Home

About Homedaddy

Archives

Subscribe

Tell A Newspaper

Contact

Music

Publisher's Area

Two Faces of Homedaddy

It is true, being a Homedaddy is the greatest calling a man could have, offering rewards far beyond anything found in the more traditional male employment venues. However, before you get lost in an advertising-induced haze of Kodak-Hallmark-Nabisco-Proctor & Gamble images, you must be prepared to face the Dark Side.

For every slow motion, soft focus close-up of your child hugging you as the morning light streams through the kitchen window, while on the soundtrack the orchestra's string section swells and resolves with that heavenly major chord, you can be sure that your day will also hold the Anti-Moment, when your child stares at you with the horrible realization that you are a double agent, conspiring to bring betrayal and pain.

It is so cute when Baby is old enough to eat peanut butter and jelly, and even cuter when she can hold onto a hunk of sandwich and take bites on her own schedule. This is something you have been encouraging for weeks, and now you swell with pride at this awesome display of self-sufficiency. As you heap on enough praise to make Bill Gates blush, you notice that she has taken too many consecutive bites, and you can see a huge glob of it in there as she desperately tries to swallow.

Now she's panicking, and she doesn't want a drink of water or milk or juice to help wash it down, and you have to stick a finger in there and pull some of it off the roof of her mouth, but now this is bigger than peanut butter; it is a power struggle and a personal respect issue; a referendum on her self-esteem and a violation of her pesonal space. Never mind that all you want to do is let her eat her sandwich in peace without being stalked by the Specter of Death by Choking. A minute ago you said she was a big girl, and now you're going to pin her arms down while you stick a finger in her mouth? You have exposed your true self, you two-faced thug.

Another example: Babies shouldn't drink soda pop, so when she demands a drink of yours, you are firm and gentle, and above all, consistent (How about some juice?), but she still goes to pieces (No, you idiot, I do not want juice). To the horror of authors of parenting books, you ignore the very boundaries you set only moments before and concede a sip, but by now she's mad, and she's really going to show you by taking a humongous gulp. She's literally leaping at the nearly-full can as you try to lower it slowly to her mouth, and this starts a momentary tug of war, which she wins by virtue of the wailing noise way back in her throat. You stop pulling on the can, but the sudden lack of tension as she gives one final yank causes it to slightly bonk into her front teeth. It also causes some soda to slosh into her mouth at the exact moment that she gives a little gasp, so that she inhales it, which makes her cough and choke and spit soda all over both of you. When she gets her breath back enough to start crying, she fixes you with a glare that accuses you of punching her in the mouth, throwing soda in her face, and trying to choke her just to teach her some twisted daddy power-trip lesson. Sometimes you just can't win.

The bad news is that this happens on a daily basis. The good news is that they seem to move on rather quickly. The real question is: Can you? . .

send this column to a friend!
have a comment about this column?

© Todd Pinsky 1998-2002. All rights reserved.