Now that the newbdaughter is starting to gain knowledge of how she can affect the world around her and remember that knowledge at a later date, I am more and more aware of the responsibility of helping her develop that knowledge.
Put simply: she can’t learn what we don’t teach her.
That’s huge. Thinking about this, I can kind of understand how kids get overscheduled: if it’s up to me to foster learning and knowledge in my daughter, then it is up to me to expose her to as many things as possible from which she can glean that knowledge.
Maybe she’ll like dancing. But is it Ballet? Tap? Hip-Hop? Flamenco?
Maybe she’ll be sporty. But which one? Softball? Soccer? Fencing? Jai-Alai?
Let’s not forget the brains. What will she like? Reading? Painting? Chemistry? Astronomy? History?
If she can do anything she wants, then does she have to try everything to find out what it is that she wants to do?
I don’t want to put her in the position of being unprepared or disadvantaged because I failed to introduce her to a vital piece of information. Nor do I want to schedule her life to the point of zero spontanaity in a quest to teach her everything.
The frustrating thing is that I since can’t know everything, she can’t. Even if I knew where to find all of the information in the world, she doesn’t have time in her life to absorb it all. You can’t drink the ocean.
This strikes me as another one of those parenthood lessons: control what you can, teach your kids how to deal with what you can’t, and then let it go.
(photo courtesy of Richard Drdul)
One of the changes I’ve noticed since entering fatherhood is the effect on me of media that feature children. Before, it was only *theoretically* tragic when a child in a movie was threatened or upset, but now it’s like every single child is a stand-in for the newbdaughter.
After watching Taken, Liam Neeson is my new role model (and my daughter is not allowed to go to Europe alone) because of course I would fly to Paris and take on the entire Serbo-Euro-Saudi white slavery ring. Hell yeah; I’m signing up for the CIA tomorrow. What once would have been a mildly interesting action movie had me riveted (and forgiving it’s obvious plot holes).
Commercials with kids used to pass by me, unprocessed and unnoticed. Not anymore: baby whose parents died in a car crash? Heartbreaking. Kids running around in those footsie PJ’s? Adorable.
I’m sure I’ll buy the next product whose commercial I see that involves a child and a puppy. I hope no car companies are reading this.
I guess I could always get Liam Neeson to talk to them:
I’ll admit it: I have played video games for most of my life. The Atari 2600 that appeared in my house in the 80s was followed in almost biblical fashion by a string of consoles that only ended when I moved in with the future newbmom in 2004.
Naturally, this event greatly reduced my video game involvement. Now, I find that I can no longer instinctively manipulate the controllers in the ways necessary to enjoy any game on the Playstation or XBox. I’ve tried to play Halo, but after an hour of running into walls and dying continuously in the tutorial section, gave it up.
So when the Wii came out, promising simplicity and instinctual game play, I was intrigued. I played my neighbor’s system and was impressed with it, but didn’t see a need to run out and put some money down on one.
That said, when twitter friend Katie Sweeney offered me a place in her Nintendo-sponsored party, I couldn’t resist the opportunity because 1) Nintendo gave me a free Wii and apparently I’m for sale and 2) I think the newbmom and newbdaughter might enjoy this system (and, yes, I might find a game that will give me an occasional fix).
I haven’t fully explored the Wii, but the first thing that jumps out is the Wii controller: it is much more accessible than either the ones from Xbox or Playstation (8 buttons, two directional pads). Wii Sports is an easy game to figure out: you pick up the controller (two buttons), point it the TV and mimic how you would actually play the games in real life. The games are fun, cute and there’s no mocking or ESPN highlight reel voice overs. The Wii is friendly.
The XBox and Playstation games I’ve played are so soaked in testosterone that they make it nearly impossible for any woman or child to penetrate the veil and derive any enjoyment from the gameplay. Obviously, there is a market for this, but I’m glad Nintendo seized on the opposite philosophy.
Here’s where the Dad in me kicks in: so the system is child-friendly. Is that a good thing? Will it encourage creativity? or free play? or the joy of actually playing the games it simulates? Or will the Wii create in my daughter a disappointment that real life is not as fun and colorful and yes, friendly, as its digital doppleganger?
As with most things parenting, I suspect the answer lies somewhere in the middle, so I’m willing to experiment.
Game on.
Newbwife (who is so much smarter than I am) talks about how we are the one who define normal for our daughter.
From the small things like training her to fall asleep on her own to the big things like getting her vaccinated, it is all up to us right now. Defining what we consider normal is pretty easily achieved, but as more and more people begin to influence her daily life, we will have to work to make sure that we are the ones she can look to with questions like:
Is it OK to make fun of people who look and think differently than you? (Of course not.)
Are boys better than girls? (Nope.)
Is diet soda good for you? (What is this “soda” you speak of?)
Do rich and poor people deserve to be rich and poor forever? (Have you been reading Howard Zinn again?)
Are the Raiders ever going to win a Super Bowl again? (As soon as Al Davis dies, sweetie.)
These and hundreds of other questions will go through my little girl’s head every day. Some she’ll ask but most she won’t. I hope she will find answers to the ones she doesn’t ask by watching my wife and I.
I hope I’m up for this.
(photo courtesy of rshartley)
What a wonderful story; somehow these little mice manage to illustrate the value of art.
While there is certainly no way the little mice could have survived the winter without the corn they had stored, that survival would have been much more debilitating without Frederick and his stores of colors and poetry. They’re like the PCs and Frederick is the Mac.
While Aesop’s grasshopper and ant teach us the value of industry, Frederick reminds us that toiling in order to merely exist is not enough. Beauty must be valued also.
Maybe that’s how Apple gets away with charging $2000 for a laptop.
(clicking on the book cover above is an affiliate link that will take you to Indiebound)
I know I’ve railed about the hegemony of pink over little girls, and when noobdaughter was three months old, I even went so “far” as to buy boy (read: blue) pajamas for her. But there’s a dirty little secret here. I admit it; I like dressing my daughter. The little clothes are pretty cute.
I remember being especially fulfilled the day I found the polka dot socks to match the polka dot onesie I had put her in. Putting her in those brightly colored clothes is a fun game. Maybe that’s why babies are so happy; it’s tough to be angsty when you’re decked out in Skittles colors.
I’m sure my relationship with my daughter’s clothes will change in time (looking at you, future mini-skirt), but for now it’s one of those hidden moments of love that parenting brings. The mere act of putting clothes on her makes me feel like I’m providing her with warmth, comfort and happiness. And matching polka dots.
How cute are these boots?
One of the most intimidating parts of this whole fatherhood thing is not gagging at the diapers the concept that I am responsible for raising this little human. Granted, she probably has some innate personality traits that I can’t change, but I’m sure she wasn’t born a Raiders fan, wanting to snowboard, quoting Dune, or any of the other little things that make a person, a person (what, everyone quotes Dune, don’t they?).
So how far do you take it? When does exposing your child to new things cross the line into experimentation or, even worse, indoctrination.
I guess the best thing to do is to expose her to as much as possible and let her dictate which path(s) she’ll explore. But she’s still learning the Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear:
I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
Behold, the only shirt you’ll need for what I assume is a long time: the Hanes white tee shirt. 
It’s been six months and this is the only shirt I wear in the house because it’s the only thing that can withstand constant contact with my daughter. From the inevitable winter snots, the teething drools, the feeding spit ups, and yes, the diaper blow-outs, this shirt can handle them all. More specifically, you won’t care that your white tee just got snotted, drooled, spit or pooped on; just put it in the wash and grab another one. If it’s too badly damaged, throw it away and buy another three pack at Target for $8.
Given that my sweet little girl will probably continue to be a leaking mess (but an adorable leaking mess) for the foreseeable future, I’ll probably single-handedly keep Hanes in business for the next 18 months.
FYI – In the interest of fairness, I have test-driven the Fruit of the Loom version, but don’t find it fits as well or holds up as well. Don’t say I never did anything for you.
If only they made a long sleeve version for the winter. . .
image from pixie stix kids pix
There are probably more books on how to care for your baby out there than there are babies. When you first get pregnant, people tell you which one they swear by and generally, a few bubble up as the popular choices. People who are done having children will even give you their books. No matter what, they all have one that they couldn’t live without.
All of this focus on training methods and parenting philosophies and guidelines is helpful to a point to a new father, but after a while, information paralysis starts to set in. All of the books we have can’t ALL be right. A few of them directly contradict each other, but people I trust and respect have used them all, so what conclusions should I draw from that? Are some books right about some things like feedings and wrong about other things like sleeping?
The flip side of all this information is that if you DON”T have a plan or philosophy or method, or don’t follow the book exactly then you start to feel like you’re doing it wrong. Equally stressful.
While I don’t think “winging it” is the way to go, I’ve found my happy medium is reached after researching a topic/issue in a few books to figure out where the consensus lies. Then my wife and I determine what we want for our daughter (and ourselves) and the best way to reach that goal. The books are helpful guidelines, but they don’t rule what we do. So far, our daughter is happy, healthy and hitting her developmental milestones. We must be dong something right.
Maybe I’ll write a book about this.
The books we’ve consulted:
Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child – so many people told us this book was great. While it does have great info, the writing style can make you feel anxious and irresponsible if you don’t follow it exactly. Also called “You’re Doing it Wrong” in my household.
What to Expect the First Year – or, to paraphrase the Juggle: “All the Horrible Things That Can Possibly Go Wrong The First Year” – still a very comprehensive survey of baby’s first year
The Baby Whisperer – a blend of common sense and new-agey feeling advice from an English woman who kind of comes across as your Grandmother mixed with that woman from Supernanny.
Seriously, don’t ever say this.
