A foreign father’s advice to American dads.
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Three days after our first daughter was born, my in-laws arrived from Argentina. They swept into our house carrying gifts from my husband’s South American kin, beaming with excitement to meet their first “American” grandchild.
There is a euphoria that arrives with parenthood, and I had it. Despite severe sleep deprivation, I felt boundless energy. Just looking at our baby’s tiny face filled me with such wonder. It sounds trite, and perfectly foolish, but for a long time after her entrance into the world, the “I Can Do Anything” refrain from Reading Rainbow best described my general take on life.
But another sensation came with the arrival of a third party. Whether a nurse, or friend, my own parents, or yes—the in-laws—I suddenly felt the need to perform. To prove I deserved this perfect little human, and leave no doubts that I knew exactly what I was doing.
So in several conversations with my father-in-law, I would answer questions with a follow-up explanation from the “experts.” Namely, the authors of various parenting books I’d inhaled during my pregnancy. For example:
“Is she sleeping well?”
“No. But Dr. _____ says that waking up every two hours is totally normal, so I’m not worried. It’s fine.”
Whatever question, my answer followed this setup. At last, my father-in-law more or less said “Enough with the books.” He laughed. What do they know? If you have a question, you’ll call your mom or your sister or your mother-in-law. But books? You don’t need any books.
I think my response was to politely smile and nod. It’s what you do when you someone you love has just uttered something certifiably batty.
No books? What was I supposed to rely on, when a sympathetic family member could not be reached? Myself?
Clearly my father-in-law had overestimated me. Not the worst problem to have, but still. He should know a brand new parent needs direction from the experts. I’d keep my books.
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One dumb Internet article, and I’m in a Category Four state of parental panic.
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Almost two years later, I sat at the kitchen table one fateful weekday morning, frantically counting on my fingers. Eyes wide and focused sharp on the laptop screen as I whispered “sixty-one, sixty-two.” In front of me beamed a list of 75 words “Every Two Year Old Must Know” by their second birthday.
My husband came out of the bedroom and saw me, his lovely wife, the neurotic weirdo. “What are you doing?” he gently inquired.
I tried to explain. We only had a few weeks left for our daughter. Would she make it? Did she know? What if she didn’t say ALL SEVENTY-FIVE WORDS by her birthday? WHAT DOES IT MEAN? WHAT WILL WE DO?
Within my mind’s eye, the to-do list in a worst-case scenario had already sprung into action. Call this doctor, ask for a referral to speech therapist. Call Mom. Cry. Remind yourself not to panic. Dang! Where was I? She definitely knows “cat” and “ball.” What is that? Sixty-five?
My husband slowly pushed the laptop screen shut. “She’s fine. Please stop.”
It was one of those moments where bam! You suddenly see yourself, and it ain’t pretty. One dumb Internet article, and I’m in a Category Four state of parental panic.
A recent article in Time, “Help! My Parents are Millennials!” suggests I’m far from an anomaly. Millennials are far more likely than their parents to feel pressure to be a perfect parent, from worrying over others judging the food their kids eat (I could write a novella on this topic) to feeling helpless from information overload.
My husband seems curiously free from any of this anxiety. Like my father-in-law, he appears confident that our children will be okay, despite our parental deficiencies.
I think it may have something to do with being Argentine. Or maybe not Argentine specifically, but just being a non-American in general. I don’t mean to throw my countrymen and women under the bus here. I love this country, and sort of adore our regular need to be the ABSOLUTE BEST AT EVERYTHING ALLTHETIME.
But when it comes to parenting, this competitiveness is exhausting for us, and likely not so terribly beneficial for our kids.
So I thought I’d ask my husband what advice or tip he’d give to other dads. He thought for a moment. And then he answered:
“I Make My Own Journey.”
Which is not to say you should ignore good advice and counsel where you can get it. Just that it may be prudent to remember what my father-in-law had been trying to tell me during those emotional first weeks after becoming a parent.
You know more than you think you do. Trust yourself. Make your own journey.
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Photo: Lauren Nelson / flickr
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