend of errands. Errands that needed to get done so my wife didn't kill me in my sleep from frustration because my wife is nesting like a mad woman.
Rather than go through the story of the weekend, I'll just give a daily list of errands:
Friday
returned sandals MTM bought for me (didn't fit)
exchanged munchkin's slippers (we got "gymnastics" ones, and she needs "dance" ones; and yes, there is a difference)
purchase more nursing bras (I'll let you guess for whom)
Saturday
hit a different farmer's market (just because)
shop for a boy doll (that had clothing options) for the munchkin, at several different toy retailers in various locations without success
purchase CD player for the new baby's room (and also introduce the munchkin to the wonder of Super Mario Kart on the Wii demo)
go to Home Depot to get potassium water softner salts to discover that they only have sodium in stock
Sunday
take the munchkin out for breakfast to let MTM sleep in
go to a different Home Depot to get softner salts
go to Walmart with the munchkin to kill more time post-breakfast and discover a boy doll - with outfits - for one third what we saw elsewhere; successfully purchase said doll without my daughter knowing (which may or may not have involved a bribery toy from the clearance section that plays obnoxius music)
do a "heavy items" Costco run (not to be confused with the soon to come "stuff MTM can lift" run later this week)
hit the grocery store for a couple of sale items
Nest much?
* * *
On the subject of dolls, we wanted a boy one for the munchkin for when the new baby arrives. We found a few different brands of dolls that came in a boy version: Corolle (insanely expensive, but nice... $20 for a doll outfit? I don't pay that to dress my own kid), Mommy and Me (better price, but no accessories), and Little Mommy (note to Fisher Price: putting blue on an effeminate doll does not a boy make... that "boy" had lips MTM would kill for). I thought we were going to be stuck with an apparently transgendered doll for the munchkin until I lucked out and found a somewhat generic manufacturer's option at Walmart (unfortunately). It had a set of clothing as well as sleepers, plus a pacifier and bottle that would go into the doll's mouth. But, why aren't there more male dolls in the mainstream? What gives, toy manufacturers? I mean, if nothing else, some of your target demographic (girls) would get one of each whereas with the current selection they only have one. It would double your sales in some cases.
* * *
We watched Across The Universe, the psychedelic musical love story set (mostly) in 1960s New York set to Beatles tunes. I absolutely loved it. I thought it was brilliant, and plan to purchase the DVD so I can watch it over and over again. MTM thought it was OK, but I suspect I'll have to call in a few favours to get her to watch it with me again.
One final note: I'm on the precipice of what appears to be a long run of site work where I will not have internet access during the day. Since my priority is spending time with my girls, this leaves me limited free reading time. So, if you notice I'm not at your blog as often, or at all, the next little while, know that it's not you, it's me. OK? OK.
"Why do I feel like I can't trust you when I leave you two home alone?" MTM asked me.
On Monday of this week, MTM had an appointment with the anethesiologist at the hospital because of all the difficulty with epidurals the first time. Since it had the potential to be a long appointment, I worked from home so I could watch the munchkin.
People, I am so not the crafty one in our house. So, please don't get your hopes up. With that said, here are the photos.
The before shot: note the ponytail, work of yours truly. (See? I was totally kidding yesterday.)
The application: I dipped and placed, she smoothed. Note my laptop easily within splashing distance, proving that I am an idiot.
The beak: midway through, she announced we were making a bird mask.
The drying period: she lost interest around the beak, so I finished the white layer alone.
The paste play: while it dried, I let her play with the paste and some paper. The laptop survived unscathed.
Preparing to paint: it felt like she sat like this, watching it dry, for the entire two days (there was a lot of paste).
The painting: she applied while I smoothed.
Finishing the paint: colouring the beak and surrounding area per her vision.
The eye holes: after realizing I made the mask too big, we needed to place the eyes in a different location.
The feathers: because without feathers, it's not a bird.
The finished product: a "phoebe" bird (I have no idea what that is, but she is pleased).
So there you have it, my first attempt at a major craft with my girl. Unfortunately, the edges seem crumbly, and she leaves white dust wherever she wears the mask, so it's a supervised toy. But, she seems happy with it, and ultimately, that is all that matters, right?
Newer readers may not be aware, but last fall the munchkin was in ballet class. I didn't write about it as much as MTM did (you can read her ballet posts for a more thorough discussion), but it was a weekly thing last year. We signed her up for the winter/spring session, but when they moved the class to a different day, we had schedule conflicts and had to withdraw.
Ever since then, she has talked non-stop about resuming ballet class at the earliest opportunity. We found out that a neighbour was taking her daughter to a studio very close to our house (walking distance), and, after checking it out with the munchkin, decided we would enroll her there.
(Aside: Last fall's attempt was met with more difficulty than triumph at the beginning - MTM's posts document the experience really well - owing a lot to separation anxiety. It is our hope that a year's maturity and the presence of a neighbourhood friend will make this year a greater success.)
* * *
A couple of evenings ago, we were walking to the studio for registration night when MTM turned to me and said, "You know, when winter comes, the munchkin is going to need a hat, so you'll have to learn how to do her hair on the fly when you get there."
"No, I won't," I replied confidently.
"Why not?"
"I've already got a plan for that."
"Oh really?"
"Yep. When we get there, I'm going to pinch the baby so he cries and I have to console him. Then I'll make sad eyes at one of the other moms until she helps the munchkin with her hair. No woman can resist a man with sad eyes and a baby."
I also have a new post up at Babies Online today, about co-sleeping.
Prologue I wrote this last Thursday evening. I sat down at my laptop and started to type. I wasn't sure what would come of it, but I thought I'd try. Since some of you have expressed an interest in more "unfiltered" SFD, I thought I'd post it here.
* * *
This fucking sucks. It's 7.30pm, and my wife is upstairs settling my daughter into bed while I'm down here.
It has not been a very good day. Sure, there was promise, but it quickly fizzled out. Originally, I was supposed to be at a site for an early morning start, but it got postponed to 10am. I opted to not tell work, thereby enabling me to get up with the munchkin and allow MTM to sleep in (which, for your information, she was unable to do). I got up and did some work and then spent a little time with the munchkin before heading out.
I came home to a quiet house as both my girls were asleep. When they woke, I commented that the munchkin didn't seem herself. MTM informed me that earlier in the day they were at the park and she fell pretty hard. She immediately started bawling inconsolably, for me. "I want my Daddy. I want my Daddy so he can make me feel better." She wasn't the same after that.
As I held her, I noticed she was warm. We took her temperature, and she had a mid-grade fever (102F). She spent the rest of the afternoon and evening nestled into one of us on the couch, as lethargic as I have ever seen her.
MTM tried to give her a lukewarm bath that she found too cold, and began wailing uncontrollably. The only thing that calmed her was my singing in the bathroom while MTM rinsed her off. After dressing her, I cradled my preschooler in my arms and just kept repeating, over and over, that I loved her, and that I was sorry she didn't feel well. I apologized for not being there when she needed me, and tried to explain that I had to go to work, and that by me going to work it allowed Mommy to stay home with her. We probably stayed like that for 20 minutes.
It sucks when your kid is hurting and there's nothing you can do about it, but it sucks more when technically there is something you could have done (in this case, taken a day off work). I hate having to leave them and go to work. It was different when MTM was working too; she would go off somewhere, and I would go off somewhere. Now I'm abandoning them in our house so I can sit in front of a computer doing the same mundane shit I have been doing for the last ten years that sounds interesting to other people but really is a job, as in, someone paying you money to do the same shit over and over.
So instead of being there for my daughter when she falls and calls my name, I am sitting in some pumping station making sure that shit doesn't flow out into the water table, or at some desk writing specifications that make sense to 1% of all people who will actually read them, and will never actually be followed.
I hate feeling like this, helpless, empty, unsure if I am doing the right thing. I wonder if my belief is right, that I cannot make as much money doing freelance/contract work than I do at my current job. I wonder if we would all be happier if I worked out of our house, or if I've just romanticized the notion, and really I'd drive my wife nuts (or they would drive me nuts) by being around all the time.
And all this is secondary, because right now my daughter is upstairs with a fever, feeling shitty, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. Fuck.
* * *
Epilogue The munchkin was fine the next morning. Her fever went away, and throughout the day her appetite increased. She was her old self by the time I got home, so we kept our plan and went out for dinner (where she ate reasonably well).
When I wrote about our weekend yesterday, I omitted a series of events. As much as I have tried to place them in a funny light, the truth is the story is not funny, and deserved its own post. So, here we go.
When MTM and the munchkin awoke from their nap, I could see on MTM's face that she was in no mood to prepare dinner. I also knew that she had been feeling guilty for this because we had already gone out for dinner on Friday night (at my insistence because it was payday and I got a huge expense reimbursement in addition to my pay), so I suggested we get something cheap for dinner (takeout) and the DVD rental plan we would evenutally implement. She countered with frozen pizzas, and I accepted the compromise.
We drove to the plaza with the rental place, and I noticed a pizza place there as well. I remarked that sometimes the walk-in specials were cheaper than grocery store freezer ones, so we agreed to check it out after renting.
Upon entering the video store I asked her what she was in the mood for, and she replied, "Whatever you want."
That meant, "Whatever you want, so long as it isn't a horror or a stupid comedy like The New Guy."
I traversed the store and made two choices: There Will Be Blood and 10,000 BC. She shot both of these down, citing a fear of too much suspense or too many shocking scenes. Then she got mad when I asked the store employees for a movie "with no blood, no suspense, and no violence that wasn't a dumb comedy" (they informed me there was no such movie). You know we came out with Lars and the Real Girl.
As we were leaving, I grabbed a box of those Dove chocolates (you know the ones they blasted every blogger - except me - with a few months back), and MTM chided me, saying, "Those are really expensive here. Let's get them at Shopper's." I knew they were probably overpriced, but I didn't want to add another destination to our trip. However, I complied.
We poked our heads into the pizza place en route to Shopper's, figuring we'd place the order there first, get the sweets, then go back for the pickup. Unfortunately, there were no good walk-in deals. I offered for MTM to pick anything off the menu, but she felt too pressured, so I then made a judgement call and chose for us. She disagreed again, and again I complied as we left the store.
By this time I was feeling a little frustrated, and was not doing a very good job of concealing it. We exchanged heated words en route to Shopper's, culminating in me storming back to get the van and drive it closer to the Shopper's entrance. I did not intend to go into Shopper's afterwards, but MTM called my cell and so I went in. The tension was palpable, and she started to lose it, so with eyes full of tears she left for the van as I stood in line with a confused munchkin.
After paying, we went back to the van and I tried (without success) to explain myself. More heated exchanges and more tears followed, as we ended up at another pizza place where we finally placed a walk-in order as MTM and the munchkin left to wander the plaza without me.
I caught up with them, and tried to explain. I felt (and honestly still feel) that I was doing the best I could under the circumstances, my frustrations aside. I was reading her mood and trying to make things as easy as possible, but every time I made a choice, she shot it down without having an alternative idea. I'm not proud of how I reacted, and I said as much to her, but I feel like I wasn't completely at fault.
But at the same time, I feel like shit for what happened. Deep down I know she wasn't trying to be difficult, that it was just the hormones getting the best of her. Even though my intentions were good, I should have been patient enough to say, "OK" every time she disagreed, every time she didn't know what she wanted but shot my ideas down, every time she just stormed off instead of communicating with me. I handled it poorly, and even though I've apologized for it (several times) since, I still feel guilty about it.
Footnote: outside the pizza place, I gave her one of the Dove chocolates as a peace offering. For those who don't know, these chocolates have inscriptions inside the wrapper. This is what hers read:
(for those who cannot read it: "Be high maintenance.")
We are in the home stretch of the pregnancy. Most days, (at least from my armchair gestating perspective), it seems like MTM only wants to do this:
However, since we are also in the home stretch of the munchkin's life as an only child (not to mention someone who more or less rules the roost around these parts), we try to get out and do stuff, even if it means dragging ourselves kicking and screaming out.
On Saturday, we did some errands. This in and of itself is not exciting. However, when we stepped into Toys R Us, we discovered this:
Yes, that would be a Stormtrooper; based on his armour state, I would guess a "sand trooper" from Tatooine (A New Hope), although technically then his shoulder thing should be orange...
No, I did not get my photo taken with him. (Yes, we confirmed it was male.) No, I could not convince my daughter to get within ten feet of him, so a photo with her was out too.
Saturday night, I earned the title of "Best Daddy Ever" by allowing the munchkin to rent a DVD of her choice (some Mickey's Playhouse thing), and then pick up a pizza and have dinner in the family room in front of the television. There may or may not have been Smarties involved as well. After the munchkin went to bed, MTM and I settled in to watch our own rental, Lars and the Real Girl. We both loved it, although from watching the film (without noticing the opening credits), I observed that either the writer was a woman or a man who was raised by women (it turned out to be a female writer). My rationale? All the men in the film were dysfunctional, and all the women were fiercely independent, intelligent, and strong. (I thought it was worth noting that.) Still, it was an excellent film, and one I highly recommend.
On Sunday, we decided to go to the zoo, where we hit the splash pad:
I really like this last image a lot, especially given the fact that I took it with full sun and no optical viewfinder - in other words, I was flying blind and just randomly capturing photos.
Yes, we saw some animals too. We took a look at the zebras per the request of the littlest family member (who resides outside a womb), and we also paid a visit to the new Great Barrier Reef exhibit (verdict from two somewhat long-time zoo members: meh to mildly underwhelming). Since we have a membership, we never traverse the entire zoo, choosing instead to choose one or two sections and really explore and enjoy them.
Big kudos to MTM for taking one (weekend) for the team. She really wasn't feeling well, and the baby is really, really big (last week she went for her 32 week checkup and the OB audibly gasped when she saw her; she's measuring for 36 weeks). I'm so proud of her. (I keep apologizing, promising I'll never do this to her again; she doesn't seem to find this funny, however.)
Regular readers know that every couple months I get writer's blockcop out on writing a real post go through my Google Analytics archives and collect some of the weirder keyword hits (and believe me; this site gets all the crazies). Today is another one of those times.
As always, these are unedited search strings that brought people to this site.
dad who mocks the world I think you're looking for these guys.
bad daddy wrapped daughter In what?
husband wears a nightie TMI.
give dad a chance; research shows that two parents are better than one. so why does the legal system still favour mothers? research being done Meh. It sounded like he was trying to make a statement, so I thought I'd share it.
best seep for being a dad I don't understand… you want to know the best ooze for being a dad? That makes no sense!
dads and daughters sex +barnyard stories OK, I usually don't mention all the nasty searches of this nature that I get, but barnyard? Seriously?
what advice can a father give a daughter who is about to be baptized Hold your breath.
memorable gift for 6 month old It doesn't matter. Six month olds remember nothing.
nervous having second kid Me too.
married (my wife is m.t.m) I think somebody has some explaining to do… now the munchkin's references to "other daddy" make more sense.
follow me everywhere mtm Another husband and she's stalking someone too?
poems about bad dads Did the man from Nantucket have any kids?
i grabbed dry panties and the bottoms and took my half-naked toddler back to the Back to the what? Where did you take them? To the bathroom? Bedroom? Zoo? Don't leave me hanging like this!
children better off with dad than at day care Amen.
my wife's cleavage I may be alone in this, but I believe looking for your wife's cleavage online instead of just looking, you know, at her, is a sign of a bigger problem in your marriage.
bad things about vegans They don't eat meat, or cheese, or eggs. How can you trust someone who won't eat schnitzel?
diarhea+and+driving Really+very+bad.
bribe men with nintendo wii for engagement ring Sure. But what are you going to do for a wedding ring, or a baby, you biological clock ticking nut?
mommy got big tts The evils of illiteracy: looking for a milf site, he wound up here. Poor bastard.
you cannot imagine how nervous i am Yup. These are my readers.
Interesting aside: of the top five search terms since I last did this, three are variations on my name. The top two ("Sci-Fi Dad", "Sci Fi Dad") accounted for 23% of all hits. The fifth ("SciFi Dad" - also, the way I actually spell it) accounted for 2%. Apparently I don't know how to spell my own pseudonym.
If this post feels disjointed, it's not you. I got inspired by a song, which produced a topic in my mind and I ran with it. As I was typing, I remembered a partial post I wrote back in the spring that was sitting in my unfinished pile that had similar nuances. So, I pulled that one out and put the two posts together.
One night while MTM and the munchkin were away at the cottage, MTM called me and said, "My sister was asking about your blog. She said she and her boyfriend have been googling your name and the word blog for months but they can't find it."
In what seemed like slow motion, all the blood drained from my face, then I had a mini anxiety attack, then my face widened to a huge grin.
* * *
I have a Facebook account in the "real world". What I mean is that I have an account that is registered under my given names, connecting me to all academic institutions I attended (none of my employers are large enough to warrant their own group). The majority of the "friends" I have there are former classmates, with a few exceptions.
About a year ago, I posted a folder of images of the three of us (good images with face shots and everything), and then promptly abandoned the photo sharing aspect of Facebook (not by design, just by simple virtue of the fact that I rarely go on the site unless someone has added me as a friend or something). Then, I recently reconnected with someone I knew in (what feels like) another life (actually, that story would make an interesting post someday), and she commented on my "cute baby", and I realized I needed to update my photos.
So I did just that, but I did it with more trepidation than I did last year. In between then and now, my SIL's account had been compromised, and while ultimately nothing came of it, I remain wary of Facebook, and most social media applications where I am connected under my real name.
Which brings us here, to this blog. With the notable exception of my wife and my daughter, I am finding myself more enamored with SciFi Dad and the life he leads than that of me, if that makes any sense. I have written repeatedly in the past about my problems with spending time away from my girls, and the subsequent (but not bemoaned) absence of friends. Blogging is a social activity that I can pursue during time I am not with my family, making it ideal for me. I can socialize with people without feeling like I am "stealing" time from my family.
And because of how I blog (that is, under a pseudonym), I feel more comfortable with sharing the information I share. Sure, with enough technical savvy and know-how, one could probably figure out who I am. However, it would take a significant amount of political juice to get the kind of information to make a real run at it.
Googling my real name will bring up the above-mentioned Facebook account (which, if you're unfortunate enough to be one of my "friends", will grant you access to the only images of my daughter's face online that are attached to my surname) and a bunch of links to message boards where I have posted technical questions for work. That's pretty much it. My "real life" online footprint is relatively small.
Now, if you google my online pseudonym (which google helpfully offers to spellcheck to "SciFi Dead"... niiice), you get hits from not only this place but other blogs that I have commented on as well as blogs that have linked to here using my pseudonym rather than this blog title.
All of this is a roundabout way of saying that I maintain two very separate personnas, with little overlap. Other than my wife and a couple of her (real life) friends that know her blog address (and therefore mine), there are two distinct groups: real world and blog world. Sure, I have met some blog friends in real life, but I have yet to have a situation where my real life and my blog life intersect. And for the foreseeable future, I don't see that changing.
I like the separation. I like that people at work, or my in-laws, or my parents don't know about this place. I like that the freaky guy who went to university with me and added me as a friend on Facebook (whose invitation I accepted because I was worried about what someone in that mental state would do with such a rejection) can't find me here. Here I am free to talk about whatever I want, without fear of hurting someone's feelings or having it ruin Christmas dinner.
I like that a lot.
Thanks to everyone who commented on my Babies Online post from yesterday. I really appreciate all the feedback!
I have a new review up, where I look at the children's book In A Blue Room.
I knew this day would come, and honestly I had no idea when. However, now that it has, I have to say that it came later than I had originally expected, but sooner than I would have liked. After 1231 days, my daughter and I have had our last bath or shower together.
This time has been approaching for a little while now. A couple of months ago, we had a long talk after a near miss involving her and a washcloth and my nether regions in the bathtub one night. I explained that those parts are private on everyone, and that the only time MTM or I touch her there is for cleaning (either in the bath or on the toilet). I was apprehensive for a couple of weeks after that, but eventually got the nerve to try again, and everything was fine.
Then, a few nights ago we were taking a shower together, and she, well, she cupped my, er, junk while I was washing my hair. I immediately spoke up and she pulled her hands away, apologizing. We had another talk about how it was private, and she seemed to get it.
Last night we tried to pretend that MTM had the baby (meaning I had to do everything; something that she has no interest in whatsoever at the present time, yet we know will be the way things have to be for a while come October). To ease the transition, we took another shower together. Unfortunately, it was our last, because she first tried to kick me in that area, and when I chastised her, she then made an attempt to headbutt me there.
So, with disappointment, I had to put an end to daddy-daughter baths and showers. We didn't linger on the subject much last night, mainly because she was too fixated on the fact that MTM was sitting on the bed (breastfeeding one of the munchkin's dolls for effect) and unable to assist her with anything. Rather than further upset my little girl, I just left it. We will have a talk about it the next time she asks me to bathe or shower with her.
She's getting older now (certainly not old enough for this to become a major worry, however old enough that I am no longer comfortable with her "experimentation") and so I decided now was the right time to end this practice. To reiterate, I'm not trying to sexualize her behaviour, or imply that it was in any way inappropriate. However, I am no longer comfortable with the entire experience; I would spend the entire time worrying about her little hands reaching out, and that isn't fair to her or to me.
I'm going to miss that time, where she was having so much fun that (usually) she didn't ask for MTM for extended periods of time. And truth be told, I had fun too (unintentional near blindings from errant water splashing or pouring aside). It was something that we did occasionally, which made it special, a treat in her mind, and I really hate to take that sort of thing away from her.
I am still going to give her baths (it's not like I'm going to have much of a choice come October), but I won't get in the tub with her. It's unfortunate, but like I said at the beginning, it was going to happen sooner or later.
Yesterday evening I had to rush home, shower, shave, dress myself in uncomfortable clothing, stand in goose poop, and do something I loathe doing, namely have my picture taken we went to a park with a photographer to do a series of photos for MTM's pregnancy. (You can read her more complete account at Circle of Life later this morning.)
I will not recount the evening's events. Here are a couple of photos from the shoot:
if I'm taking a photo of someone taking a photo and someone else pretending to take a photo, is that surrealism, or just really cool?
yes, she actually brought finger paints for the munchkin to paint MTM's tummy; how cool is that?
Instead, I offer three simple exchanges from last night:
SFD: I figured after a couple of weeks [post partum], you'd be itching to write a post. MTM: Yeah, but I don't know if I'll be cognitive to do it. SFD: Babe, you're not coherent enough now to know the difference between cognitive and coherent. MTM: Leave me alone.
Munchkin (From The Backseat): Oww. OWW! SFD: What hurts? Munchkin: My pads are hurting me! SFD: Your pads?!? MTM: If your glasses are hurting your nose, take them off, sweetie. SFD: Ohhh...
Munchkin: You know what my favourite is? SFD: Your favourite what, sweetheart? Munchkin: My favourite thing. SFD: What? Munchkin: My favourite thing is when you come home from work and give me cuddles. SFD:speechless
Do not read any further without going over to see this video (I'm sending you to my wife's blog). Seriously, the baby is insanely strong, especially when you consider that he isn't due to arrive until October.
Another Daddy-Daughter Date Saturday morning I hauled my ass out of bed got up, showered, and went out for breafast with the munchkin. We sat side by side in a booth at our favourite breakfast place and shared eggs, waffles, fruit, and breakfast meat (what can I say? she's Daddy's girl when it comes to breakfast... "I'd like bacon and sausage"). We talked about whatever she wanted to talk about, and a little bit about future breakfasts - some with the new baby, and some alone. We ended up at the farmer's market, where we grabbed some awesome local produce (peaches, fingerling potatoes - a recent discovery in our house, and cantaloupe) as well as some good pepperoni. It was a nice couple of hours for us, and an opportunity for my wife to sleep in. (Aside: from the comments, it appears I gave the wrong impression on Friday. I have no intention of stopping our daddy-daughter dates; I was just saying that sometimes (I believe I failed to include that word) it won't just be her and I, that the baby would tag along. Worry not, dear reader; the munchkin and I will continue to have these dates... I wouldn't give them up for anything.)
Another Daddy-Only Date On Saturday night, I decided to go see a movie by myself (as I have been known to do). When we informed the munchkin of this fact, she offered the following pieces of wisdom:
drive safely (aww...)
don't "lose time" (no idea what she meant by this)
come back when you want (I got the impression this was related to "losing time")
don't go in the water because you don't have your bathing suit on (uh, OK)
I went to see Hancock, and without giving anything away, I really enjoyed the film. Of all the superhero genre movies I've seen (and I have seen a fair number), it ranks at or above The Punisher, which is (or possibly was, I haven't completely decided yet - I need to buy it on DVD and watch it a few more times) my personal favourite. It didn't have Oscar calibre acting or effects, but the film overall, particularly the casting the underlying mythology, was outstanding. I highly recommend it since it isn't as comic book influenced as other films, and I feel more accessible to the average viewer.
A Realization About A Very Old Date On Sunday afternoon, I had a harsh realization. I always believed that the origins for my strong belief in daddy-daughter dates (which I have been doing for over two years now - our first was in July 2006) was a message board I read once where one girl talked about her daddy-daughter dates, and all the other women chimed in about how sweet it was and how they wished their fathers had done the same. Unfortunately, I seem to have manufactured this memory to protect myself from the cold, hard truth.
In the early months of our courtship, MTM and I went to see a movie together: a horrible chick flick starring Mel Gibson and Helen Hunt (who always looks like she is squinting to me) called What Women Want. It was on televison yesterday afternoon, and I was watching it while my girls napped (nothing else was on... I swear) when a scene popped up where the dad (Gibson) suggests a "date" with his daughter to shop for her prom dress and (you guessed it) we hear the thoughts of her friends saying how sweet he is and how they wished their dads did that sort of thing.
I'm SciFi Dad, and apparently I take parenting cues from bad romantic comedies.
The not completely blind more observant readers will notice that the not-so handy-dandy info box you have come to know and love here is gone. After several complaints about how it rendered in a dead browser IE6 (is not displaying at all still technically rendering?) I have decided to try something different. Now my post details are in the footer, just like everyone else. If someone who is still running IE6 and had problems in the past (I'm looking at you, Manager Mom - I even gave you linky love) could email or comment to confirm what they see, I'd appreciate it. Also, anyone else who has constructive feedback, please feel free to share.
Yesterday, at approximately noon, this is what my desk looked like:
Apparently, the munchkin had been begging MTM to visit me for lunch at my office all week, and she finally broke down and agreed. The munchkin chose coordinating napkins, cups and straws for all three of us, and insisted that they bring me "something" (they settled on a fruit cup) for lunch despite the fact that I had previously packed my own lunch earlier that morning.
As I sat there, listening to my daughter tell me all about her favourite songs from the morning's music session at the library and ask me (repeatedly) about the action figures (one of which she knew she would be allowed to open after the meal), it hit me: after over three years we are not going to be just the three of us for much longer. I won't be able to spend an entire meal staring in wonder at just her, knowing that even though I'm not making eye contact with my wife, that she understands why I do it and is not offended. There will be two equally captivating, equally enjoyable individuals who will have that effect on me. (Of course, my wife remains the most captivating person in my life, but you all know what I mean.)
Soon, Saturday mornings will not be as simple as me hopping in the shower and then tossing some clothes on my daughter and running out for a leisurely daddy-daughter breakfast, or even just heading downstairs for some Treehouse (for her) and intermittent dosing (for me). Those days that I have become quite fond of (not to mention accustomed to) these past couple of years are coming to a close. It won't be "Daddy and Me" for her anymore, and it won't be "Munchkin and Me" for me either. Instead, it will be "us" and the baby.
And really, in the beginning, how else can it be? Until the four of us find our groove, and the three of us figure out our Saturday mornings (assuming we can get the baby on a reasonable nursing routine where he can be topped up and then taken from MTM for a couple of hours so she can sleep or rest or whatever), the baby will be the tag-along on our already defined routines. He will sleep on my shoulder while the munchkin watches Toopy and Binoo (and Toopy's tail that inexplicably looks like poop). He will sit in his infant carseat on the bench in the restaurant while the munchkin and I repeat the same strategic breakfast consumption negotiations we do every time we go out ("If I eat one more strawberry, then can I have a piece of your bacon?" Silly girl always believes she's getting a piece of my bacon.)
Eventually, new routines will develop, ones that never existed without him, and the old ones will become the exception instead of the rule. One day, it will be his idea to come for lunch at my office (fueled, no doubt, more by the desire to play with my toys than to actually be at my office) instead of the munchkin's. They will still check to make sure I'm free, and they will still bring special treats for everyone. I'll just need to get a bigger desk.
Today's post is brought to you courtesy of my friend LD, author of the blog Working On Perfect, by way of her comment on my writer's block post. In her comment, she asked,
You one time referred to when you were buying your house. I'd be fascinated to hear what went into your house hunt, what you were looking for, etc because I can only imagine the sort of lists you and MTM would create.
I'm afraid that LD may have her expectations set a little high for this story, but regardless, she asked, so I shall answer.
MTM and I paid for the bulk of our wedding ourselves, and while we didn't go into debt to pay for it, she we didn't exactly work within the traditional budgeting model of always leaving a little bit in savings. ("Hey! It was our wedding!" she is saying right now.) So, our plan was: marry in the summer of 2003, buy a house in the summer of 2004, get pregnant in the summer of 2005. (For the record: the munchkin was born in March 2005. So, uhm, that plan? Not so good.)
However, once we settled out the finances (and deposited all the cash gifts from my side of the family - seriously, doesn't the european tradition of giving cash for a wedding present make so much more sense than a blender?) I did a little bit of math and some quick online research (to get current mortgage rates, housing prices, et cetera) and concluded that we could afford to buy a house sooner than we had expected, actually we could afford to buy right away: August 20, 2003.
The next day we booked a couple of houses to view that were at the lower end of my calculated budget. We arrived at the first house and MTM was mortified. She would tell me later that she thought to herself, "I'd rather raise a family in our basement apartment than this house." When the agent arrived, he immediately said, "You're not interested in this house. This is an investment property, and that means if you can afford to buy it, you aren't willing to live in it."
Instead of a tour, he gave us a 30 minute lesson on the real estate market. Seller agents, buyer agents, what neighbourhoods still had electric heat, where the newer homes were, and so on. We looked at one more nightmare lower cost home that evening, and went home.
That night we decided that the first agent (the helpful teacher) would be our buyer agent. We called him and had him line up some houses for us to look at based on MTM's comments to him during our lesson. (My own list of demands was exceptionally demanding: indoor plumbing and electricity.)
We went with him the next evening and looked at a number of houses. One house in particular caught my fancy, but it was too close to a major road and was a model so (according to MTM) none of the fixtures matched which (according to MTM) was a bad thing.
A few days later, the agent called. Another agent in his office was about to list another house on the same street as the one I liked but was finished (according to MTM) haphazardly. He had seen the photos and thought MTM would really like it.
So, that Saturday we showed up 30 minutes before the first open house and walked through. MTM fell in love immediately. We indicated a desire to place an offer, but learned the owners would not be available to negotiate until Sunday.
Sunday morning (September 14), we went back and forth about three or four times, settling on a price within about an hour. Closing date? October 17. So in less than two months we went from "we can't afford to buy a house this year" to having stuff in our new house. Unfortunately, that doesn't leave much time for "lists". Sorry LD.
Well, after yesterday's rant about visiting my parents (where many of you gave my wife some well-deserved praise), I thought we all deserved something a little lighter.
On Sunday night, MTM came to my rescue by telling me to come play my PSP in bed rather than stay in the living room with my mother. I quickly jumped at the opportunity she presented, since she generally hates me playing my PSP, much less clicking away at it while she tries to sleep.
I was playing a game called Lumines, which is a puzzle game not entirely unlike Tetris, except that instead of various configurations of four blocks into different shapes, it is various 2x2 squares of blocks of one of two colours. (You can see the gameplay itself, as well as the skins I will mention below, via a youtube search.)
The mode I was playing involved the game changing skins (block colours, music, and backgrounds) as I progressed. With MTM watching over my shoulder, this was our exchange:
"That thing in the middle would distract me."
"Yeah, you learn to ignore it."
Cue level advance with accompanying skin change.
"See, now that would take me two minutes to adjust to. I would so totally suck at this game."
Cue another level advance with skin change.
"Wow, I thought that big thing was distracting. Now the background moves?"
"That one's not bad. The dancing people stay off to the side."
Cue the animation event seen at the 35 second mark of the above linked video.
"What the hell?!? Oh my goodness, promise me that you will throw that thing away before our son is old enough to ask to play with it! No wonder kids these days have ADD and need constant stimulation! What the hell is wrong with these people?!?"
Literally, in the space of 30 seconds, she went from "that's not bad" to "destroy that tool of evil immediately".
Pregnancy hormones. They're not just for nesting anymore.
There's a new blog roll in town. Gone is the temperamental scrolling marquee, replaced instead by a Blogger "blog list" widget. I show ten blogs by default (you can always click the show all link to see, well, all of them), sorted by the most recent posters. That means if you want to be on the blog roll, you have to post. Seems fair to me.
If you're not there and think you should be, please fire me an email (talesfromthedadside {at} gmail {dawt} com).
You also may have noticed a new addition to the sidebar. Kristen at Motherhood Uncensored has taken it upon herself to host Blog The Recession, which is about, in her words:
The premise is simple. If you read blogs, then for the month of August, make the "pledge" to click through from your feed reader. No obligation to leave a hilarious comment or send a long stalkerish email (although both, within reason, are always lovely). Just click through to the blog (not on ads unless you are so led) and if you're feeling generous, click around to their older posts.
So, take a moment to click through this month, either here (where your clicks will serve only to boost my ego) or elsewhere. Leave a comment if you're feeling really kind. But take a moment to visit the site you usually read through a feed reader. It lets the blogger know you're there, and that's always a good thing.
That? Up there in the title? That would be me. According to my mother, at least, after this weekend. So now you all know, OK? OK.
We only make the 4.5 hour drive (one way) about every four weeks, with a young child in tow. And this most recent trip (which was for a long weekend, no less, a long weekend that is supposed to be used for rest and recuperation by the working class, and was used for anything but) was our last until after the baby is born. Since the baby is big, we're not going to try and go for Labour Day weekend, lest my wife go into labour (coincidental pun, completely unintentional) prematurely. Combine that fact with the knowledge from our first post-partum experience, and we are likely to not make it to them until the end of November.
To recap: we only go see them once a month, driving a total of at least nine hours each time; and now we won't see them for months because my wife is bringing another grandchild into this world. Ergo, bad son.
After waiting 30 minutes for my mother to read two bedtime stories (a task we expected would take ten), I have the audacity to prompt her to finish things up quickly (and am summarily ignored). Then, after another ten minutes, I hear a chainsaw and a scream from the television beside me. I look up to horror on my child's visage and a severed hand on the screen, compliments of my father channel surfing while half asleep. I then have the nerve to scoop up my terrified preschooler and take her to our room!
To recap: I want my kid to get to bed at a reasonable hour, without seeing gore and violence, completely ignoring her rights as a grandmother. Ergo, terrible son.
It's 10.30pm at night, and I have to drive home the next day. As I try to decompress and unwind by zoning out in front of the television, I am assaulted with a barrage of topics, including:
"Why don't you like American Idol? You like music!"
"They don't play music I like."
"So? Music is music."
and:
"Is that original reality television show still on?"
"Survivor?"
"Yes."
"Yes, it is still on."
"Do you still watch it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because we like it."
"And it's still on the air, after all these years?"
"Yep."
"What's it called again?"
So I put my head down, exasperated, and murmur my answer. This, in turn, causes her to change subjects, this time to some random occurrence that she saw on the local US news, which she is shocked has not rippled through to the GTA, despite my insistence that it has not. My frustration becomes evident, and she mercifully gets upset, which ends the conversation momentarily, until she forgets she is upset, repeats the above exercise, and forces me to explain that I am trying to wind down before going to bed so I can be functional in the morning. She storms off.
To recap: I want to get to sleep at a reasonable hour so I can safely operate a motor vehicle that carries my pregnant wife and three year old daughter. Ergo, awful son.
I wish I could say that I am done with this shit, this nonsense that has plagued me for over half my life now. My mother has tried to make my life all about her for years, from when I was ten and made to pick up her slack because being a teacher was more important than being a mother, to when I was 16 and her chauffeur, to when I was in university and somehow still responsible for her mental well being, to now with my visits determining her level of happiness. Logically, when I am away from her (at least when I initially return from yet another fucked up visit, until those memories fade behind a well-ingrained wall of guilt) I know that it isn't my fault, that I am doing more than most people do, tolerating more than many have to.
But then time passes, and my guilt overcomes me. It forces me to make decisions that are better for her than me, than my wife, than my family. We travel, often with much whining and complaining, burning ever-increasingly expensive gasoline, to be with them, only to have her spend half the time complaining that we never come, and the other half either sleeping in her room or else badgering me incessantly for gossip about my inlaws or asking inane questions. Eventually, I reach my breaking point, and since I no longer have the defense mechanism I had as a teenager (a dark basement with a CD player and headphones where I would spend hours at a time, sometimes entire evenings), I express my exasperation, and feed into the self-pitying cycle.
I want it to stop. Ideally, I would like to not feel dread every time I go to visit, but I feel like that is too lofty a goal. Instead, I will settle for not feeling like shit every time I go.
Since I was away for three days with only momentary internet access, you will have to forgive me as I try to catch up on reading all your blogs. Even if I don't comment on everything, know that I am still there reading every word.
I have written better posts than this. I have probably written worse posts than this too, although at this moment I cannot think of any. I humbly apologize in advance.
But hey... today's song is atypical of the stuff I usually post. Maybe more of you will like it. That's something, right?
When I originally started blogging in earnest (sort of) back in the summer of 2006, I posted erratically. Sometimes there would be two posts inside of 20 minutes, and then nothing for five days or more. Then, in the fall of 2006, I heard about, and participated in, NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month, where I did 30 posts in 30 days.
That wasn't so bad, I thought to myself. I can probably publish daily, but not weekends.
And so began my daily posting routine that carries through to this day.
The only problem is, having a schedule like that means that you're inevitably going to get writer's block. You sit in front of you blog editor of choice (I use Notepad so I never have to post the "my blog platform ate my amazing post" post) and type words and then hit backspace a million times. Lather, rinse, repeat.
It goes without saying (obviously... I mean, really, four paragraphs and still no point?) that I am having one of those bouts today. I've tried to come up with something, anything "post worthy" and failed. So I come to you, dear reader, with the following:
What do you do to combat writer's block?
Do you have any post topics that you think I would like to cover?
Alternatively, do you have any post topics that you would like to see me cover?
And finally, are there any questions I can answer for you?
Thanks in advance for helping a fellow blogger out. Hopefully I'll have some good stories from the long weekend (that means no post until Tuesday, folks).
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