I knew my daughter was growing up — I see the evidence of it everyday. No doubt about it, she’s a big kid. But not until I started typing that e-mail did it occur to me that I was also the PARENT of a big kid.
No longer a “new” parent, I’m now someone with experience and wisdom in this thing called parenthood. I’ve served some time, got some gray hair and racked up enough credits to graduate from newbie father to junior dad. I think I get a patch and a discount down at the club store.
For me this was about as cool a revelation as I’ve ever experienced.
What prompted it was an e-mail from a co-worker asking whether her newborn should go on the family dental insurance. First off, I was stunned (and a little moved) that someone was asking ME parental advice. What beer goes with trout? OK. How do you properly embarrass yourself in front of a crowd of people? I gotcha’ covered.
But this was kind of a first for me, and even more shocking: I knew the answer.
I wrote back something along these lines: “While it has been a while, I’m pretty certain babies have no teeth. They are not factory-installed that I am aware of. So unless you would like to have your child fitted for dentures, don’t worry too much about dentists. Wait until the first Easter when you find him gnawing like a beaver on a candy bunny the size of a basketball, and then go see the dentist.”
I thought it sage advice.
But as I typed, it struck me: wowee zowee — as my 4-year-old might say — I have a four-year-old. I know things. I’m not afraid anymore. I’m now a member of the Big Kid Dad’s Club.
My kid has been to the dentist. She can brush her teeth by herself (OK, actually, she can eat all the toothpaste off the toothbrush by herself, but that’s close.) She can do stuff, and I helped get her this far.
To top it all off, now I’m even looked upon as something of an elder statesman — a go-to dad. Someone with answers and advice. I don’t look like a deer caught in the headlights anymore when a question is tossed at me, and I don’t just have to pass it off to my wife.
Man, I know some stuff, and it felt good!
Because there’s nothing worse than being the new dad on the block. It’s terrifying and demoralizing. We spend so much of our lives being totally sure of ourselves and overly-confident about everything. Car’s broken? No problem. We may not know how to fix it, but we sure THINK we know how to fix it. And in we go.
But that isn’t the case with newborns. You can’t fake that.
I was speaking to a new 6-week-old dad the other day and we were talking about the first time we held our child in our hands. My experience was like his — alone in the nursery, I was so in awe, so in love, so overwhelmed, so excited. A nurse, who kept eyeing me like she had just seen my photo on a wanted poster down at the sheriff’s office, reluctantly put the child into my outstretched arms. And as I looked down at my daughter — this small, precious, fragile, beautiful little thing — all I could think to myself was, “Please, somebody, help me!”
Yes, help me. Or, don’t leave me alone. Or, I’ve got to go pee or lay down or something. Because you’re totally freaked out, man. I mean, you think to yourself, am I holding her right? Should I tuck her under my arm like a football? Is the nurse ever coming back? What do I do if she starts crying? What if she wants to talk about boys? What if I see her private parts?
Pretty much the entire first year is like that, and the second isn’t much better. But then the third comes along and you start to come into your own, and by the fourth, you’re a pro. You’ve arrived. You can handle anything. You’ve joined the League of Extraordinary Parents. You can teach your kid how to play baseball and climb a tree without falling out. You can patch up a wound or make a perfect grilled cheese. You can go out to lunch without worrying that the experience might cause the earth to open up and swallow the restaurant whole.
You’re an established dad.
And that’s what I was thinking about and realizing for the first time as I typed out that e-mail. I don’t need to worry anymore that the advice I give a new parent might one day get me sued. I’m a full-fledged member of the Big Kid Dad’s Club now and boy does it feel great.