Tag Archives: fatherhood

Ice water.

I became an adult in 2013.  My life preceding that year, though full of uncertainty and the whimsical adventurism of youth was never meant to last.  Duh.  Any adult could have told me that but until you become one yourself, adulthood never sinks it’s teeth in deep enough for you to grasp until it finally does.  My career has taken off after eight months of undeterred tenacity and personal growth and as I reap the benefits and taste the sweetness of it’s fruits, it still seems bland.  It’s the grief.  It sits like a cold stone absorbing the heat of the sun above me, leaving me in a lukewarm state.  I don’t have meltdowns, though I’ve cried a few times when thinking about my Dad.  Is it a survival mechanism?  I look at pictures of him and immediately go numb, unable to feel anything.  I asked my ma (Happily Homeless) about it and from her experience as a bereavement facilitator she told me that sometimes the true depth of grief doesn’t come to the surface until you’re in your second year of it.  I don’t think many people are willing to believe that; it’s too inconvenient for their well-intentioned but insensitive insistence that you ‘go back to normal’ so they don’t feel the need to walk on egg shells in your midst.  I understand where they’re coming from.  Who the hell wants to carry such a burden for years and years?  Unfortunately, unless you’re incapable of loving then you are bound to go through the long-winded journey of grief.

I am on the precipice of a custody battle with my daughter’s mother.  We are like oil and water; getting along takes far more effort than it should – it always has.  Because of a fight we had last week, I have been denied by her the right to see and visit my own daughter, though this comes as no surprise.  Since becoming pregnant, she would threaten to remove me from our daughter’s life whenever she became angry with me, only now she has done it.  It’s been over a week since I have been able to see or hold her and it is tearing me to pieces.  A week may not seem like such a long time to you but as a new father, it has felt like forever.  Instead of using these emotions in a destructive way that would only further isolate me from my daughter, I have put all of this energy into taking responsible action and ensuring that my rights are enforced by the state.  My ex says she’s not doing this because of how she feels towards me though I feel if that were true, then she’d have no issue with letting me spend time with our daughter.  She says she is doing this for our little girl’s benefit – a superficially masked claim that reeks of self-centeredness and spite.  I guess not everyone can grow up.  Each day is a challenge.  I just want to see my mija but I cannot, though my ex claims “I am her father so will always be part of her life”.  Her actions prove otherwise, especially considering she only wants me to have two 3 hour visits with my daughter a week – supervised by her mother.  How can my daughter benefit from such a minimal presence from me?  It’s like listening to a politician talk: zero context and no credibility.  I believe in the end, I will have my daughter back but being patient in the meantime is so difficult.  I ought to find a father’s support group.

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I am Domesticon

Mark 1:38 pm Sunday, August 11, 2013. Credible sources confirm that Alec has become boring and no longer leads the exciting life of his past. According to eyewitness statements, he speaks of the Shark vacuum vs. Dyson as if it is Lucifer rebelling against God and the epic battle of good vs. evil is once again underway.

I squeal with excitement upon finding out that baking soda, vinegar, and hydrogen peroxide are effective household cleaners that eliminate the need for harsh chemical cleaners like Drano and Febreeze. Fu*k you, Febreeze, you can go drown yourself in Drano. I’m happy about it. And then I’m sad that I’m happy about it because other things used to be exciting and now anything positively domestic is cause for celebration because life has necessarily become mundane. I have become Domesticon, transformer of the home & hearth.

You know that scene in The 40 Year Old virgin where, at work, Steve is asked how his weekend was and he responds by talking about wanting to make an egg sandwich but it doesn’t work out the way he wished? That’s me, that’s how my weekends are now, hahaha. Oh the sadness!

Fatherhood and career. Not much time for anything or anyone else.

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Negotiating with a newborn.

Let’s begin this with the Father’s creed:

“I have been transformed and am no longer a person.  I’m a changing facility.  I’m a feeding station.  I am destined to lose my hearing to constant exposure to audio explosions averaging 100 decibels, praise the Lord.  My education consists of puppets living on a street named after a seed.  I hate seeds.  The only reason I disliked cartoons as an adult was because I was not intellectually advanced enough to appreciate them.  I despise sleep.”

Being a new dad isn’t too easy.  Originally I thought a maid robot similar to the one featured in “The Jetsons” would just show up and take care of things for me.  After seeing “I, Robot” I’m a little wary about that kind of arrangement.

At the supermarket I noticed my self-checkout pace increasing with my lil ones fussy noises.  The louder she became, the faster I moved just hoping she wouldn’t have a meltdown and force me to leave my raspberry lemonade and tortilla chips at the register to run her back to the car while awkwardly trying to gently swing her in her car seat to calm her while sprinting through the parking lot. God help me.  I would have looked like Quasimodo on methamphetamines.

Her mother can more than relate I’m sure, since she has her a majority of the time since I’m working 10+ hours a day six days a week.

I was at the bank this morning and realized I was swaying my hips back and forth as I stood in line, apparently holding my invisible daughter. Sentimentally ‘shhhhhh’ing’ the banker as she spoke to me at the window also made for an awkward moment.

She burped formula all over my shirt today.  I’m thinking about owning it and posturing myself as a man-fashionista ahead of my time.  Instead of having bleached and stressed jeans let us now rock dried and crunchy ‘burp aftermath’ on our apparel.

And yet I still can’t help but smile every time I look at her Winston Churchill cheeks.

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4 centimeters dilated and thinking.

We have been at the hospital for over 10 hours now.  From here on out, the ‘B.C.’ for my life will be pre-fatherhood and fatherhood.  It’s a contrast that I could think about for hours, maybe days at a time.  Who I was before my mija, who I have become during her mother’s pregnancy and who I will grow to be as she grows up.  I have flashbacks of my early 20’s and my persistent attempts to move out west and stay out west.  The experiences I’ve had, the maturing I needed to do — the maturity that comes with age.  The mistakes, the adventures, the everything.  I don’t miss it.  I’m excited as hell to hold my girl!  I’m so proud of her mom.  And soon, life will never again be the same.

The last time I was in a hospital, it was for the exact opposite reason I am here now and I was losing my dad.  Here I sit, now ready to receive my daughter.  Within two months there has been death and life, the death of and the birth of two people so incredibly dear to me and close to my heart.  How has life come to such a state?  If there is anything that inspires one to contemplate life, it’s frailty, beauty, finiteness, and meaning, then the last 2 months have done exactly that.  I have gone into the intellectual and spiritual deep end and am content to not say a word about it to anybody.  I don’t need to.  It’s why I write and am content to think about it endlessly.  How a zygote — something invisible to the naked eye, and it’s genetic blueprint form a human is…..mind blowing.

What will she sound like?  What will the difference in her voice be as she grows?  What color and shape will her eyes be?  Her hair?  Her intellect?  Will she be mathematically oriented?  Artistically oriented?  Both?  Neither?  How amazing it must be to watch as she marvels at the fact that she has hands and feet!  I look at my hands and feet everyday, occasionally thinking about the nature of their shape and their existence but usually underwhelmed by them because I am so used to having them accompany me on my body on a regular basis.  But to her, she is going to look at them and have this look in her eyes that says, “Holy phalanges, Batman, what the shit are these??”  She won’t even get her own Batman reference!  She will learn of Batman, rest assured.  And Iron Man.

I love this wee-lass more than I can convey and she isn’t even here yet.

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