Freaks & Geeks Parenting

Terry took these photos. Some people may think they are
objectifying Ronan, but I think they are really cool.

Sadly, it’s not a given that all parents love their children. It’s a learned emotion.

When Terry had a C-section, they took me to the nursery to see Ronan before I saw her in recovery. It was a profound moment for me, mostly because I didn’t feel the way I thought I would feel. I’d just been through a traumatic experience, watching the woman I love in groggy pain for what seemed like endless hours; having a son paled in comparison to my concern for my wife. As I watched this helpless, crying infant, all I could think about was how much I loved Terry and how scared I was for her and that I wanted to see her. It’s not a choice I would like to make again; see your newborn son or go seek information about your wife’s condition. I felt torn, and frankly, I was more than a little angry about having to choose.

So as I videotaped him leading all the other babies in making a lot of noise and driving the nursery staff crazy, I felt nothing remotely like instant love or attachment. In retrospect it was the letting go of a lot of tension, the release of nine months of worry over birth defects, worrying about what kind of birth experience Terry was go to have, and months of waiting and preparations. But at the time it felt like nothing. I was embarrassed and alone, because I didn’t feel like I could go to Terry’s bedside and tell her that after all we’d been through, I didn’t have a choking, heart-stopping mass of love for our child.

Terry had other concerns, mostly pain management after her abdomen was split open. She was much stronger than I would have been, gently asking, “I haven’t gotten any pain meds; could you see when that will happen?” Which almost led to my impression of Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment, screaming “Give my wife the shot!” but luckily, I ran into her OB, who killed – killed – the anesthesiology resident dead in front of the nurses and the other residents, so I was more impressed with her impression of House meets Hell’s Kitchen. So with Terry sitting there, not drugged up, it seemed like the wrong time to talk about my lack of parental feelings.

I’m really good at setting myself up for these anti-climaxes. On February 20, 1987, I woke up, fully expecting that I would suddenly feel and act like an adult; I was sorely disappointed to realize that it was just another Friday, and I was still an insecure teen. When I was 19, I lost my virginity, and I thought I would feel and act differently, a confident and virile lover; but then, to my dismay, I found out I was still an insecure teen. When I finally, after too many years, got my bachelor’s degree, I thought I would suddenly be erudite and witty, but then I found out I was an insecure middle-aged man. So by the time I got married, I realized that it wouldn’t change me overnight, but slowly and more deeply. Instead of expecting to have some deep-seated love for Terry, I found it was already there by the time we married. (But I was still kinda insecure.)

But Ronan’s birth brought me back to the belief that I would feel something like love when he was born. I was surprised at how abstract pregnancy can be for the father. The books say that Dad doesn’t feel like it’s really happening because his body isn’t gaining weight or retaining water or  has a fetus pressing on his bladder. I felt more involved than that (at least, I hope I was) but I didn’t feel like Ronan was coming until Terry’s stomach completely flipped over one day. I was more scared than anything; I thought for a moment that he was coming early. The alien moving around in Terry’s belly suddenly seemed real.

Jump forward six months and it’s amazing how much my heart has changed. I enjoy being with Ronan, even cranky, teething Ronan, so much I can’t remember what it was like to not have him around. I think things started to change when he had a fever after his first vaccinations and he was crying. I put him down on the changing table to put a warmer outfit on and he when apeshit and extended his hand and grabbed my shirt. He’d never done that before, and there was a moment there when I had to break his grip to get a new outfit. Suddenly there was this emotional connection – “Don’t leave me,” – that really touched me.

The next time came when I was on the phone talking about some problems at work I’ve been having and I started to cry. I was holding Ronan at the time and when I got off the phone, Ronan was all sorts of concerned. He was making his I’m-in-slight-distress noises and I realized it was because I was crying. It was the first time I had cried in front of him and he was completely attached to my emotional state. When I cried, he cried. He wasn’t sure why I was crying, but he was worried that I was in pain. That was another deep emotional moment for me.

There’s a lot in between those moments and the present day. Moments of spitting up (too many) insanely dirty diapers (less than spitting up, but still many) and of comforting him after waking up. Of choosing to finish scarfing up my lunch before I pick him up and feeling guilty about it. Of staying up late with a sleeping child on my lap, who won’t go to sleep unless he’s holding my shirt in his tiny hand. And it was his charm, his almost constant smiles. His half-sleepy smile as he fell asleep on my lap. His duck-like grunting in disapproval of something he didn’t like.

And suddenly, on a very ordinary day, I had an epiphany. I loved Ronan. I loved Ronan almost as much as I love Terry, but in a different way. It wasn’t immediate and it wasn’t a sudden bolt of lightning but it was there, and it was deep and strong, and it was a powerful bond for me. I didn’t cry heartily but tears came to my eyes.

It’s a very powerful, very emotional realization that you’re a Dad and a husband and now there are two people who depend on you to add presence and illuminate their life. I think about the man I was standing before his incubator in the nursery his first few hours of life and I want to tell him it’s okay that the love wasn’t there. The love that grows over time is the best love of all.

Ronan in his crib, not sleeping.

So after many nights of staying up with Ronan, Terry has read the Baby Whisperer book and we have implemented its sleep suggestions. I didn’t read it, but I’m not really happy about this. The essence is that at the first sign of a yawn, you put the baby down to sleep. If they are quiet, you leave them alone. If they make noise, you hold them only as long as it takes to get them calm and collected, nor more than a minute or two. A deep sleep will follow.

The damn thing works. Ronan immediately nods off into a deeper, longer sleep, actually sleeping through the night for up to eight or nine hours sometimes. That’s great.

However, the technique involves standing over his crib watching him go to sleep. That drives me crazy. I hate just standing there, waiting for him to fall asleep. I much prefer to hold him and watch TV. (Of course, TV probably had something to do with his late nights and his short nighttime sleeping.)

So, once again, my wife is absolutely correct about the proper way to attend to our child. So, I spend at least an hour a day or more watching Ronan for signs of sleep standing over his crib. While sometimes I feel like I’m a statue trying to not distract Ronan from his nap, and I’m bored out of my mind, he usually falls asleep within a few minutes.  I don’t know if I hate the fact that Terry was right more than I feel like I’m watching paint dry, but it does work, 90% of the time, so I have to give her props. 

Coupled with the longer sleep, we have Ronan’s new ability to hear everything. I’m beginning to think he’s not a selkie but a half-human, half-bat. (Ronan is Celtic for “little seal.” “Half-human, half-bat” is Jason-speak for “Ronan’s listening to the soft sounds of the keys of my computer as I type this, even though he’s in the other room and the door is closed.)

One night the outside string holding our glass wind chimes broke. The hapless decoration hit the ground with such force; I thought someone was breaking in. Ronan assumed we were under alien attack and started screaming. After I waited for the mythical intruder, I realized it was the wind chimes and we started to comfort him. He just kept screaming, which is unusual for him.

Another time I had three bottles of water in my TV grad class because I was giving a 90-minute oral report. I came home and I had to pee – really badly. If you’ve ever had to pee really badly, you know you just rush in the door and head for the bathroom. I tried to do this as quietly as possible, but has I enjoyed the relief of emptying my bladder, I heard the terror of my son from the other room. I then had the terror of my wife, because I knew I’d be in trouble for waking him up. However, he quickly went back to sleep, so she wasn’t too upset.

There is a problem with being married to a hot, lithe, beautiful woman when you’re a 300 pound guy. Ever since we started dating, she forgets that I can’t follow her certain places – like through the maze of furniture at Bye Bye Baby or other stores. She’s just too thin and beautiful, and I’m just too fat and stocky. I have to take the long way ’round. This has consequences for living in an older brownstone.

Terry can quietly and quickly move through the apartment without making too much noise. I, however, move as if I’m an African Rhino who’s been drinking.[1] Since Ronan developed super-human hearing, I’ve mapped out the entire floor of our living room to locate the support joists so I can walk on them with less noise. It’s actually quite scary how the floorboards bend when I pass by; I don’t know why I never noticed that before.

No matter how hard I try, I make noise when moving. Get up off the futon? “Sssshhhhh!” Terry says. Cross the living room into the kitchen? “Sssshhh!” Terry says. Twiddle my thumbs? “Ssshhhh!” Terry says.[2] I’ve come to the conclusion I can’t even close the bedroom door without making noise.

When we first brought Ronan home from the hospital, I was astounded at what he could sleep through. He could sleep through food preparation, dishes, visitors, grandparents, and television. But now, either because of or in spite of his age and the Baby Whisperer, he wakes up at the drop of the hat.

Want to clean the house? Wait until he’s awake. Washing dishes? Wait until he’s awake. Listening to music? Television? Phone calls? Wait until he’s awake. Terry and I now have hours of conversation at a whisper. We’ve returned our cable boxes and opted for the secret $13.95 cable package that Time-Warner doesn’t even list on their website[3] because we don’t even listen to television with volume any more.

Which is, in a way, kind of spiritual. The quiet is kind of nice. I listen to the sounds of nighttime Brooklyn, the playground across the street, the sirens and helicopters of the ever-present police and fire departments. We’ve started adding silent films[4] to our Netflix account, and we’ve developed such extraordinary hearing that Ronan’s grandparents think we’re faking listening to the TV just to drive them crazy (especially my father.)

Terry points out that, technically,[5] I haven’t read the Baby Whisperer book. However, while I hate standing by his crib watching Ronan drift off to sleep, I’ve a newfound appreciation for silence.

Today, before I wrote this column, Terry was getting ready for her shift at the Park Slope Food Coop. Ronan was tired and I was trying to get him down for a nap. Terry was trying to be quiet, but he was so overtired that everything kept him up. She’d eat breakfast; he’d wake up and want to see what she was doing. She’d get her shoes; he’d wake up and want to see her put them on. She came in to say goodbye and said, “Don’t hold him for too long!”

“Go! I’ve got this!” I said. I was a little annoyed at having to stand over the crib while she kept waking Ronan up. Later, when we were laughing about it, she said, “Now you know how I feel!” Because she doesn’t enjoy standing over his crib either. But the Baby Whisperer works. Unfortunately for Terry she usually has an African Rhino who is dancing around the apartment waiting to pee while she’s trying to get Ronan to go to sleep.