If a book makes you cry, it must be good, right?
I'm reading a book Lift
When Phoebe was young, about a year old, she had a very, very high fever. At one point, it was over 106°. We took her to Children's Hospital of Oakland the first night. They were very worried she had meningitis. The only way to be sure is to do a lumbar puncture. We resisted that, wanting to be sure before we put her through such a difficult procedure. We spent hours there, Phoebe was wailing in a way that only a really, really sick child can wail, tearing at our hearts. What was worse though, was when she was quiet, when she was just so spent, so tired, so overwhelmed that she was quiet. They pumped her full of antibiotics and sent us home. By the time we left her fever was down around 100°.
The next night, same drill. This time they really pushed us for the lumbar puncture, but we'd been through this before, and, after more drugs, and another decrease in her fever, they sent us home.
She got better after that. No more trips to the ER.
What does that have to do with "Lift"? On pages 33-34, the author's child is getting a lumbar puncture. At Oakland's Children's Hospital. She writes,
With your feet in one hand and your forearms in the other, Jeff rounded you out. After swabbing your back with yellow iodine, Dr. Benjamin pushed a long needle between two of you lower vertebrae, "past some dura mater." Your razory screams tormented me. I crossed my arms and bit down on my lips and rocked back and forth in a soothing motion, like I'd accidentally driven into a bad neighborhood and was assuring myself that somehow I'd find my way out. I didn't look at Dad. I couldn't spare the emotion.
Dr. Benjamin pulled the needle back slowly, calmly, despite your awful shrieeking. "That's all we need. We'll take this to the lab and start the evaluation." He stood and handed you to me. You were hot and wimpering. I held you, heart to heart, your hands around my neck. Although I'd betrayed you, although I'd stood by while people spread and bent and stabbed you, you still wanted me most of all.
And I'm crying again.
One of the things I didn't say above was Phoebe did need to get chest x-rays. They strapped her down, and Betsy and I stood nearby, listening to, as Corrigan said, her "razory screams tormented me." It got worse, though. The straps couldn't hold her down. Phoebe pulled and thrashed. I had to put on a lead suit, walk over, and hold her down.
I held her there for what seemed like forever. She kept trying to pull away from this ultimate indignity and I stood there, holding her down. She looked at me with those perfect beautiful blue eyes and I held her down.
When it was done, the tech came over and took the straps off, Betsy came and scooped her up and she wailed and wailed and wailed while Betsy held her and swayed in that Momma/baby rhythm that only they know.
This book reminded me of this, something I'd put away, not to be touched because it makes me so sad, and I cried. And I'm crying.
I don't know if you'd be moved the way I am if you hadn't been there, in those flickering lights, on that night, frightened, knowing you did the right thing, but feeling like you betrayed your child, but I suspect every parent has at least one moment like that, one time where they felt what I felt, what Corrigan felt. It takes a good writer to remind us, though, of just how overwhelming it is.
I’m a bit behind on this, but …
Back on my birthday, Phoebe, with, I suspect, a bit of help from her Mom, gave me this gift and even though that was last month, I still had to share it.
Happiness – it’s more than “Am I happier than I was a minute ago?” and yes, Phoebe makes me happy
Many studies show that parents are less happy then other adults without children. I've never really believed the results of those studies.
The academic side of me says,"Well, they did the research, who are you to question it?" while the realist in me tells me that I'm happier as a father then I've ever been, my brother is happier as a father, my father is happier as a father, etc.
So, why the disconnect? I think Jonah Lehrer nails it in his post, Family Life : The Frontal Cortex. He writes,
And yet, these subjective self-reports and ethnographic videotapes also miss something important. The fact of the matter is that it's much easier to quantify pleasure on a moment-by-moment basis, or document the swing of cortisol levels in saliva, that it is to quantify something as intangible as "unconditional love". Changing a diaper isn't enjoyable, and teenagers can be such a pain in the ass, but having kids can also provide a profound source of meaning. (I like the amateur marathoner metaphor: survey a marathoner in the midst of the race and they'll complain about their legs and that nipple rash and the endless route. But when the running is over they are always incredibly proud of their accomplishment. Having kids, then, is like a marathon that lasts 18 years.) The larger point, though, is that just because we can't measure something doesn't mean it isn't important, or that we should always privilege the quantifiable (pleasure, stress) over the intangible (meaning, purpose). Real life is complex stuff.
I love my daughter Phoebe. She really is the most valuable thing in my life. Living my life with her makes me happy, even though, at many moments I will report that I am unhappy. Even during those moments of unhappiness, I'm more alive then I'd have been without her.
Before Phoebe (BP), I had time to pursue my own desires. I had time to share with my wife, Betsy. I had time to do nothing. Now, finding time for Betsy is hard, finding time to pursue my own desires is harder, and time to do nothing has disappeared.
Now, life with Phoebe (WP), is harder. I have to manage every moment of my life. I am not the alpha and omega of my life. I think, though, that is what we, as humans really desire. We are a social animal. We are most satisfied, most happy, and most at peace when we are doing something that benefits ourselves but also benefits others.
That's why these studies are, in the larger scope, wrong. They measure the change in happiness, not the actual value of happiness. My moments of frustration or unhappiness with Phoebe are still more joyful then my moments of happiness when I was alone. They are more joyful then my moments with Betsy before Phoebe.
It's obvious, really, when you think about it. What's the most touching moment in a drama? It's when the protagonist's love dies. Why? Because a piece of the protagonist dies too. Our loves, our family, makes us larger than the person we would be without them.
Is my happiness lowered, for a moment, when Phoebe pours her cereal bowl all over the floor? Yes, of course it is. My life is better, though, because she's there to pour that cereal on the floor than if she wasn't there.
The studies are wrong, not in the numbers they report, but because they miss the scope of what life is about. I don't say that because I want to justify my choice of being a parent. I say that because I believe that social science is missing a key component in the study of happiness, and I hope someone will do a deeper, more thorough study of the topic.
I love 3 in 1 oil
We were in the market for a new stroller for Phoebe, one with a bit more sturdiness for taking out on trail walks and the like. The obvious choice for us is the BOB Revolution. Sadly, it's almost $400. That seems like a crazy amount to spend on a second stroller. REI was having a sale, though, so we went down to look. Nice, nice stroller, but 20% of $389 is still not cheap.
But wait, it was REI's used gear sale weekend, and, lucky us, there was a Revolution there. It was returned because it was squeaky. Normally I'd say the people that returned it were a bit, well, prissy, for returning a squeaky stroller. In this case, though, they paid $400 for it, so I can't blame them.
Because it was returned with a problem, REI sold it to us for $150. I took it home, spent about ten minutes looking at it, squirted some 3 in 1 oil on a couple of joints, and now, no squeak.
BTW, I do believe that a $150 stroller is still pricey, but it is a very, very nice stroller
Sometimes Phoebe is a joy, sometimes …
Now that Phoebe is 1 year old, her behavior has really changed. She's crawling so fast, and trying to walk, and, when she wants something she really lets us know it.
And sometimes, wow, is she a handful.
But today, on a day where her Mom is gone all day for a class, she is being a real princess. She's playing on her mat, reading her books, playing with her blocks. My perfect baby.
For now.
The baby is here!
Our baby was due on the 15th of January, but she came a bit early, at 3am on the 12th. Betsy, my wife, was remarkable going through a 12 hour labor, having the baby at home. See new album in the gallery for baby pictures.