The stay-at-home-dad: On being emotional about milestones
In most circumstances, I’m a cynical, glass-basically-empty type of person. When it comes to cliche parenting milestones, however, I’m an overly-sentimental galoot.
It’s the big reason why I have four kids in the first place. Every time one of my babies learned to walk, I was simultaneously proud and devastated. Once a child becomes mobile, it isn’t really a baby anymore, and I quickly learned that I NEEDED a baby to snuggle. So whenever one of my kids became a little too independent... boom… time to make another one.
Unfortunately, my wife (correctly) said,”No more!” after four, and I had a vasectomy to prevent any more happy little accidents. It’s been tough watching my youngest become more and more independent, and so every time I watch old videos of our kids as babies, I act like a melodramatic maniac.
My kids now brace for “Proud Dad meltdowns” whenever we watch old videos as a family. If a video depicts a child doing something especially cute (and that’s a low bar to clear), I’ll snatch that grown kid right up off their feet and squeeze them in my arms like they’re still six months old. I may be developing some chronic back problems due to these overzealous, instinctual reactions, but I can’t stop myself from trying to recapture the feeling of holding my babies again.
So as much as I’m increasingly disillusioned by humanity as a whole, I’m frequently surprised by how emotional I feel about little moments in their lives.
A great example: The bicycle milestone. I’ve helped my three oldest kids learn how to ride a bike without training wheels, and I got way-too-sappy about it each time. I don’t even care about bicycles. I don’t own one myself and probably haven’t used one since college. And sure, while I have fond memories as a kid of riding my bike, I definitely don’t remember my parents teaching me how to ride one.
And yet, teaching them how to ride is an imprinted parenting milestone for me, and I feel all syrupy and soppy just thinking about it. Even though my brain tries to rationalize it, saying, “Look, I may not be a great dad, but at least I taught them how to ride a (expletive deleted) bike,” my heart says, “OH MY GOD, MY BABIES ARE GROWN UP AND CAN RIDE AWAY AND ABANDON ME FOREVER!”
I knew I was totally broken about it when I cried at a McDonalds commercial. It showed a kid riding without training wheels for the first time after she sees mom holding up a Happy Meal box in the distance. Damn, McDonalds, your shameless pandering is messing me up.
I’ve had other tear-inducing responses to key milestones… probably the weirdest being when all four of my kids pooped into a big toilet for the first time. Potty training is another sign that a baby isn’t a baby anymore, and so I’ve mourned over that too. I’m proud of their independent pooping, but I also look back fondly at those thousands of monotonous moments at the changing table.
Yes, I’m the dad who actually misses changing poopy diapers.
On some occasions, when I’m home with my kids and they go to grab their own food or run to the bathroom by themselves or laugh and play with each other and ignore me completely, I feel like I no longer have a purpose. They don’t need me for certain things anymore. I can’t stop myself from thinking that my most cherished moments of parenting are gone forever.
And then they’ll start screaming at each other or at me, and I’ll think, “Why did we even have all these stupid kids in the first place?”
But show me a video of one of my kids using a spoon for the first time, and I’ll weep for hours.
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Tyler Wilson is a freelance writer and a stay-at-home dad to four kids, ages 3-9. He is tired. He can be reached at twilson@cdapress.com.