You Poor Bastards

I see new parents and I shake my head. I see them pushing a baby-stroller, or chasing down a scrambling toddler, and I think to myself the following thought:

“There but for the grace of God go I…”

Being a parent to babies, toddlers, and little kids is so exhausting. It sucks you dry. I am so relieved it is behind me.

Yet it was a precious time in my own life. I am sure my friends were sick of hearing how beautiful and wonderful my babies were, and how cute these baby clothes looked or about how restful were the afternoon naps we shared. At the time I could go on and on about it; I was in love, and I wanted to talk about my beloveds. I was so attuned to kid’s stuff. It was all pink all the time: Disney princesses and magic wands and baby dolls. A part of me in those days always saw the world through the eyes of a four-year old girl.

But the effort by my wife and I to raise two daughters with next to no help from anyone else in Ventura, California began to suck the soul out of me. We had no family nearby. We got no government assistance in paying exorbitant childcare bills. Raising our two daughters took almost all our time, money, and energy for almost two decades. However, the effort was hardest in those early years of diapers, daycare, and helplessness — when you were worried about your reckless toddler, who while momentarily unattended might heedlessly run straight into traffic — or stumble into a jacuzzi and drown while making nary a noise to warn you. I don’t think I really relaxed from the moment my daughters were born until the time they could swim well enough to become reasonably drown-proof. (I am amazed at how many parents never teach their children how to swim!) My helpless little charges were dependent on me and my wife for almost everything. We were very nearly never “off duty.” The best we could do was to relieve each other temporarily, like sentries on guard duty. “I’ll watch the girls for a few hours while you get a workout and some time to yourself…” It was this way for years. There is still some of it now.

I flatter myself that I did a good enough job as a dad. I often wonder what deficits I brought to the role by becoming one relatively late in life: I was 39-years old when I became a father for the first time. But the flip-side was that as an older dad I was more patient and committed to the job. When I chose to become a dad I decided I would not screw this up. So I read books to my daughters every single night for some seven years when they were little. I taught them how to read. I taught them how to swim. I taught them how to hit a forehand. I coached their youth sports teams. I explained the basics of sex and reproduction with them. I listened to my daughters cry in the car as they complained about their peer relations as I picked them up after a hard day of school in fifth grade. (“Wow. The friendships of 10-year old girls are very complicated!” I thought to myself.) I sat down and watched famous films with them and discussed what we saw afterwards. I read most of the classic novels to them. Next month I will start teaching my oldest daughter how to drive. My daughters got my best moments and energies in their earliest days. I was “on it” as a dad. I like to think that has made a difference in how well they have turned out…? Maybe? At least so far?

But it is also true that I am counting down the days until they turn 18-years old. I am on the downslope now with my daughters, and they want and need me less than when they were younger. I am happy to give my teenage daughters more freedom. As Horace says, “What is well begun is half done.” The earliest stage of parenting is the most important, and the most exhausting. You always lead from the front – whether as a parent, teacher, boss, or general – and so I have tried to serve as a dad. 

But the girls are well-launched, I think, and I can trust them mostly to guide themselves now. They understand that to the extent that they can govern themselves, I will give them considerable freedom of choice in how they want to live. If they prove unable to govern themselves, I will do it. They understand this. So we get along without much friction. So much has to do with the earliest days of a child’s upbringing. I was there from the very beginning and I never left. Being a daddy was exhausting. It never ends. I will never not be a dad.

But I am glad those crushing early days are over. I am counting the days until I am an empty-nester. My dad claims he very much enjoyed raising his three children. He also says the happiest day of his life was when his youngest child moved into her college dorm. So it goes.

All you new parents: The veteran parents who have already traveled that path salute you! 

Good luck!

You will need it.

You poor bastards.

P.S. On the other hand, perspective parents of the world, what are you doing with your time that is so important anyway? Scrolling through social media on your phone? Complaining about Trump or enjoying work gossip? The same ol’ musty cheese with the same ol’ stale people? Maybe you should consider becoming a parent because there is no real opportunity cost, considering how you live?

---

THE HARD, HAPPY YEARS?

Precious Beautiful Little Dependent Children; Unremitting Responsibility, Stress, and Expense.