December 14 - Four Kilos

One unexpected consequence of becoming of a father is that the office takes on a strangely comforting feel. In contrast to what's going on at home with a newborn child and a wife with whom your dynamic has changed slightly, the office is still a place where you know how things work. You're still in control. You understand how the game is played, and there is considerably less crying, mustard colored poop, and drool involved.
By the way, when I mentioned that the dynamic between my wife and I had changed slightly, I was going for humorous understatement. Any man who has been in the shoes I'm still breaking in and getting used to (has big feet and) is well aware that having a fresh baby in the house is going to redefine everything, including your relationship with your wife.
Basically, it's all about the kiddo now--as it should be (of course). And I help out wherever and however I can, but there are certain things that only she can do; namely, breastfeeding, and that takes up a lot of their time.
By the way, here's something agonizing: Now that feeding is in full swing, my wife's breasts are nothing short of phenomenal--and pretty much completely off limits to me. The baby gets first and last crack at them, and even if she didn't my wife and I are too tired all the time to be feeling randy anyway.
But especially my wife. The other day she was psyched at having gotten two and a half hours of uninterrupted sleep. The rest of the time she's pretty much following our daughter's schedule and getting sleep when she can, which is pretty sporadic. But she's doing great despite it. They both are.
And like I said, I'm helping out wherever and however I can. I'm the laundry guy, the grocery shopper, the cleaner, the cook, the dishwasher, the bather, the whatever I can be. Plus I'm still working full time.
And yet it's still nowhere near what my wife does. I used to think that mothers and fathers could be equal partners in parenting, but the two and a half weeks that have transpired since our daughter's birth have taught me that moms do more. Sorry, but it's true. Mothers of the world, I concede. You are the champs!
Like I said, I try to do as much as I can, but my wife just does more. Bottom line: she does the feeding. Bam. There's the ball game.
(And that's on top of carrying her for ninth months before, you know, giving birth to her. Yeah, the debate about who does more was over before it even started.)
So yeah, respect to all the moms out there. And speaking of which, hey, thanks, mom and dad. Holy crap. I had no idea how much work you guys did. And yeah, I know, it isn't really work because we all love our kids and we're happy to do it and all the rest of it, which is all true, but what is also true is that this is a mammoth undertaking. And like I said, it's really saying something when going to work almost feels like a vacation in comparison, but sometimes it does.
But it's fleeting.
Don't get me wrong. I like my job and I think I'm fairly good at it. And again, it's nice to be in a situation where I feel fully confident that I know what I'm doing. But getting to go home at the end of the day and see my wife and pick up my daughter and hang out with her? There's no question. She beats work every time. Weighing in at just over four kilos, she's the lightweight champion.
Anyway, I hate to end it on a mushy note like that, so I'm not going to. Besides, this isn't really a self contained story that has an ending. It's just today's installment of the biggest to be continued saga my wife and I are ever going to experience. So instead of coming up with an ending, I'm just going to reiterate that this parenting thing is a lot of work, that I love it, and that although I'm not at all surprised that my wife is kicking as much ass as she is at it, I'm still very impressed.
And now, speaking of my wife, I'm going to go see if she's done feeding our daughter.