(I’m listening to “Bittersweet Symphony” by The Verve)

“What the heck is a doula?”  That’s the question I asked the wife when she suggested hiring a doula for the birth of Littles.  Was the wife planning on giving birth under a tree in the backyard or something?  Was this the medieval times?  Was the doula going to cast a spell over our child?  My mind was racing, only it didn’t know what to race about because I didn’t know what a doula was.  I had no idea.  I just had misconceptions.  I just thought we were going to do this 1960’s style.  You know, they’d wheel the wife into a room, I’d stand in a waiting room smoking cigarettes, the nurse would bring the baby out, and then we’d all have cigars and an old-fashioned.  That sounds pretty legit, right?

Today kicked off World Doula Week, and after two births of our two wonderful little ladies, I know what a doula is, thank goodness.  Technically speaking, a doula is someone who assists women during labor and after childbirth, but, that definition doesn’t do the term justice, like at all.  Our doulas were amazing.  I remember the wife saying, “A doula isn’t just for the mom, dads need doulas too!  You’ll see…you’re going to love it.”

And that’s why the wife is smart.  I did love having a doula…both times.  Having a doula was like having Wonder Woman in the room with you.  Doulas are for the dads too!  I didn’t know what to expect when it came to the birth of our first child.  I had never been in the situation before, and frankly, nothing can completely prepare you for it.  Sure, we took some classes, learned to breathe, and watched some videos; and I was like, “This is going to be a magical time!”  And it is!  It’s also crazy scary!  The wife was making sounds I had never heard before, she’s in unbearable pain, and I just felt helpless.  Here I was, watching the woman I love in such pain, and I was in tears because I couldn’t fix it.

The knowledge I had gained in those classes and videos could only take me so far.  I was tapped out.  That’s when our doula said, “Take a break.  Get something to eat.  I’ll take over for a while.  She’ll be fine.”  And that’s what I did.  While the wife was going through one of the toughest things she would ever do, I got to take a break.  I collected myself.  I pulled myself together.  I watched the doula work.  I watched her talk the wife through contractions.  I watched her have my wife change positions.  After doing this for about a half hour, I was ready to get back into the game.  Now I was doing the hip compressions, I was talking my wife through contractions.  When the wife said, “Just give me the drugs,” I was the one telling her there would only be a few more.  She could do this!  I was the one talking her off the ledge.  I felt empowered.  I felt like I knew what I was doing.  I could do this!  And I owed that all to our doula.

The wife gave birth to Littles, I cut the cord.  But, as I was holding Littles, even I could tell something was wrong with the wife.  There was blood, lots of it.  The midwife pushed the panic button and instantly, 20 doctors and nurses were in the room.  I swear, people even dropped down from the ceiling like paratroopers.  As I was holding our new, sweet baby girl, I was thinking, “Please God, don’t leave me alone with this baby, please.  I can’t do this by myself.”  I was laying on a cot, holding our little miracle to my chest, and pleading and praying.

Secretly, this possibility was my biggest fear of the process.  Our doula took the baby and said, “Watch, she’s going to be alright.” She was right.  I don’t know what the doctors did, but the bleeding stopped.  The wife was going to be just fine.  We would be a family of three.

We gave Littles to mom, skin to skin.  We took pictures.  We breathed breaths of relief.  We were going to start our lives as a family of three, but first, we needed to sleep!  Our doula took the baby, and told us to take a nap.  I don’t know about the wife, but I know that was the best nap of my life.  The sleep of a new dad who had just helped his bride through the most amazing and terrifying experience of our lives, and I had our doula to thank.

The wife became a doula after the birth of our first child.  She helped many clients through their child birthing experience and I’ve heard stories of how amazing she was.  It doesn’t surprise me at all. The wife is amazing and can do anything she sets her mind to.  When it came time to have our second child, I knew what the heck a doula was, and I knew we were going to have one.

Looking back at Littles’ birth, I don’t know if I could have made it through without the help of our doula.  I’d like to think I could have.  What I do know, is I’m very thankful I didn’t have to try.

(I’m listening to “Everyday” by Phil Collins as I write this.)

It was the first day of spring.  It was a great day with the kids.  The weather was in the mid 70’s, which meant a lot of time outside.  The wife finished her work early, and we were able to take advantage of some family time.

When I say it was a “great day with the kids,” that’s an understatement.  What I really mean is, today was one of those days where everything clicked.  It was great being a dad.  The kids ate on time, they napped on time, no timeouts, they were good listeners, they played well together, and they were a complete joy to be around.  We played, we jumped on the trampoline, we rode bikes, we skateboarded, we did everything.  Today made me feel like a great dad.  Then, to top it off, the wife got home during nap time.  After naps, we loaded up the kids in the bike trailer, went to the ice cream shop on the corner, and had a treat (Tiny had Cheetos, but no ice cream). Then, we played some more.  It was a great first day of spring.  This picture says it all.

I’m must confess, the dad in me loves spring, but the human in me doesn’t look forward to the change in seasons.  The dad in me loves spring because of the picture above.  The weather is warmer, the days are longer, we play outside, there’s more to do, and it’s great.  The human in me doesn’t look forward to spring.  The human in me knows the beginning of spring means it’s the end of winter.  The wife jokes and says I have Reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder and this is why.

Anyone that knows me, knows I love to snowboard.  Snowboarding is my release; it’s my reset button.  Some people run, some people bike, some people read, some people go to the gym; I go to the mountain.  There’s just something about standing on the top of a peak, looking down, and taking the plunge.  It’s just me and the mountain, me and the elements, me and the challenge, me and God.  Everything else just melts away and for a brief moment, I look inside, see what’s there, and let it out.  The adrenaline pumps, the focus gets locked in, and I just feel so small in a huge world.  It’s humbling, spiritual, and exhilarating at the same time.  I run a gauntlet of emotions.  It’s controlled chaos.  In short, I feel like a human.  It’s also hard to snowboard in the summer.

The wife and I both agree we need activities in our lives like these and we both encourage each other to do them.  It allows us time to be ourselves, recharge our batteries, and hit the reset button.  This makes us better people, better spouses, better parents, and I am so thankful we understand that about each other.

Parenting can be a tough gig.  Every day isn’t filled with naps and ice cream.  Some days, I need to feel like a human instead of a dad, but today was not one of them.  Today was the first day of spring and it was awesome to be dad.

(“Moonlight Kiss” by Bap Kennedy is the song I’m listening to at the moment)

Monday marks the beginning of the workweek for a lot of people.  People complain about Monday.  People post unflattering memes on social media about Monday.  Jokes are made about Monday.  People might get “a case of the Mondays.”  Monday might be the most dreaded day of the week, but not for me.

Due to the day job, I have Monday’s off.  Sometimes it’s kind of weird for me; people will be complaining on Sunday about having to go back to work and I’m thinking to myself, “Yeah, I don’t feel that way.”  It’s not that I’ve never felt that way, I just don’t feel that way now, and I haven’t for a while.

Monday is my day with my kids, and I’ll get to that in a little bit; but first, I want to talk about work.  In church today, the person delivering the message said, “Do you ever notice that when you meet someone new, one of the first questions you ask them is, what do they do for a living?”  It made me think, “Yeah, why do I do that?”  It is important to know where someone works, and it’s good to show that interest in another person, but I’m going to try something different the next time I meet someone new.  Instead of, “Where do you work,” I’m going to ask, “What do you do for fun?”  I think that would tell me more about a person.

Monday is fun for me because I get to spend the day with my kids, Littles and Tiny.  They’re at such a fun age right now.  Littles talks and talks and talks.  I love her imagination.  She’s only 3, but she’ll say things like, “Okay daddy.  You’re the king and I’m the princess.  This (pointing to the couch) is our castle, and we need to hide and watch out for the dragons and the troublemakers!”  Where do she get this stuff?  Today we played hard.  Since it was a gorgeous day outside, I rode my skateboard, while she chased me on her strider-bike in our cul-de-sac. “I’m going to catch you daddy!  Look how fast I can go daddy!”  We jumped on our trampoline, “Look how high I can jump daddy!”  Then we had friends over for a BBQ.  Our friends are awesome and we all have kids that are roughly the same age, so they all play together.  It’s great.

Tiny, well, she’s about 10 months old, and I joke about her being a bowling ball.  She just can’t wait to do everything her big sister does, and she’s into everything!  She crawls around, rolls around, stands against things, and tries to eat everything.  We found her eating dirt out of the wife’s flower pots the other day. Today, we caught her trying to munch on grass and pine needles. You could put 10 toys on the floor, and a knife, and she would find the knife 100 out of 100 times.  It’s like she thinks, “Hmmmm.  What’s the most dangerous thing in this room I could play with?  Oh!  There it is!  I’m on it!”  And, she smiles the whole time!  To make a long story short, you really need to keep an eye on Tiny.

That’s not to say it’s all amazing.  Anyone with kids knows that’s not the truth.  Littles got a timeout today because she wouldn’t listen, and Tiny, well, she sunk her teeth into the wife’s shoulder that left a pretty good mark.  It’s all part of the process.  I’m just so happy to see our kids have so much joy.  They’re really fun to be around and that’s why it’s never Monday for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(I’m listening to Pearl Jam’s “Off He Goes” from their “Live On Two Legs” album)

I’m ridin’ solo again tonight.  The wife has another business meeting.  Before you think, “Wow!  That’s two out of the last four nights he’s been home alone with the kids,” it’s really not a big deal.  This doesn’t happen that much, and I really don’t mind.  Besides, the wife and I are a team.  The wife works hard, and I appreciate that, a lot.  If that means I get a couple of  bedtimes here and there with both kids on my lap, reading books, well that’s just fine by me.  After the wife left for the evening, Littles and I ordered Chinese food. When the delivery person knocked at the door, Littles yelled, “Chineeeeeeeeese!”  It was hilarious.  Tiny even had some too.  She liked the noodles.  Dad throws a great party.

What’s not a party is laundry.  I do quite a few chores around the house, but my specialties are dishes and laundry.  I really don’t like doing laundry, but hey, if the chores are done, I have a better excuse to spend some time with Mr. Jones (that’s what I call my snowboard). Yep, now that song is in my head.  “Mister Jooooooones and me!”

Back to laundry.  With two little kids in the house, laundry is kind of a non-stop exercise in futility.  I’m never done with laundry.  Now, I don’t mind putting it in the machine, switching it over from the washer to the dryer, and stuff like that.  What kills me is the folding.  The kids’ laundry is so small!  You know that scene in “Stand By Me” where Gordie says, “Wagon Train is a really cool show, but have you ever noticed they don’t really get anywhere?  They just keep on wagon-training?”  That’s me folding kids clothes.  I feel like I never get anywhere.  The basket just never seems to empty.  I just keep folding, folding, folding, WHAT?  Yep, I just sang Limp Bizkit to myself.

Back to laundry.  I always love it, LOVE IT, when I’m folding the kids’ clothes, and there’s like a grown up sized towel hiding in the basket.  “Yeah, now we’re cooking with gas!  A good quarter of the pile just disappeared!”  Tonight, the wife’s bathrobe was buried in kids clothes.  It was awesome!  I pulled that sucker out, folded it, and thought to myself, “This must be what a marathon runner feels like at the 13.1 mile mark!   Then I proceeded to fold 3,000 pairs of Littles’ underwear.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy pitching in.  You don’t want me cooking dinner, unless we’re having cereal or toast.  In fact, you really don’t want me near a kitchen, but, I can do dishes and laundry with the best of them.  I stick to my strengths, they’re pretty darn good, and I think the wife would agree.  Alright, it’s time to go.  There’s laundry somewhere in this house that needs to be done.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(I’m listening to a song called “The Listening” by Lights, in one ear, and listening to our monitor in the other).

The text from the wife said, “Buckle up.  Our childcare provider says Littles is really sick. Headache, nose running, cough.  I’ll go get her.”

My response was, “Poor Littles.  Okay.  Crap.”

When our kids are sick, we refer to it as “The Sickness.”  We call it that, because Littles will say, “Daddy (or mommy), I have the thickness (sickness).”  It’s pretty cute, you know, except for the fact that she’s sick.  Sick kids don’t sleep very well, and in turn, we don’t sleep well. I already feel myself turning into a zombie.

Sick kids aren’t all bad, at least that’s what I think when my kids are sick.  When other kids are sick, I’m like, “Dude, Dustin Hoffman will have to roll in with the E-1101 before our kids can hang around them.” But Littles is pretty cute when she’s sick, you know, except for the fact she’s a walking snot factory that happily spreads slime all over the house.  Usually, she will want to watch cartoons or movies all day.  It’s a practice we don’t do on a regular basis, but when she has “the sickness,” we bend the rules a little.  Plus, she’s 3 years old.  She doesn’t cuddle much anymore, but when she’s sick, she could win a gold medal in cuddling.

As cute as Littles is during the day, that coin has another side.  It’s called the night.  The long dreaded night.  Littles goes to bed around 8pm.  We gave her medicine.  We gave her a cough drop.  We gave her chest rub.  We turned on her humidifier.  We put on her Elsa and Anna blanket.  She has her stuffed animals.  She went to sleep.   When you have a sleeping sick kid, you walk around the house like it’s a minefield; trying avoid every crack in the hardwood floor and every toy that was lying around, in fear of stepping on one and waking up “the sickness.”    The cat gets banished to the basement because the slightest meow can start the avalanche.  You sit on the couch staring at the monitor while holding your breath.  None of it matters.  You could walk around with pillows on your feet, but you’re still guaranteed a wake up before 10pm.  That happened tonight.  It wasn’t even a “momma?” or “daddy?”  It was just crying.  The miserable crying of a sick kid.  Poor Littles.

The wife is sleeping, so I’m on duty.  I walk into Little’s room and ask what’s wrong.  Crying.  I ask what she needs.  More crying.  I ask if she needs more blankets.  Crying.  I ask if she needs juice.  Crying.  I ask if she needs medicine. Crying.  I finally get her to blow her nose.  The crying stops!  I take everything out of her bed.  I get her a wedge pillow.  I give her a drink.  I put two blankets back on.  I tuck her in. I give her more rubs. Finally, I hear a yawn, and…sleep.  I tip-toe out of there like a soldier behind enemy lines.  Success!

I just hope she sleeps through the night, and I pray she doesn’t give “the sickness” to Tiny, but that’s like praying to win the lottery.  It’s one thing to have a sick kid, it goes to a whole other level with a sick baby.  Goodnight and good health…I hope.