Have Things Really Changed That Much?

When I was a kid, I would spend my free time wandering in the woods, building forts with my friends. Or we'd take our bikes and go on a day long excursion around the neighborhood, visiting various pals as we went along.

Kids today attempting such a daring daily routine of play would likely end up with Lyme Disease, fall victim of a sexual predator or two (or three), and probably finish the day either being hit by a texting teen driver or blown up by a suicide bomber.

Was the world always this frightening? Have things really changed that much since I was a kid? I don't mean to come off like some conservative ideologue waxing romantic about the good ol' days when a man was a man and a woman was a woman. I'm genuinely confused by this. How did it get so dangerous to let kids go out an play?

I don't want to let Baby J go off and do the stuff I did when I was young. By today's standards, it's a death sentence. It's no wonder folks scuttle their kids off to ballet and soccer and violin and swimming and curling. And it's no wonder that kids turn to their cell phones and social media sites to interact with one another. Getting on your bike and riding across the neighborhood is too treacherous.

I know I'm getting ahead of myself here but I have no idea what I'm going to do when Baby J wants to go off in the woods behind our home or when she wants to wander off through the neighborhood.

Maybe by then the world won't be quite as deadly.

Homecoming

Saturday was my wife's birthday and her mother drove up to babysit for us so we could celebrate. We went out and saw a show and then came back.

Upon our arrival, Baby J came running to greet us at the door. She look wild-eyed, one of her socks missing, her pants half off her backside, and her face smeared with food. The house was in disarray as if she had been lumbering around like a mini-Godzilla.

It's nice to know that she's like that for everyone, not just us.

The Penguin Revelation

My wife and I went out to dinner last night. While we were enjoying dinner a baby somewhere in the restaurant started to cry. The sound of her sobs had an uncanny resemblance to the way Baby J sounds when she gets upset. I would guess that most folks, especially those who don't have young kids, would say that all babies sound the same when they cry. It's not true.

I hear babies cry all the time at the mall, at playgroup, and every time I take candy from them. There's nothing special about it. But when this baby in the restaurant started to cry, it sounded different. It sounded like it was a baby my wife and I needed to tend to. Not exactly like Baby J but very similar.

It reminds me of that scene in March of the Penguins when the mama or papa penguin comes marching back from the sea and calls out to the huddled mass of bird at the breeding grounds. Somewhere in that huddle mass, their chick hears them, recognizes them, and responds. In time, every adult penguin finds their chick using this call/response method.

Even though to us, they all sound the same, look the same, and blend into the throng of birds, every penguin knows each other by sound.

I guess there is something universal in parenthood across the animal kingdom. You know your baby in ways that others couldn't even begin to distinguish.

Beethoven

I just finished listening to a series of lecture on Beethoven's Life and Music. And here's what I learned: Beethoven was intense, gloomy, driven, uncouth, frustrated, angry, and, above all, possessed by a wellspring of demonic creativity. And it seems that almost all of his crazed personality quirks and sublime musical gifts stem from his childhood and his relationship with his parents. Dad used to beat him mercilessly, tortured him with endless hours of practice at the piano. Mom did nothing to stop the abuse. His famed deafness was also probably a result of a fever he had when he was a child. Music and isolation became his world. And these factors brought forth fiery creative forces.

The whole time I was listening to these lectures I was thinking about Baby J and children in general. Would Beethoven have achieved such mythic stature had he not suffered as a child? My guess is probably not. My guess is that if Beethoven's father had not been so cruel, music in Western culture would not be what it is today. I'm sure Beethoven would have gone on to be a great composer, but without the pain and isolation and rage that drove his artistic growth I doubt he would have been compelled to produce the great works that he did.

I know I'm oversimplifying here but it would seem that all of Western music hinges on a single unhappy childhood. And I'll bet many great artists, the ones that really changed history, also had unhappy lives as children. Maybe by trying to be a decent, reasonable parent I'm actually stymying the growth of a great artist. Maybe if I refuse to feed Baby J her beloved Cheerios, she'll go on to be a powerful creative force and redefine art in the Western world.

It's doubtful. I guess I'll keep the Cheerios flowing freely.

Sing Along

The playgroups I go to with Baby J are comprised entirely of women and women tend to have higher voices than men. So when we all sing along I can feel my relatively low voice standing out among the chorus of relatively high female voices. Also, most songs sung to babies are up in a range that is difficult for me to reach. I end up having to drop down an octave to hit the proper notes thus accentuating the fact that my voice doesn't quite fit. What's more, I have pretty significant hearing loss so I can't really tell if my singing is in tune or not most of the time.

But I sing along anyway.

There's a strange discouragement among adults associated with singing that I find worrisome. I partially attribute it to shows like American Idol where judges judge and contestants are lampooned mercilessly but, in reality, I know there's more to it than Simon Cowell. I would wager that most people simply don't feel comfortable singing because they feel that they aren't good enough. They won't sound like their favorite star.

I know I stick out like a musical sore thumb when I sing along at playgroup but it doesn't stop me. Baby J likes it when I sing to her and if I were to clam up because I didn't feel I was good enough, it would, over time, send a pretty repugnant message to her.

Baby Burn Out

I've debated posting about this since I like to keep things light here on my blog but I'm really dreading spending time with Baby J tomorrow. She's been a pill over the past two days. Her demands have been relentless and it's wearing on my patience, sapping my energy. Because of my wife's schedule, I won't be getting much of a break tomorrow either. Maybe 30 minutes max.

You know the feeling you get on Sunday nights? Like the hours are just ticking by as you await the inevitable. Nothing holds your interest because gloom is looming. Tomorrow's gonna suck and there's nothing you can do about it. That's how I feel right now.

It's baby burn out.

I feel a bit guilty for having these negative feelings toward fatherhood at the moment but there's an ebb and flow to all things in this world, being a dad is no exception. Parenting, like anything else, has it's ups and downs. Tomorrow might suck but the next day might be great. Who knows. All I can say for sure is that this lassitude is temporary. And, if tomorrow is going to suck, I'm may just have to console myself with a box of Girl Scout cookies we have tucked away in the pantry.

Samoas, in case you were wondering.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

I've had a few readers of Dawn of the Dad ask me recently what the future holds for the blog. After all, I'll return to work in September of this year and that'll be the end of my stint as a stay-at-home dad. What then will become of my little corner of cyberspace?

I intend to record the daily exploits of Baby J here until I return to work, until September. After that, Dawn of the Dad is over. So dawn goes down to day.

I'm only on post 208 though so there's still time left before Eden sinks to grief.

Back at Work

I spent sometime back at work yesterday giving a few curious folks a tour of the school where I will/used to work. Baby J came too, of course.

Aside from having to hand a constant stream of Cheerios to my cantankerous kiddie while I did the tour, it felt very strange to be back in the building where I will/used to work. I felt very much like an interloper, like I was screwing things up simply by being there. Everyone seemed happy to see me and the baby and to see I was spreading the word about our school one mini-tour at a time. Maybe any unwelcoming vibes I perceived were just a product of my over-active imagination. But still I couldn't shake the feeling that my presence was a bit of an intrusion.

It's like when you break up with someone and then run into them a few months later. Awkward and uncomfortable. There are smiles and pleasantries over a subtext of unease.

90% Baby

I can tell when Baby J is really sick because she starts to lose her personality bit by bit. She stops smiling and babbling. She refuses food and gets clingy.

She's had a bad cold over the past few days and though she is feeling better, she's only at 90% of her normal self. I think by tomorrow, she'll be right as rain and back to 100% Baby J.

In other news, the robins have returned and spring is on its way. My second semester is just about over and all my major projects are done. And all my creative endeavors are coming together nicely.

Things are good hear at Dawn of the Dad.

Segments

Baby J's patterns of wakefulness and sleep divide my day into clearly defined segments.

• Between the time she gets up for the day and the time she starts her nap, it's library time. We go to playgroups. We socialize. We take out books, CD's, DVD's, etc.
• Between the time she starts her nap until the time she wakes up, it's daddy work time. I pound out assignments for class. I pay bills. I do work around the house. I write. I draw.
• Between the time she wakes up from her nap and the time my wife comes home from work, it's go-somewhere-and-run-around time. The park, the mall, the playground. Baby J is free to roam and explore.

I have never much cared for routines but I don't see any other way of spending day after day with a little person who can't really communicate very well. The segmentation we have going now seem to be working for us so I guess I don't mind. Anyway, kids like routine.

This concludes the blogging segment of the day.