Our daughter woke up around 10 p.m. last night complaining of a stinging pain in her private parts (yes, yes, I know, I could say "vagina," but she may read this one day and be unbelievably embarrassed). We tried various things to ease the pain, but what finally helped an hour later was Caroline taking a baking soda bath with Anne. When Anne came to bed, I told her she did some good mothering and she reciprocated by saying I did some good fathering, but any impartial observer would note that I had very little direct contact with Caroline.
It wasn't that I didn't want to. I offered to hold her, to scratch her back, to get her dolls, to get her some crackers, but Caroline's answer to pretty much everything I offered was a shake of the head, a tear-soaked voice that cried "Mommy," and a look that pretty much told me to not come near her. It doesn't take long for a father to get used to that so I'm way beyond feeling slighted. What I did do at 10:30 was remember a 24-hour "NurseLine" that we have access to through our health insurance. Anne called, talked to the nurse for a few minutes, and got, among other ideas, the baking-soda bath idea. So, when Anne complimented by fathering skills, I quickly realized that part (much?) of good fathering is good husbanding. So far in our parenting, Anne is the driver much of the time and I'm the pit crew. Instead of changing tires and fixing an engine, I offer diapers, phone numbers, and neck rubs. I'll climb into the parenting car for a spin from time to time, but Anne is the preferred driver, no question about it. I will have more time behind the wheel (almost done with the race-car metaphor) in the future I'm sure, but for now, it's kind of neat to learn from her.
No comments:
Post a Comment