Dad Is Fat (8 page)

Jeannie told me that in the Bible, Abraham circumcised himself. Wow. I don’t even like clipping my nails. Apparently God told Abraham to do it. I would love to have overheard that conversation.

When you think about it, God’s requests in the Old Testament took a dramatic leap in difficulty. “Don’t eat that apple!” “Build a boat!” Then, out of nowhere, “Cut off part of your penis!” I imagine Abraham was like, “Uh, how about I build two boats and no more bananas?”

We have to assume Abraham went through with God’s request. I’m not sure how Abraham hid this adjustment from his wife. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was getting out of the shower and his wife was brushing her teeth.

Circumcision is a tough decision for any parent. Do you put your newborn son through an enormous amount of unnecessary pain, or do you have a kid with an ugly penis? Unfortunately, Jeannie left the decision up to me. I decided to go through with it, but only because each of my sons requested it. Of course they didn’t request it. I couldn’t even discuss the decision with them, but I was pretty sure they didn’t want someone clipping off part of their penis. I finally made the decision to do it for a number of reasons. One of which was fear. A friend recently had to circumcise their one-year-old because of repeated infections. Still enjoying that hot dog? Ultimately, I wanted my sons to be like their dad. Cut off from a little bit of their manhood.

The only thing worse than deciding to have your son circumcised has to be witnessing your son getting circumcised. I’ve had to watch my three sons go through this, and it haunts me to this day. I’ve blocked out most of it, but I’ll never forget my first time. Well, my first son’s first time. Well, hopefully Jack’s only time. I remember everything vividly up until the point when I blocked everything out.

Since we elected to do a home birth, we didn’t have the option of a quick circumcision after the birth, as in a hospital. We had to arrange a circumcision at home in our tiny apartment. Jeannie found a highly recommended mohel, Doctor Emily Blake, to do the procedure. Dr. Emily is a mohel, a doctor, and
a rabbi. Talk about an overachiever. I was relieved to know my son’s son-ness was in good hands. Then Jeannie notified me that she was going to invite some people to the ceremony. What? I didn’t really want people to know we were even doing this to our precious newborn son, let alone throwing a party to announce it. I didn’t even know we were Jewish. There were a dozen guests, including my sister’s girlfriend, a priest, and our mohel/rabbi/doctor attending the ceremony. We literally had the beginning of a classic joke.

A priest, a rabbi, and a lesbian walk into a circumcision …

As I mentioned before, I completely blocked out most of what happened that night, as I did with the other nights my sons were circumcised. Of course, if they ever question why they were circumcised, I’ll do the manly thing and blame it on their mother.

Nobody likes being a new kid. It’s uncomfortable and strange. People are mean and call you “dog breath.” Well, maybe that was just me when I was the new kid in fifth grade.

When a newborn baby arrives, he or she is the new kid. In a family with young children, it’s not just uncomfortable and strange for the new kid, it’s uncomfortable and strange for everyone. Sure, the new addition to the family is always celebrated and loved completely, but he or she brings change to the family unit. At the time of birth, suddenly there’s another person in the room or, in the case of a home birth, in your bathtub. It’s really a special time. While this event is magical and mystical for adults, for young children it can be overwhelming and confusing. A three-year-old can witness their mother’s belly getting larger, and you can read them every book about a new sibling coming, but they are still surprised when the baby actually arrives.

You are so cute I just want to … punch … okay, I’ll kiss you
.

For our one-year-old, Michael, the arrival of his younger brother, Patrick, was the shock of a lifetime and wildly confusing. As sweet and kind as Michael is, he still couldn’t understand this small stranger who somehow just arrived and was stealing some of his thunder. He was gentle and kissed the baby’s head the way we’d taught him to do with a doll before the birth, but when he looked to us for approval, there was some desperation in his big blue eyes. It was like the reaction of an aging chorus girl when the eighteen-year-old ingenue joins the show. “Welcome aboard. I hope you don’t get injured.”

Michael wasn’t alone; all our children acted like they’d had
a couple of Red Bulls after a breakup. Sleepless and clingy became their MO. Sibling jealously is always an issue, even if you have one kid dealing with the arrival of a new baby. I don’t think any husband or wife would be thrilled if their spouse suddenly brought home another partner. “Bob, this is Frank. Frank will also be my husband.” When you have four kids and a new kid shows up, the results are a little more dramatic. I guess only polygamist sister-wives could identify.

Jeannie and I attempt to make the transition as easy as possible on the kids. I try to be a compassionate dad. I always sit our other children down and explain that the new baby does not mean we love them any less, but we will have to let one of them go. I’m kidding, of course. There is nothing that can be said to a child to alleviate the stress of a new arrival. It can only be solved by one-on-one time and lots of cuddles. This is perfect, because you have all the free time in the world when dealing with a newborn. When newborns are not sleeping, they need constant attention. I think our youngest, Patrick, slept for a total of thirty-four seconds during his first three weeks.

What can we say to the other kids? “Okay, the bad news is we’ve hired someone to do your job, but the good news is you’ve been promoted to ‘Former Cutest Kid.’ Congratulations.” The kids are not thrilled. With a new baby, it always feels like Jeannie and I are going through parental performance reviews. The other kids don’t act out toward the baby, they act out toward us. It’s not the baby’s fault he’s here. It’s
our
fault. They don’t know
how
we did it, but they know that
we
did it. Suddenly, our three-year-old starts sucking her thumb with a vengeance, looking at us like, “Mom didn’t nurse me long enough. Now I
will ruin my teeth so you will pay thousands of dollars in dental work.” The first couple of weeks of a new arrival when you have four kids are like pledging a fraternity, except the parents are the ones being hazed. To make matters worse, there is no alcohol served during this process.

What about the new kid, Patrick? How did he adjust? He wasn’t thrilled. Newborns don’t smile, and they always give me that look of “Oh no,
you’re
my dad?” Patrick went from having his own room in his “man cave” womb to being thrust into the center of a madhouse. He seemed to look around at our apartment, disgusted, as if to say “Wow. And I thought my
last
place was crowded.” I know how you feel, my friend. I know how you feel.

Please take him. Take him now!

Even when I was a little kid, I always saw motherhood as an awe-inspiring occupation. My mom was always mothering my siblings and me. It was a twenty-four-hour-a-day position. Running errands, making dinner, picking us up, and yelling instructions from the other room. “Eat the coleslaw!” would be bellowed from the kitchen as we ate dinner. How did she know we weren’t eating the coleslaw? Did moms have X-ray vision? We would giggle at crazy old Mom, but we knew that without her we were lost. All moms seemed simultaneously tireless and on the brink of exhaustion. Once when I was ten, I slept over at a friend’s house. For fun, my friend and I decided that we would try to stay up all night. Around two in the morning, we thought we heard a monster. After drumming up the courage to investigate, we crept down to the basement to discover my friend’s mom doing laundry in a neck brace. I remember thinking, “Maybe moms don’t sleep. Maybe moms are indestructible!” Moms always seemed to be in a state of
constant mothering. Conversely, I remember thinking all dads seemed like they were just returning from playing golf or about to leave to play golf. Maybe that was just the shirts men wore in those days.

Even back then, hats didn’t fit my huge head
.

Now, as a father, I have an even deeper appreciation for mothers. It’s not just the endless tasks and limited sleep. Motherhood is filled with executive decisions, and with each decision comes possible conflict with kids, husbands, and other mom friends. With these other mom friends, there are so many opportunities for major disagreements and awkwardness. Let’s
say that a woman starts with twenty friends when she finds out she’s pregnant. There is going to be awkwardness with, let’s say, six of those friends because they have no interest in babies or are jealous she is pregnant. Then four won’t agree with how she behaves during the pregnancy. She’s too uptight, too casual, or not available enough as a friend. We are down to ten friends. Then there are the decisions of how the baby will be delivered, breastfeeding, circumcision, blanket or no blanket in the crib, and whether or when to return to work after the birth. These topics turn out to be more divisive than opinions about politics and religion. After a couple of kids, there might be one good friend left. And that friend is never available because she has too many kids herself. I’m amazed mothers have anyone to talk to. When a man finds out he’s going to be a father, it barely covers more than twenty seconds of a conversation with his male friends. “I heard you two are expecting! Congratu … Who do you think is the best quarterback in the fourth quarter?”

Mothers need to talk, and fathers need to escape. I think this is why women of my mother’s generation would go to ladies’ luncheons. I remember as a teenager twice a year my mother announcing, “Me and the ladies are going out to lunch.” She would return eight hours later … well, let’s say, not sober. “Your father’s a jerk! Now get me a gyro.”

I suppose parenting wouldn’t feel so overwhelming if Jeannie didn’t make mothering look so easy. At times, I think she has more than two arms. She is an amazing partner and wife. The only thing Jeannie is missing is her own wife. A wife exactly like her. If you think this sounds sexist, you don’t know Jeannie.