Daddy Syndrome

The title of today's post isn't meant to be sexist, but rather is supposed to indicate that what follows is based on my experiences from the 'daddy seat' in our family.  I'm sure that in many cases one could just as easily call this the 'Mommy Syndrome'... the point being that in all but the most rare families one parent has probably experienced some version of what I'm about to describe (and the other one... the 'primary parent'... will be reading this and shaking her/his head in disbelief):

My lovely wife Zahava has the mixed blessing of being able to work from home.  I say 'mixed blessing' because on the one hand she is the one who gets to see much more of the kids in the mornings as well as the afternoons than I ever do.  On the other hand, even though Zahava spends much more quality time with the kids, it also means that for roughly half of her work day there are things other than work (meaning the kids) vying for her attention.

I'll readily admit that I couldn't possibly do my work from home in the afternoon if I also had to contend with doling out afternoon snacks, checking homework, wiping runny noses, etc.  But the downside for me is that I don't know my kids (and their routines) nearly as well as Zahava does. 

I get little hints of this imbalance in the family relationships from time to time... when the kids inform me, "Ima (mommy) doesn't let us have candy and coffee so close to bedtime", or "No, Abba (daddy)... Yonah can't  use the toaster by himself".  I mean, c'mon... I'm not a mind reader.  Throw me a bone!

Well, today I got the full impact of the Daddy Syndrome because I hit the 'daddy trifecta': I was off from work... Yonah's daycare provider was sick... and Zahava had a meeting with a client in Bet Shemesh.

How hard could this be, right?

Everything started off OK.  I drove the big kids to school and came back to find Yonah basking in the warm glow of his breakfast.  As Zahava made preparations to leave I was feeling pretty confident... this would be a piece of cake!

As soon as Zahava closed the garden gate Yonah lost his mind.  No amount of picking him up... hugging & kissing... or singing made a dent on his tantrum.  His crestfallen expression between sobs made it very clear that "I want my Ima, and you can just go wherever the hell it is that you hide for 12 hours a day, thankewverymuch!"

After about 15 minutes he finally started to run out of steam and allowed me to plop him in front of Sesame Street video while I washed the breakfast dishes. 

Once the dishes were done I tried to engage Yonah in a few games.  Clearly there must be some magical combinations of things he likes to play with (in a very specific order) because most of my efforts were rewarded with him pushing anything I offered away and scowling at me from under furrowed brows.

A quick check of my watch told me that it was probably time to give Yonah a snack. 

We started off with the beverage.  He glared at the cup of milk I offered.  Clearly either I was giving him the wrong cup or the wrong liquid.  I wasn't in any mood to try all the combinations of cup/liquid, so I simply shoved the sippy-cup into his hands and waited for the explosion.  After a few dirty looks in my direction he decided to humor me and started to drink.

However, everything else; the wonderful apple slices... apple sauce... yogurt... carrot kugel... cake... chocolate spread, etc. I served up caused him to shake head so violently from side to side that I thought it would start spinning around.  Each offering that was placed in front of him was unceremoniously tossed to the eagerly waiting dog... and finally Yonah gave one final shriek to serve as a blanket refusal of all future offers. 

After another 45 minutes of 'playing' (Yonah batting me away like an annoying fly), I decided to resort to one of his favorite videos.  That bought me about half an hour of silence, but then he started to get fussy again.  I figured it must be time for his mid-morning nap.

20 minutes (and countless trips into the nursery) later Yonah was still standing in his crib crying so hard he was hiccuping, and I was ready to pull out my little remaining hair. 

By some miracle Zahava had a break in her meeting and decided to call me just as I was contemplating leaving a note and running away.  I explained that I had tried to put him down for his nap and that he wasn't interested in sleeping.  I could hear the patient exhalation on the other end of the phone (that exasperated sound that only mothers can manage) followed by her calmly explaining to me that it had been months since Yonah had taken a mid-morning nap.  I mean really, how dumb can I be that I didn't realize his nap time wasn't until early afternoon?

OK... so by now it's 10:45 and I'm still in my PJs and I have a crying toddler who is now completely coated from nose to knees in his own snot from hysterically protesting the unscheduled detention.  I figured that since I needed a shower and he couldn't be left alone (not to mention that he clearly needed to be hosed down), I decided to take him into the shower with me.

I used to have a cat before I was married.  When Zahava and I first started dating I found out she was allergic so I made the mistake of trying to shower with the cat in order to wash the offending dander off the cat.  Trying to handle Yonah in the shower reminded me a lot of that experience with the cat.  True, I lost less blood this time... but I think Yonah made up for that by repeatedly grabbing the most accessible thing in order to steady himself. 

Just as I decided that we were both as clean as we were going to get, Yonah decided to poop right there in the shower. As if the shower stall wasn't already slick enough, we now began a whole new round of him slipping and using sensitive parts of me to keep himself from falling.

Once we were both dry and dressed (and I'd managed to mop up the puddles in the bathroom, bedroom, office and nursery with our towels), I decided to take Yonah up to the local park to play.  Luckily this was a fairly idiot-proof outing and Yonah was able to mostly entertain himself.  On a few occasions I tried to coax him into doing this or trying that... but mostly I felt like anyone who passed within earshot must be able to tell that I was not the 'primary parent'.

By the time we got home it was time for lunch so I put on another video and set about making all the stuff I was sure he would like:  Grilled cheese sandwich, sliced fruit, applesauce and milk.  He turned up his nose at all of it and sipped sullenly at his milk.

When Zahava got home from her meeting, Yonah was finally pawing listlessly at his sandwich and had actually taken a bite... but his droopy eyelids indicated that it was finally his (real) nap-time.  The only problem was that he wouldn't swallow his bite of grilled cheese... and no amount of coaxing would get him to spit it out either. 

After protesting his regularly scheduled nap for about 15 minutes (screaming lustily around that uneaten bite of sandwich) he finally drifted off to sleep.  I know, I know... all you 'primary parents' are screaming at your monitors now about choking hazards and irresponsible fathers.  I checked to make sure he's still breathing but I am going to assume that either he finally swallowed the bite of grilled cheese or his little salivary glands did their work and dissolved the offending bit. 

The point of this little story was not to vent about what a day I've had (OK, maybe a little of that), but rather to point out that in almost every family there is one parent who doesn't know the lay-of-the-land... who doesn't speak the secret language (filled with comforting buzzwords)... who doesn't know the schedule of events... and who feels like a total fraud when sent in to pinch hit. There is one parent who doesn't know the schedules... doesn't know which cup gets used at which time and what that cup is supposed to contain... and who doesn't know the right games to play or the right time to stop playing those games. 

In our house, I'm that parent... and today I got the full dose of Daddy Syndrome.

As I write these last few lines, my progeny in the next room is starting to stir.  Thank G-d Zahava is here because I don't know what he drinks after his afternoon nap (or what cup it goes in!).