On becoming a dad

I've realized that for all its joy, becoming a dad is probably the most humbling and in its own way frustrating thing I've ever done. (This isn't a complaint...just a commentary.)

I don't know if women understand the need a man has to protect his wife from unpleasantness, pain, etc. It's my job, my purpose for living, what I have to offer her. And if I can't supply it, I feel completely useless and, in a way, like there's no reason for her to need me anymore. (Don't worry, I'm not sobbing over my milk & Zinger here, just spilling my guts a bit.)

So first, there were nine months of Tina having all sorts of unpleasant symptoms, about which I could do absolutely nothing. I would've taken all of them on myself to spare her the discomfort, but of course, I couldn't. Then, labor & delivery - more discomfort, even greater and more acute. Again, I was powerless to help her. I was really jealous of the anesthesiologist. I know it's nuts, and Tina wouldn't want in a million years for me to give her an epidural. But I didn't want it to be the epidural that stopped her from hurting. I wanted it to be me. (I know, deal with it. Well, I am. You're reading it.)

And now there's this baby around the house. If anyone out there harbors the ridiculous notion that men and women aren't born inherently different...well, get rid of it. We are as different as night and day. Moms are not dads, and dads are not moms. When done properly, moms and dads are complementary. But they are not interchangeable. As much as I love Ellie, I simply have no idea how to nurture her. I haven't the ability to try something new every time she cries -- endlessly, patiently, confidently -- like Tina apparently does. It's not that I'm unwilling to spend time and attention on her. I'm desperate to do so and do it right - but I often have no idea what to do. And I'm not good at not knowing what to do.

I'm a guy. I solve problems. If someone's unhappy, find out why, apply a solution, and boom! Tough actin' Tinactin...sorry, I mean, equilibrium is restored. (This is the endless tension between women, who know perfectly well how to solve their hassles and problems, but want to talk about them, and men, who think a woman talking about her problems can only be doing so because she's asking for help solving them: why else to talk about a problem but to try to solve it?) But babies often have no equilibrium state that's been perturbed by some discrete cause.

Tina can sit there trying this and that, knowing instinctively the difference between Ellie's happy squeaking and her fussy squeaking, her contented arm-flailing and her miserable arm-flailing. Maybe it's too subtle for me, maybe I'm not such a good dad as I think...but I often have not the foggiest notion whether what I'm doing (burping, sitting her up, changing a diaper, etc.) is right or wrong or indifferent. I'm impressed and humbled and relieved and frustrated all at the same time, watching her.

I'm finding it's difficult to be unsuccessful at something so terribly important. I think I'll be good at stuff that matters for being a dad, and that's good. But at this point it seems like Ellie needs a mom more than a dad. (Or at least the dad stuff is somewhat taken care of? Don't know for sure.)