Liz and Mike juggle work on top of being new parents.
Liz and Mike juggle work on top of being new parents.
LIZ
Week 4.
(BABY begins to cry.)
Sorry. It’s okay. I didn’t mean to—— We’ll start the car and then——
(LIZ turns the keys in the ignition and the baby is immediately calmed.)
Thank Honda. At least something is working for you. I know you don’t want to be here, but I needed to do this. For John. For work. Welcome to the real world, kid. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do in the middle of something we actually need to do. My job hinges on it. For someone who can’t find a stupid folder and won’t discuss it on the phone because he’s arrogant. I’m dealing with him instead of you, a child struggling to get healthy amounts of sleep and gain the weight he needs to live. But who cares about that. I’m not allowed to exist. You’re not allowed to exist or take up space. We want all children to appear in life at like... eight years old so we know how to interact with them. Heaven forbid we have to teach them anything or accommodate them!
I wish I could give you everything you need, and not only that... everything you desire, but then it wouldn’t be a life experience, right?
John asks me to come in and then when I walk in he gets this... face... Disgust? Frustration? Almost disdain? Why? You. I brought you in. The kid is a month old I can’t just... leave him. Okay, so I know it’s just me, he’d deny it, the look. I know I am lonely. And that all this research says that loneliness heightens my reactions and feelings that someone is being hostile. But also families take up a lot of space and I think people are resenting that more. Like I shouldn’t have brought my baby for five minutes to my workplace. What kind of company is this? I should not be here. Taking up space.
Do people... think? I mean I’m holding my crying four week old who is exhausted, doesn’t know how to sleep anywhere but my arms, and who technically shouldn’t be in a public space before he has reached six weeks old to protect his young immune system. I bounce and shush him as I rush in to check my work computer for this document John so desperately needs. Jacob, the temp, is at my desk. Great. He talks to me. Even better. He jokes about how difficult my baby is. The best. And then he says what I’m sure will replay in my mind daily: “Sometimes kids cry more because their parents are uncertain and don’t know what they are doing.”
Really? And what are your credentials Dr. Spock? Of course I don’t know anything! This is my first kid! I’m an engineer! I don’t know how to deal with children. Give me some sheet metal! This motherhood experiment hasn’t gone on long enough for me to attempt all the strategies to know the right one. I didn’t have to raise my younger siblings. I freely admit handing off my nieces and nephews. It’s an aunt’s prerogative. I babysat but, I didn’t run a daycare. And definitely not 24/7. I’m learning in the field, studying the mother in her natural habitat, roaming the pharmacy or Buy, Buy, Baby and coming up with the most awful amalgamation of different techniques you’ve ever seen! I don’t trust myself! You don’t need to tell me! I was surprised the nurse let me take him home. Who’s supposed to take care of him in the six weeks before daycare?
I came fully equipped to the one month pediatrician visit. My app is full. I’ve recorded every sleep period, every feeding, every output. Nurse asks ‘how many hours does he sleep in a 24 hour period on average?’ Fourteen hours. ‘Breast or bottle?’ Breast transitioning to bottle. ‘How long does he eat at each feeding?’ One to 2 hours. ‘Is he sleeping through that?’ ...Maybe. ‘How many wet diapers?’ 8. ‘Dirty?’ 3. And then... she leaves. She leaves! I feed them all this input and do they analyze it? Translate it? Nope. I’ll just keep that thank you very much. Then the doctor comes in and it’s all... ‘Do you feel like he’s eating enough?’ ‘Does he seem healthy?’ ‘Is he happy?’ Uh... Is he happy? The only time he smiles is when he passes gas! Aren’t you supposed to be an expert? Look at the data and look at me and then tell me what to do. You’re a scientist for goodness sake!
If this were a science... ‘Uncertain... don’t know what I’m doing...’ If people knew the impact of their comments, that they think about for five seconds, they would take more than five seconds to think about them. Did he know how many times I’m going to replay this? I’m sure he forgot about the entire exchange five seconds afterwards. I hate the doctors. I dread going. It feels... I yelled at her. The doctor. Not Jacob. Thank goodness. But still. DO YOU EVEN HAVE KIDS? It came out like water gushing from a hydrant, just waiting for the right wrench to release it. I blame sleep. And... come on—— this is high stakes guys! What I choose could be the life or death of this child and we spend half the time talking about the number of diapers the kid has? ‘It all looks good’ she says ‘but he could use a little more sleep.’ ‘Oh really, that’s all? I’ll get on that. Do you even have children?’
I’m being pulled in more directions than I thought I ever could be. I’m a sleep consultant, a strategist, a janitor, a home care aid, a chef slash human bottle, a teacher, a wife, and an EIT. Moms are awesome. I am awesome. More than I ever knew. I didn’t know how much I could do at the same time. None of it’s perfect. Most of it is below adequate, but I’m doing it. I’m doing it. Margaret, the receptionist at work, stopped me on the way out. She told me that this writhing, crazed, wailing child in my arms was beautiful. She told me about her first. She told me she did the exact same thing.
I am ok.
Mike is so good at the doctors. He’s insisted on coming. He holds the baby when he inevitably goes off and the entire office looks at us. And Mike just smiles. He just goes on, smiling, bouncing, loving, trying to soothe our kid. The judgement doesn’t affect, or isn’t even present for him. And he gets all the compliments. Rightfully so. But he redirects them. “I’m just here for the doctor’s visit, my wife does this all the time.” I don’t deserve him. He’s a good Dad. A GREAT dad. I couldn’t be a single parent. I don’t know how I’d ever hear the doctor speak. She was young too. The doctor. She probably— I don’t even know if I saw a wedding ring. I can’t believe I—— She’s probably being tormented with my words while I’m being tormented with Jacob’s. Dr. Grieves puts up with all these on edge kids and parents. She probably knows more strategies. She should have the chance. To be a mom. If I’d only thought for five more seconds. I hate that I have to ask for another chance.
(BABY wails suddenly.)
It’s ok. We’re moving. We’re moving forward. We’re going home.
MIKE
Week 4.
(His phone chimes. The phone chimes again. He checks it. He begins to reply when it chimes again.)
At least give me a moment to answ——
(It chimes three more times.)
LET ME COMFORT YOU.
(He picks up the phone and begins typing a response. It chimes. )
Ugnnuh... Is this a conversation? Or a cry for help? Or some sort of word vomit therapy? What does she want from me? No, that’s not the right question. What can I do for her? That’s more right. Every morning I get up and leave her to get ready to spend the day sitting behind a desk doing... menial little things. Important... if we want to eat, yes, but life sustaining? No. Definitely not. I spend the morning getting ready, showering, brushing hair, teeth, shaving, eating, and then I’m gone. Eight hours. And it only takes my commute for you to have the first morning break down. Every morning here’s the routine: walk in, remove coat, field wife’s cry from the abyss. Do... nothing. What can I do? 1. Come home? Not feasible. As before stated, the eating predicament. 2. Listen. Be there. Over the phone. When what she really needs is arms to lift, hold, and steady her. To protect her from worry and weariness and to give her aid to create space for herself. (rerecord) Five days a week that’s not an option and by the time it can be... I’ve lost the trust I need from her to be able to provide those things. So 3. Respond. Sometimes. Get her to hear? Never. I’m forced into the cold distant stance. I would come home. I have come home. She is my most important job. Why don’t you or my boss see that? He was just born, not even an hour old, and we were already talking about logistics. When am I going back to work? I’m not even a father for a day when... I can’t even be with my son, my wife, before I’m on the clock. Timer’s started. T-minus... I don’t know. How much time can I take? One week, two? Three? And then my project is given to someone else. My wife reminds me. She worries. I don’t. Really. If I put her and my son first, the most important things in my entire life, in the whole universe, scratch that megaverse, first, it will work out. I wish we had paternity leave. Or better paternity leave. Have you heard what Sweden does? 480 days of paid leave for parents. They even require dads to take some of it. Shouldn’t compare, especially with like the best paternity in the world, but I don’t know, maybe they have better priorities. I thought family was a big deal here, in Ohio, but if we have paternity, it’s lucky if you get any pay. They hold your job and that’s about it. But who has the funds to do that. So here I am. Working. Instead of where I’m really needed and want to be.
She... I’m missing the moments. My son. Her. Us. I’m not really needed anyway. Physically present. I don’t feed him. I don’t put him to sleep. I can’t get her to sleep. I try. I could try. If I was there. I would. I’m not useless.
(His phone chimes again.)
But I am.
(He looks at the phone. A video plays of a cooing baby.)
And then it’s resolved. At least for a moment. I don’t know which is worse. The pleas for help or the videos. Seeing the life that I’m missing, that I can’t be there for. He’s only... 4 weeks old and completely transformed. Completely... separated by a screen, a role, a responsibility.
I don’t tell her. I don’t want her to stop sending the videos. But I can’t... I’d rather be there. The other day she sent... he was sleeping and doing this like snorty... He was like a little pig! It was so incredibly adorable! I wish I could have... and yeah at least we have videos that I can watch almost immediately. I mean imagine all of the generations before Marco Polo. My parents worked my whole life and they didn’t get any of this. All of the daycares we’ve toured have some sort of monitoring so that we can see our kids grow. You know, a password protected webcam or an app where we can check for updates. It’s the best it’s been... it’s just not being there with your kid, you know?
Or being the one who makes him smile. I never I thought I was the jealous type. Did I just say that? I hate types. It’s so... blanketing. I hate when a mass assumption is made lumping you into a category. People are people. Not mass groups. But, that said, I am surprisingly jealous. When it comes to this. I think. I notice that when someone else is getting his eyes to focus on them, making him coo, or snort, or getting any sort of positive reaction... I start... you know, edging closer, leaning in over their shoulder, worming my way in. It’s like, I don’t know, I’m hungry for it. To get him to smile, to get that first, to shine with him in that first moment of discovery. It’s weird. I... didn’t think I was like that, but I guess... I like the feeling? When they light up just for you. Because of you. Like when I can get Liz to laugh. It’s... pride I guess? Joy? Excitement? Accomplishment? So when I see her or anyone else getting that, I guess I... It’s so ridiculous to even be complaining about this. I can’t tell her. She’d feel guilty. She’d stop sending the videos and I’d... miss them. I miss them. I want to be a father not a man making a guest appearance in his life, seeing him for an hour... maybe less, a day. He gets up and I leave. I come home and it’s bedtime. If we push bedtime he wakes up more times a night and to her that’s... unsustainable. Is it always going to be a 9 to 5 world? Or one where we physically have to be present to work? We have platforms, online where we can be all over the globe communicating and contributing to the same project, especially in coding. But still I’m required to come in 9 to 5 every single day. It seems like an easy shift to go full on teleworking but maybe one we’re not ready to make? I don’t know. But to me at this time in my life the way this workforce structure is... I’m going to miss his first year. Maybe more. When do I get to know him? Scratch that. When do I get to meet him? It’s a balance and I haven’t... gotten the hang of it. Am I going to just... miss his life? But what’s the alternative? Do I want to just stay home? Be a stay-at-home dad? That’s come up. “Well, do you just want to do this?” I mean, and that’s unfair too because she’s not going to do this, stay at home, not forever. I like work. This is what I wanted to do. What I’m trained for... but at the same time. I can never be there.
(The phone chimes. He looks at it.)
I don’t know.
(He hesitates and then texts.)