Thursday, Jul. 31, 2008 | 5:08 P.M.
Baby Blues of a Father
I want you all to read an article that was on MSN about a father dealing with his newborn son.
The first few days are a blur of exhilaration and exhaustion. I sit holding that little ball of flesh--all 6 pounds of him--and I can't believe how lucky I am.
On the third day, we take Matthew home. My wife and I are looking forward to spending the next 3 months together, raising our boy. After that, she'll go back to work and I'll stay home.
The parenting books say the average newborn sleeps about 19 hours a day. That's how long our boy cries. He never naps, and at night he sleeps for just 20 minutes at a time, and only when he's being held. This makes it tough to follow the first rule of having a newborn: Sleep when the baby sleeps.
Week 2
Clearly something is wrong. We take Matthew to the doctor. "It's just a little intestinal distress," he tells us. "It's fairly common and nothing to worry about."
Meanwhile, my wife, Kelly, and I start sleeping in shifts. She goes to bed at 7 p.m. while I sit in the basement with Matthew for, inevitably, 5 hours of crying. Then at midnight, we switch for 5 hours.
Before, the basement had been my sanctuary. Comfy couches, big-screen TV, every man's dream. Now it's my prison. I lose my temper 50 times a night. Sitting there alone in the dark, exhausted, I'm overwhelmed. "Why are you doing this!" I scream at him. "What do you want me to do?"
Week 3
I hate my newborn baby. There, I said it. Nobody ever says it. But if what Matthew is going through is fairly common, then I'm sure more than a few men have thought it. It's always "Coochie-coochie-coo!" and "Oh, he's a handful, but he's worth it." Yeah, right. Am I missing something here?
I'd waited 42 years to meet this kid. Now I want to return him. Or ask for an exchange. "Do you have any quiet babies that I could take instead? No? Would you mind looking in the back?"
I feel like the worst dad ever.
Week 4
Two more doctor visits and no improvement. We switch to formula, replace Matthew's bed linens, and start using a humidifier in his room. We're desperate for something, anything, to click. Friends say things like, "Just wait. One of these days he'll start sleeping, and your life will change." Every time he dozes for more than 15 minutes we think we've turned a corner. But then he wakes up crying, as if someone has just poured a bucket of ice water on him.
Week 5
The doctor thinks maybe Matthew has a milk allergy, so he wants us to switch to a soy-based formula. We start him on a Saturday.
The next day, my mother-in-law comes over to give us some relief. Kelly and I each go our separate ways. She takes care of some stuff around the house, and I lock myself in front of a day's worth of NFL games. By dinnertime, my mother-in-law is deeply concerned. "He's getting worse," she says.
I call the doctor, who advises us to allow the new formula a few more hours to work through his system. At 10 p.m., Matthew is as miserable as we've ever seen him. We decide to take him to the ER.
Then, as we're getting ready, something crazy happens. He falls asleep in my wife's arms. We don't get our hopes up--we've fallen for this trick before. Fifteen minutes later, we take a chance and lay him down. Still out cold. Then we dare to crawl into our own bed.
That night, he sleeps 6 hours straight. It's the breakthrough we've been hoping for.
Today
As I write this, Matthew is sitting in his bouncy seat looking at me with a smirk on his face. He's 6 months old, and he's already my best friend. Every night he listens to my troubles, cooing his understanding or praising me with an encouraging fart. But for his first few weeks on this planet, we did not get along. Not at all.
Looking back, I feel incredible guilt--not just for having had so much hatred and anger, but for how selfish I'd been. Many new parents are facing real problems. Their kids are sick. They're having trouble affording basic necessities. They're doing it alone. My wife and I were together 24-7 and parenting knocked us on our asses.
To those struggling parents, I say best of luck.
To my wife, who's now back at work, I say thank you for giving me such a wonderful son.
And to my boy, well, I'm sorry about the things I said to you during your first few weeks. I promise to make it up to you for the rest of your life. I love you, buddy.
This is pretty much the same feelings I am and were going through with each of my kids until 6 months old. I really did regret having kids during this time. I'm just not a dad who loves newborns. It's selfish, but they demand soo much, and I have come to realize I have very little patience for them. But with AG, after she turned 6 months and got older, I was able to handle her much better. And besides her dramas, I love her to death.
My therapist has told me that biologically, women are much better at raising kids around this age, up to age 3, but after that, the men can feel more comfortable. This could be because after 3 years, men just get more comfortable with the child, or around this time, this is when the male can start teaching the child all the things he knows about life. Going back to earlier times, this is when the father can teach a child how to hunt and survive. I know that when AG gets a bit older, she wants to learn more and I can't wait to teach her. Plus, she finds me funny, HP hasn't done that yet.
It does make you feel wrong and guilty for hating your own child. Incredibly so! But, like this father, I know I will make it up to them. It will just take time, and that's something I hope I have to give them.