Monday Morning Punch

Published in: Young Parents (abridged version)
Published on: May 2008

Rico had a distinct smell right after delivery. Even before washing off the blood and whatever other liquid that clung to his skin, he had a faint and almost baby-powder-like smell. He was warm when I held him in my arms. His hair still caked with blood, he dribbled saliva as we took some photos. He seemed so frail, and yet he didn't fall apart when the nurse flipped him on his back to take measurements.

"Don't be afraid to handle him," the nurse advised. "Just make sure to support the head and he’ll be okay." He's a tough kid, I thought. His father's knees on the other hand, were made of much weaker material, like Pavlovas that crumble at the slightest touch.

At birth, he was 3.54 kilos, 51cm tall, and slept all the time. And when he slept, I wondered if he had dreams. But he had neither the experiences nor the words to express them, so what could he have dreamed of? Did he dream the dreams his parents have? Did he have the memories that his parents possess? Or is it a blank world he lived in where he instinctively ate and slept? He jerked, made faces, and kicked while he slept. I wondered.

In this high-tech world, I'm sure someone already hooked an infant to a machine that measures electric currents and chemical reactions that take place between the 100 billion neurons in a baby's little brain. Unfortunately, even that won’t show what my baby imagines, dreams of, and thinks of as he goes through the day. I wish I knew because as a rookie dad, not being able to have a conversation with my newborn or clearly understand what he needed was a little overwhelming.

I grew up thinking my parents always knew what to do. When I was hungry, Mom found food. When we didn’t have money, Dad worked to get what we need. Easy-peasy. I imagined that as I grew up, I would naturally know how things are done. Either that or I could get my hands on an owner’s manual to learn about life and how to raise a child.

Remember the saying "be careful what you wish for?" Well these days, a plethora of how-to books for fathers line the shelves of bookstores. Titles range from the mechanical ("Fatherhood: An Owner’s Manual"), tongue-in-cheek ("The Complete Idiot's Guide to Fatherhood"), to downright kitschy ("Crouching Father, Hidden Toddler"). I suppose these books all have their good points. If nothing else, these books give advice on how to calm a baby, or even better, how to calm fathers when the baby so much as moves, bawls, or produces what parents lovingly call "poo-poo."

But still, books can only go so far; then we go by feel. No book, for example, could have prepared me for that first nappy change. The tar-like substance had no smell, but it stuck to everything it touched. And with Rico and his parents struggling, it really stuck to everything that… well, you get the picture (It got better after that first time, but smellier).

However, most of us who go by feel happen to be inexperienced dads who not only make a mess out of changing diapers, but who are also never sure if we're doing the right thing. This is a world of young fathers who have young ideas. Maturity comes later, and sometimes too late to realize we should've done this or we should've done that.

For example, when should a toddler start sleeping in his own room? On one hand, I think it's a good idea for Rico to get that feeling of autonomy that he needs to develop self-esteem. As a bonus, my wife and I get back some privacy too. On the other hand, this seems like the best time in Rico’s life to spend time with him. When he becomes a teenager, he may not even want to be seen with his parents, so enjoy this time while we can. Anyway, we decided to let him sleep in his own room, and it's worked out quite well. When he wakes at night, he stays put and calls out. He understands that we’ll go to him, and that he is not to come into our room, or climb up and down the stairs.

I've been told not to agonize too much over making the right choices all the time because these decisions are at least somewhat reversible. Or is it? Do the first five years of our lives determine who we are?

I read somewhere that how I interact with my baby from day one plays an important role in how he will adjust to the world and develop throughout his life. Maybe that's true. I was about three when my Dad gave me my first camera (or maybe it was my sister's and I just "borrowed" it). It was blue, like well-worn jeans, and even though it never took any pictures, I was hooked for life after I heard the first shutter click.

Since Rico was born, Rico's been my favorite photo subject. I hope he will love looking at his baby pictures when he's older.

Recently, most of the photos I take of Rico turn out blurry. It used to be that Rico lied down on his back all day awake or asleep. He would cry because he's hungry, or wet, or tired. But if I stepped out of the room for a couple of minutes, he'd still be in the same spot where I left him. Taking snapshots was simple then.

A few weeks later, he learned to flip over on his tummy. Snap, snap, snap, I went, proudly thinking that he's well ahead of the learning curve. Then he started to crawl, slowly at first, improving to a steady trot, until one day, just a couple of weeks after his first birthday, he started to walk. Snap, snap, snap, snapping in awe. Then – gasp! – Rico started to run. That's when it all went horribly wrong.

In my snapshots, he looks like The Flash moving with super-speed that defies the laws of physics. His natural inquisitiveness coupled with his new-found mobility takes him around the house looking for objects to touch, throw, or chew on. When I say "No, don't touch that," he grins at me as if I said "Go ahead and try it. It's fun." I worry that one day I'll find him happily wading in my wife's water garden throwing out the water and chewing on the fish. He's learning to climb stairs, and he likes to hide. I've installed a gate on the stairwell, so that'll slow him down for a couple of weeks. Maybe I should attach a GPS device to him, just in case. Well, at least he doesn't know how to jump yet.

Should I teach him how to jump, just like I'm teaching him how to throw a ball? After all, certain roles are expected of fathers, even though we do not always understand what those roles are. Like most fathers, I devote my life to working and providing for my family, because that's the only thing I know how to do. I keep in mind that in many ways, Rico's not too different from me: If I'm hot and bored, he probably is too; if I don't smile at him, he won't smile at me. So I know that I should pay extra attention to him. It's ironic that the time I use to write about Rico takes away time I could spend with him.

With good reason, my wife reminds me that I should get involved with Rico more (assuming of course, I could find him): Change his nappies. Take him for long walks. Read him stories. Explain to him that I'll be away for a week yet again because of work (Rico thinks I go to work on a plane).

Ah, the wife.

"Don't forget that while you are mother and father to your son," my friend Annie said, relaying her mother’s advice to her, "you are also wife and husband."

She's right. It's easy to be consumed with talk about the baby, leaving little time to talk to my wife about our life as a couple. My wife and I spend most of our free entertaining Rico. We rush through many of our meals as we try to get as many mouthfuls of food and staccato conversations before Rico pulls either me or my wife to show us his latest obsession, cars.

I'm sure there are several books on how to "survive" parenthood or how to keep the romance alive after the baby arrives. I'll read them one of these days. For now, I'll keep in mind my friend's advice: Pay lots of attention to the kid, but don't forget the wife!