Letter to the outside world

It's been two hours since the infant took me hostage.  It all started innocently enough, with a bottle of milk in one hand and a soothing bedtime melody playing on the radio... a beautiful lullaby, by the great children's musician Noel Gallagher.

By and by, we rocked.  We stared into each others eyes and before long, sleep fell upon the infant... or, at least, a semblance of sleep.

Then, the moaning began.  Powerful, incessant, belaboured moans seemingly designed to drive me up the wall.  Moans so loud neighbouring children were kept awake in nearby chambers.  Moans so long I wondered if my captor was planning on inhaling ever again.

Stockholm Syndrome perhaps setting in, I began to empathize with my captor. 'She's just trying to get to sleep,' I thought.  'Years from now, I'll look back on her moans with fondness'

But not today.

After what seemed like hours (in reality a mere dozen minutes), my captor lay quietly asleep in my arms.  Time for a quick getaway, I figure.  Not so fast, papa.  Not so fast.

The mere thought of laying my captor in her crib beckons the moans, return.  Now, louder.  And in my annoyed state, the moans take on an arrogant tone.  Like a child dangling their finger a centimetre from anothers' nose, as if to say, 'what are you gonna do about it?'

In time, quiet sleep returns.

Then moans.

Then sleep.

Then moans.

Then, sleep?

Yes?

Nope, more moans.

Then sleep.

Then moans.

[Hours pass in the same fashion... ok, about 30 minutes, but that's a long time dammit!]

And then, my escape arrives.  But for how long? The joys of teething.

The Petrified Dad

Backgrounder: I'm doing this 30-Day Blog Challenge.  This is blog post #3, covering the "A problem you have or have had in the past" topic.

I was talking with a colleague of mine at work today.  She's about 4 months pregnant, and I asked her if she knew whether they were having a boy or a girl.  She told me that while they weren't going to find out, she knew one thing for sure - her husband was absolutely petrified of having a girl.

Totally get it.  To most soon-to-be dads, girls represent the unknown.  Girls think differently and act differently; they have hair that needs to be tied, often in weird configurations like pony tails or pig tails; they like glittery art-and-craft-stuffs that make most of us cringe; they wear cute little dresses that we never know how to put on properly. That can be a lot for a guy to wrap his head around, and I didn't even mention the ultimate kicker: feminine hygiene pads.  [Shudder.]

Personally, before the girls were born, I was in the "healthy and happy" camp.  As long as everything was where it was supposed to be, I would be happy.  I knew that, eventually, with coaching and genuine enthusiasm and a whole bunch of trial and error, I could learn the lady ropes.  And then, when the girls were born, I realized that really, there isn't much of a difference between having a baby boy and having a baby girl.  Pee-pee tents and hair accessories aside, it's all the same.

But, while the differences between having a baby boy and baby girl are subtle, the difference between having a teenage boy and teenage girl are astronomical.  And that's the thought that makes me just as petrified as my colleagues' husband.

I've been thinking a lot more about these differences lately, after Amanda Todd became a household name in Canada and around the world.  I've been thinking about the video she made and about the incessant abuse she faced for months before making a truly tragic choice.

I fear that my girls will face challenges that I will never be able to understand.  I fear that girls use different tactics to put each other down; that we as a society have allowed the physical to dominate our judgement of others, especially in and amongst our little girls, and that teenage girls more so than boys feel the need to 'fit in' at the expense of another girl being marginalized.  And I don't know how to handle that.

I know what my approach would be with a boy... teach him to throw a mean right hook, and to never start a fight, but to always finish one.  It might not solve all of the problems, but it's a good place to start.

With girls, though, the challenges they face are unlikely to be physical.  Girls play psychological games with one another.  They harass and torment and ostracize one from the others.  Their attacks often leave no visible bruises or cuts, but internal wounds.

My point isn't to say girls have it worse than boys.  No matter the gender, bullying of any kind hurts and is unacceptable.  My point is that I believe things are different between the sexes.  I have an idea - good, bad, or otherwise - I have an idea as to how I would approach things with a boy. With two girls, the abuse they could potentially face as teenagers is foreign to me. Therein lies my petrification.

So, I've decided that my approach will be to remind them as often as I can that their self-worth has nothing to do with how they look or about what they wear.

I will remind them as often as I can that their self-worth isn't allowed to be dictated by anyone else's opinion of them.

I will remind them that it is never acceptable to treat anyone with anything less than complete respect.

I will remind them as often as I can that there will always be people who want to be ahead of them socially or academically or physically, and that's OK.  Let them think that way; just be comfortable with who you are, and in the end, nothing else matters.

And most importantly, I will remind them that I will always be there for them.  'Cause that's good to hear, no matter what challenges they face.