At seven and a half months, my daughter Hazel Bea is in the coveted 6 to 12 month range. For a mom and dad, it’s a fun and much less stressful time than the first 6 months of initiation — sorry, parenthood. She’s still soft and cuddly, but also chunky and sturdy — no longer so tiny that I’m afraid I’ll break her or lose her between the couch cushions. Best of all are the squeals of laughter, and the excited smile when she sees me. After months of slaving away in service of a confused and needy newborn, I’m receiving real recognition and the beginnings of affection from a bouncing, happy baby.
A new father could get used to that. There’s a real possibility of becoming spoiled by that kind of attention.
In fact, on a recent morning, Hazel Bea woke up and fussed around a bit. Usually saying hi and smiling is all I have to do to remind her that she is a happy, little chicken, and she’ll smile back, grab my nose, and make chirping noises. But on that morning, she didn’t want me. My wife was elsewhere in the apartment, and baby would not be consoled until mama hen returned. As you can imagine, I was not a happy rooster that day.
According to the parenting books that I should be reading, (and don’t, but sometimes skim the chapter titles) — dads can feel inadequate when their babies develop that special bond with their mommies.
It’s tough feeling like the lesser parent, but I’ll manage. And as with many of life’s pitfalls, it’s helpful to balance things out with some perspective, which came from spending time with someone else’s kids — like my cousins Lilliana and Leo, ages 4 and 6.
They moved from Syracuse to California a few years ago, but this past summer Lilli, Leo, and their mom were back visiting, prompting a family reunion in upstate New York, which included my grandparents, wife, baby, and me. Since people were driving from different parts of the state, we settled on a convenient mid-point: Woodstock.
If you’re unfamiliar, the town of Woodstock is famous for lending its name to a music festival that brought half a million people together for three days of peace, love, music, and dubious hygiene many years ago. Thus, it earned the eternal right to sell tie-dyed T-shirts and overpriced pottery to tourists. Which is fine — it’s a very nice town in a beautiful region, and a perfect place to relax and catch up with loved ones.
After a big, chaotic lunch, we spent the afternoon strolling and shopping. Relatives who don’t see Hazel Bea on a regular basis passed her back and forth, so I didn’t see much of my own baby. But Lilli and Leo, deprived of their dad (who stayed out West due to work obligations), were more than happy to monopolize me for the day. I hadn’t seen them in a year, but they picked up right where they’d left off — begging for piggy-back rides, climbing my legs, and telling me stories about pets, toys, and poop.
Leo, with his shaggy lion’s mane, has an affectionate but rambunctious personality. I’d feel him giving me a hug from behind while browsing in a boutique, and by the time I turned around, he’d be dismantling the window display. When I would interrupt an unprovoked assault on his sister, he would plaintively respond, “But I just wanted to give her a knuckle sandwich!”
Leo would tag along for a while, and then bounce away and attach himself to another relative. Lilliana, on the other hand, with her big eyes and sweet smile, would not detach herself from me. At lunch we split her buttered pasta and once outside, she took advantage of Hazel’s popularity by commandeering the empty stroller and enlisting me as her chauffeur.
For the next few hours we were the “bestest” of friends. I would treat her to stroller-derby loops around a rack of silk sarongs then she would beckon me to lean down close, and whisper, “You’re the best!”
At one point, the group was in a store shopping for tie-dyed onesies as Lilli and I waited outside, eating ice cream, and talking.
“When I go to sleep I can dream about you,” she told me. “And when I go to school, I can think about you, because when I close my eyes, I have a picture in my mind.”
Now, I can assure you that I’ve never carried an unborn child, given birth, or nursed a newborn, but I must be doing something right.
Because late that afternoon, while walking back to the cars to say goodbye, I made good on my promise to Leo that he too, could have a chance to ride on my shoulders. Lilli, who was getting tired, couldn’t handle losing me to her brother and started wailing. A couple of minutes later I scooped her up again and carried her the rest of the way to the cars. But by then, she wasn’t concerned with piggyback rides anymore — she just clung to me and sobbed.
When my little Hazel only wanted mom, it was easy for me to feel sorry for myself. But that’s because I was already taking her attention for granted — even though she was only born six to 12 months ago! That heartbreaking moment with Lilli, however, was a reminder that it’s not about me.
All the attention you get from the little ones is wonderful, but if you feel you’re not getting enough, you’re missing the point. Enjoy and cherish the affection you receive, but stop worrying about yourself — remember it’s really about what you’re giving them.
Tim is a part-time stay-at-home dad who lives with his wife and their brand-new tiny human in Park Slope, Brooklyn. More of his thoughts about babies and other things that confuse him can be found at www.RevoltOfTheImbeciles.blogspot.com.
