Dad's Deep Thoughts

my baby doesn't do anything.
i take that back, my baby does three things: eat, sleep and poop.  she also cries, but that's usually because she's hungry, tired, or recently pooped.  sometimes she opens her eyes to say hello, but mostly she has them closed. 
for the most part, she's no different from most babies -- except she's mine.  i am Dad and Zoe is my daughter.  Zoe is a person who lives and breathes (and eats sleeps and poops) like i do.   but sometimes when she cries, i smile.  every time she farts on me i laugh.  when she eats i can't help but notice she shakes her head a bit just before she latches on, as if she's trying to fake us out for a single moment before giving in.  and for some reason i love her poops; they were black and tarry at first, and have since turned yellow and seedy.  i swear you could serve her poop as a fancy mustard at a reputable establishment and no one would be the wiser.  "Pardon me, do you have any Zoe Poupon?"


In the week or so that we have been home, i have lost countless hours of sleep; i hit my head in the middle of the night last night (don't worry, i was not holding Baby); i have been pooped on and peed on mid-diaper change; i have learned about the 5 S's that "activate the 'off switch' all babies are born with, which quickly soothes fussing and crying" (can you guess them? Hint: one of them isn't "Shut it, please.")  I learned how to swaddle (thanks youtube) and i changed my first, second, and 60th diapers (my skills are still a work-in-progress).


ostensibly these tasks and acquired skills seem like a hassle.  who wants to lose sleep, change diapers, study swaddling and suffer minor head injuries, only to be cried and peed on?  Not to mention the constant anxiety about whether or not your killing your kid simply by exposing her to the air you breathe.  "What if someone breathed on my shirt three months ago and now the baby is breathing it?"  And by the way, purell does not moisturize your hands -- i could grate cheese with the back of my hands now.


So, why do we do it?  Some might say we are gluttons for punishment.  We are naturally eager for a burden of some sort of difficulty.  And those people might be right to some degree: the challenge is stimulating to the senses.  That being said, caring for a child is inherently a self-less act.  In case you forgot, babies eat sleep and poop while you lose your mind over whether or not that hiccup fit is worth mentioning to the pediatrician.
When I decided I wanted to be a father, I knew it was because I wanted more to love.  I could tell through relationships with other young parents that my child would (eventually) love me back.  My parents did okay with me and my family is awesome, so maybe I'll do okay with a child of my own and she'll be awesome too.


So far, I've mostly gotten poop.  Poop in my fingernails, poop on my clothes, poop over poop.  But sometimes after a diaper change, my daughter stares at me.  Sometimes when I swaddle her snugly, she stops crying and hangs out.  And occasionally, I get a smile.  These small gratifying moments reinforce my aspirations to be a great Dad, and they remind me that, ironically, the poop is also the pleasure.  (hmmm, i think i'll trademark that.)