I had a great debate about a dad-to-be's role during his partner's pregnancy, and after birth with the whole panel on CTV's The Social. The pulled no punches! Some of the topics include:
What are men so afraid to talk about during pregnancy?
Is it fair to say "There is a mother-baby bond which will never really exist for dads?"
Do dads-to-be have a say about what their pregnant partner eats or drinks?
How do you deal with that helpless feeling during labor?
Are baby showers just for women?
What about sex after the baby is born?
What can a dad do to really be part of a newborn's life?
Just ahead of my first book signing on October 3rd, I sat down with Shaun McMahon, new dad and on-air personality at The Beat 92.5 in Montreal.
What began as an interview about my book, developed into a much more involved conversation about fatherhood and what it means to stand alongside a pregnant partner for nine months.
My new book, "What Do I Do While You're Pregnant?" is now available on Amazon.com (paperback and Kindle). It is a refurbished, reworked and updated version of a previous publication, which originally took the name of this blog, "Men Get Pregnant, Too." One of my primary reasons for undertaking the updating of the book ,which I had spend so many hours writing and babying through the publishing process, was, in fact, the title. If I were nearby to explain the story to moms in the store, or they gratefully took the time to read it, they found it was like no other parenting book they had read. "I had no idea dads felt that way!" was a common reaction. Otherwise, upon seeing a book, writing by a dad, titled "Men Get Pregnant, Too," they would guffaw, drop it back on the table , and pronounce, "No they don't!"
Indeed, we don't. But male pregnancy was a metaphor for the angst felt by any first-time parent, be they adoptive, or expecting a baby being carried by a same-sex partner or a surrogate. There is no such thing as feeling detached while waiting to become a mom or a dad. Hopefully, this relaunch will encourage moms and dads to read the book together, and spark a new discussion about how men, or other parents-to-be who are not carrying their child through pregnancy, experiences those nine months of gestation. To order for yourself, or as a gift, just click below!
Many parenting books deal with pregnancy and mothers-to-be. Some mention fatherhood or focus on the humorous side of a dad who is all thumbs. This book is a unique story by an expectant dad who is remarkably candid about how terrifying and overwhelming it is for BOTH parents to become responsible for a baby for the first time. It is respectful of both sexes; remarkably aware of of the incomparable experience of physically carrying a baby for nine months, as well as how confusing it is for a father-to-be on the sidelines wrestling with how to voice his insecurities. How does he encourage and comfort his wife, while also balancing and expressing his own worries about becoming a first-time parent? When he is told he should be 100% involved in the pregnancy, what does that mean? Can he insist on knowing the baby's sex? Should he be planning his own baby shower? Who can he talk to about the overwhelming job of being the source of information for an entire extended family?
"What Do I Do While You're Pregnant?" is an honest and touching book by a dad-to-be wrestling to find his place. He balances news of his possible infertility and his pregnant wife's medical emergencies with his own phantoms symptoms and sleepless nights. This funny and poignant story respects an experience which is unique to both first-time parents.
CTV National News reporter Vanessa Lee stopped by my home yesterday to talk to my daughter and me about James Harrison. The NFLer returned his sons' participation trophies because he felt they hadn't really earned them; after all, real men don't get trophies for showing up; they have to beat somebody first.
In Ms. Lee's report, my daughter and I share our views. In addition to what was said on camera, here are some additional benefits/philosophies, in my opinion, regarding participation awards:
AVOIDING SHAME: When a child sits in a group at the end of a sporting season, there are few things more shame-inducing than being left with your legs crossed watching others receive awards while you are reminded you didn't make the grade.
PRIDE OFF THE FIELD: As those small medals and trophies accumulate, not only will it encourage a child to participate the following year. They are a badge of honour to be recognized by peers and friends and family. Though you may not have won the championship, the hardware on the book shelf still make you feel like a player, which feels good.
DISAPPOINTMENT WILL COME, DON'T WORRY: If the kid has real potential, disappointment will be part of the learning process, don't worry. If he or she starts ascending to an elite level, at some point they will be hitting .348, but be fighting a kid hitting .350 for a spot in the line up. If a child scores 9.25, there will be one spot left on the team for someone who can manage a 9.50. Want to feel pressure? Talk to someone just missed making it out of the NFL combine because their 40-yard dash was a couple of tenths too slow. They won't need Dad to explain their failures, but they will need him for a comforting ride home.
RETURNING THE TROPHY = DAD'S NOT REALLY PROUD: "My dad's making me give this back." Nice. If a child learns that, unless they win, they are not worthy of recognition by their parents, how will they feel the next time they drop the ball, or miss the dive, or fall during the routine? "Boy, I hope my dad wasn't watching," or, "Boy, I hope Mom doesn't find out."
Home should be a safe place; a place where, regardless of failures through childhood (or adulthood), our sons and daughters can drag their hanging chins through the front door and be welcomed and consoled. The participation trophy is a hug from a coach. Dad's should be allowed to return hugs to the league's head office.
As a Father's Day treat, I allowed myself (sandwiched between my children) to watch one of my favorite shows: CBS Sunday Morning. Their reports are timely and intelligent, sensitive and textured, and Charles Osgood is as warm and soothing a television host as there ever was.
Yesterday's theme was—appropriately—fathers. Lee Cowan's cover story—"Daddy's Home: Embracing Paternity Leave"— focused on the unforgivable lack of a nationwide parental leave policy in the U.S. (Cowan points out that the U.S. is one of only two countries in the world that does not have country-wide paid maternity leave!)
Steve Hartman invited cameras to follow him as he helped his widowed father move out of their family home in Toledo and into an apartment, leaving behind a trove of memories. (The report includes a wonderful montage of old pictures placed against the backdrop of present-day images of the cottage).
There was also a current events piece about the tragedy in Charleston, a retrospective on Jane Russell, and a feature questioning the future of Vietnam's floating market in an evolving economy.
My kids watched it with me. The three of us were full from the breakfast my wife had prepared (green eggs and ham, bacon, coffee, and fresh Quebec strawberries), the cards my children had constructed and colored lay next to my new paper weight: a rock from our garden decorated by my daughter so it resembled the moon.
Jim began his speech:
It's Father's Day. Ugh. How weird is that? A day to honor Dads? It doesn't make sense.
Mother's Day I get. They are mothers. They brought us into the world. Father's Day is like celebrating Darth Vader's birthday.
Great. Cuddle up kids. He continued:
"I guess since we honored mothers in May we should probably give a day in June to that guy who gets up early on his one day off to abandon us to go golfing."
And:
I'm sure there are some really good dads out there, and I commend both of them.
I do do things with my kids, but when I come back from an outing, just know they are going to be sunburned, covered in mosquito bites and, yes, I forgot to get napkins when I bought them ice cream.
Wait, I lost one of their shoes? Well, at least I took them out! You're welcome.
He went on. But, I think we get it.
We got it when it was Archie Bunker in 1971. We got it when it was Homer Simpson in 1989. We got it when it was Ray Romano in 1996.
We've been getting it for a long time. There were several decades when we even deserved to get it. But now it's tired, and insulting and—worst of all—counterproductive. I know, he's a comedian. Fantastic. If that's your brand of humor, yuck it up. But there are many of us dads who work hard to be what our children expect from a parent, and what society is only very slowly awakening to. We are fathers who are working hard, not to prove that we can do it just as well, but working hard to succeed, so it becomes a given that we are doing it just as well. We want the care and love we provide for our children to be taken for granted, as it has been for mothers all these years. We challenge dads like Gaffigan to understand that it is not about being lauded for taking an active role in their children's lives with a "Look he can do that!" But rather to assume that we should be doing that. We are all parents to these children. Mothers and fathers. Incompetence in not gender specific, it's an individual failing. Physical and mental nourishment and enrichment are not gender specific, they are necessities to be provided to children by anyone who happens through this child's life. That is why the dads in Lee Cowan's cover story are stitching together sick days and vacation time to be home with their kids. Unfortunately, that feature was also stitched into a Father's Day show which chose the easy way out, at the expense progressive parenting and social change.
I was reading this article in the National Post about an English professor who left his career in education to pursue another as a mixed martial arts fighter. As a metaphor to illustrate how men today are less likely to engage is risky behaviour relative to their counterparts a generation ago, the journalist wrote the following:
Much of the violence we commit is now done at arm’s length — by way of technology. Canadian soldiers charged up Vimy Ridge in 1917. Today, a drone might do the trick. The most dangerous behaviour most North American men engage in is driving a car. And there is a good chance it is a minivan, a boxy emblem of masculine decline.
I added the italics. "...minivan, a boxy emblem of masculine decline." I drive a minivan, so do many of my peers. Before I defend whether I am "in decline", I would like to ask: in decline from what? From the soldiers we are all supposed to be? The bar brawlers arrested after their team loses the game? The boors whose families are not to distract them from the NFL triple header on Sunday?
I disagree. As would, I feel safe assuming, the fellas at the National Fatherhood Initiative, or the Dads Groups in New York City, or Boston, or Chicago. Or the more than one-thousand fathers who are member of our Dad Bloggers Facebook group.
It is at this point in the argument I am often told I am blowing something out of proportion, or that I'm missing the point, or that I am taking the metaphor too seriously. But, that is the point. There are those of us for whom this argument is taken very seriously.
Modern weakness is not men driving minivans; it is men who try to hide their family vehicles from their peers, lest they be judged to be somehow emasculated. The weakness has become being too proud to miss an NFL match in favour of the one being played on a soccer pitch by your 8-year-old's team. The decline is represented by the words "Because I have to." which too often follow "I drive a minivan."
I love my van - not only because of its higher seating position and because it makes sense - but because of what it represents. I love listening to the doors being slid open a little more firmly than they need to be. I love watching the cartoon dust ball of schoolbags, lunch bags, and splash pants in the rear view mirror as my kids (always!) rush to get seated in the morning.
I love that my van represents for me, the evolution of who I have become. I have never been in a fight, and I certainly don't regret that. But, challenges? Everyday. And those challenges are made even greater by the same circumstances which necessitated an upgrade in my vehicle's cubic footage.
My van is not an emblem of masculine decline; it is a badge of honour.
I write a weekly column, "Questions Parents Ask" at Lifeworks.com. I have been authoring it for nearly two years. I thought it would be relevant to repost this particular column on my blog.
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We are changed by multitudes of experiences; by tragedies, by relationships, and most definitely by parenting.
The irony of parenting is it demands a flexibility of spirit during those years when we become more and more assured and steadfast in our own belief systems. We struggle to teach our children open-mindedness and the advantages of critical thinking; while we stodgy parents gradually seem to become convinced we have found the easiest way of doing almost everything.
Inflexibility and likeability are inversely proportional.
Our children and (for the most part) our partner will always love us…but will they always like us? Of course not. Not always. But it is important as we grow older not to lose our intellectual and emotional elasticity. Part of maintaining that flexibility – that likeability – is understanding that some things are worth capitulating to simply because they are important to somebody who is important to us.
Sharing by ryancr via Flickr
Where (or whether) you go on vacation; altering a work schedule to be more available; being more understanding of a family member’s choice of friends (or the volume of the music blaring from their room!), are all examples of the constant adjustments and conversations which define a family’s dynamic as a being unto itself.
Compromise is as necessary as it can be difficult, especially as age coupled with the triple role of partner, parent, and individual, combines to make you gravitate more than ever toward a need for your own space and your own sources of stress relief.
There are very few greater gifts you can give to a family member than to demonstrate your understanding for what is important to them.
I was once told “The most interesting person in a room is the person who makes you feel like the most interesting person in a room.”
We spend a lot of time sharing rooms with our partners and our children. The challenge is to not only seem interested, but to be interested. Our relationships will inevitably change us. Being attentive to how you change can not only result in more “I love you’s” but, even more importantly, more “I like you’s.”
According to this article in The Mirror (as well as, I assume, hundreds of other publications worldwide), Katy Perry's Super Bowl halftime show will make "faces melt".
My kids have seen "Raiders of the Lost Ark", therefore they have already seen melting faces. No problem there. However, I am not sure my fatherhood sensibilities are prepared for my 8-year-old daughter to witness on-stage acts which may cause her face to melt.
Perry provides some inspirational backbeats for our living room dance parties, as well as many motivational melodies during road trip sing-alongs. As much as Katy's audio may be the voice of my kid's generation, I'm not sure how video-Katy's onstage cabaret will be perceived.
I'm not sure that after explaining words such as "alibi", "veterinarian", and "gazelle" gleaned from this week's Thea Stilton novella, that I am quite prepared to define words such as "gyration", "wardrobe", and "malfunction".
I worry turning the television off prior to halftime due to the possibility of sexual innuendo smacks of over-protectiveness and helicopter parenting. However, my little 8-year-old girl has so far shown every sign of eventually becoming a self-assured, confident young adult with just the right amount of "My Way." I see no need to potentially derail that with thirteen minutes of "cleavage sells records."
Katy may stick to script and deliver no more and no less that she promises: a fantastic show, supported by Lenny Kravitz; a fantastic light show; and maybe the onstage appearance of an (endangered?) jungle cat.
But, she also may not. So, thanks in no small way to Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake, I'm leaning towards relying on my PVR to screen tonight's halftime show, and, if it proves worthy, turn it into tomorrow's after school special.
I believe in free-market enterprise. The NFL owes my family nothing. If I want to be assured of appropriate family viewing, I can tune in to Treehouse, or the Disney Channel, or that dolphin documentary I recorded two days ago. I don't have to tune into a sporting event watched by billions which will be the main talking point among anyone I come across over the next forty-eight hours (as it is, if the game is a blowout, there is a fair chance I will switch to Downton Abbey at 9pm). However, it would be nice to share this thing; this thing which has the potential to have the rare qualities of appealing to all age groups in my home; of providing talking points along with a sense of competition and history; of exposing my kids to one heck of a thirteen-minute blowout concert.
But, just in case...because of what maybe an exaggerated sense of parental duty...because the NFL's track record is somewhat concussed, my PVR will do the heavy lifting tonight. I'm not ready for my 8-year-old's sexuality to kickoff just yet.
