Parental Anorexia

Being a parent is hard.

Another revelation: water is wet.

Now, to prepare for this "parenthood adventure," we read quite a few books, attended a few classes, and read far to many internet articles. Of course, we'd issue the occasional "scoff," because we knew we were going to make mistakes (everyone does), and it was impossible to tell how things were really going to "go down" until the kid arrived. But, at the same time, we wanted to be "good parents," and do our due diligence in preparing for our little bundle of Bean.

Four months in, and...well, I think we're doing a good job. Henry's happy, he's healthy, he smiles and laughs all the time...and according to all the applicable indices he's developing exactly as he's supposed to (excelling in some measures, really). He's not getting sick all of the time, and he seems to be an incredibly well-behaved, mellow baby (for the most part).

But...

Something in the back of my head keeps nagging at me...that I must be "doing something wrong." For instance, as I've talked about before -- I yearn for the times when Henry is sleeping at night, or is taking a nap, or just generally entertaining himself without the need for either parent to be "paying attention" to him.

Which brings me to my parental anorexia issue. Maybe parental dysmorphia? Parental inadequacy syndrome? I dunno'...

But I keep thinking: "Shouldn't I be loving this part?" Everyone else seems to...and there's this whole "cult of parenthood" where touchy-feely types tell us over and over to savor these moments...and talk to our kids constantly...and play with them non-stop...and revel in their every little coo and gurgle...and never get annoyed with them...and love them with every fiber of your being...et cetera.

I mean, there are times when I do do (hee hee!! POOPIE JOKE!!!!) that -- my favorite two hours of the day are the time between when I get home and Henry's bedtime, because I get to hold him, play with him, talk to him, and make him laugh as much as possible. It's a great routine; I get home around 6:45 PM, Erika makes dinner while I watch him, we eat, Henry eats, then I put him to sleep. I love it. It's my "happy place."

Of course, this is just two hours of time. It happens to be the perfect amount of "play time" before Henry starts getting "fussy."

Because the weekends...man, those are tough. I feel embarrassed to say it, but the refrain for Henry on the weekends seems to be "Well, let's see how long this lasts." If I'm home alone with the kid, I spend all of my time shuttling him between different stations (the play mat, the bouncy chair, the swing, the bumbo, outside, on the couch watching Sesame Street, etc.) to keep him entertained until his next feeding.

It's exhausting. I don't know how stay-at-home parents do it, and have done it since the dawn of man. I mean, do you just let the baby cry? All the time? I'll do that occasionally, of course...but I can't just listen to him crying his bored head off while I'm watching old episodes of "Mythbusters" or something. It feels very wrong (and probably is very wrong...which is why I can't bring myself to do it for more than a couple of minutes at a time).

Then again, I can't just hold him indefinitely either...for my sanity as well as for his. If I just held him all day, he'd cry whenever I left the room...or when I put him down for a nap...or if I had to use the restroom. I savor Henry's little moments of independence, and I feel like I should be developing that so he can soothe himself, as opposed to coddling him whenever he grunts in disapproval.

I also feel the guilt of allowing my kid to watch TV. Again, I imagine the "cult of parenthood" types would probably drop their jaws if they found out our child was watching TV daily when he was 2 months old (really for only about 20 minutes at a time...since he bored of it quickly..."See how long this will last" and all...). They'd also be shocked at how much time Henry is left alone on his play mat, while his parents "do stuff" around the house.

We're also giving Henry a pretty good amount of formula...about 50/50 with breast milk. Because, as it turns out, it's really time-consuming and physically demanding to maintain a steady pumping & feeding schedule. Of course, Henry is a very healthy baby boy...so obviously we're not doing him any harm...but it's one of those things that evokes a lot of passion in people, so again I get the feeling that I'm doing something wrong.

Finally there's the "circumcision" issue...a hot-button issue, with a lot of passion. For me, I just came to the conclusion that, "Well...I'm circumcised, so I might as well do the same for Henry." It's not like I have foreskin envy or anything...so why would he?

Then, after the fact, San Fransisco considers banning the practice. There's all kinds of talk about "genital mutilation" in the news. The practice is described as "barbaric." And now I'm rethinking the whole damn thing. Of course...it's too late to go back now...but...y'know?

So, from a highly critical point of view, we have a TV-watching, circumcised, formula-fed baby that we ignore whenever possible. We've let him sleep in his boppy, and we've used the bumbo on an elevated surface. He's been in cold weather without socks, and his bedroom can get very warm at night. He's received all of his immunizations, he uses disposable diapers, and I'm sure our house contains potentially hazardous materials somewhere.

To some, I imagine this would be considered borderline child abuse, or at the very least, "undesirable parenting practices."

So I do what every parent before me has done -- I feel guilty. I mean, Henry is happy, healthy, and well-behaved...yet I constantly feel like I'm doing something wrong.

Which is probably how every parent since the dawn of man has felt. Any responsible parent, that is...