Episode 2: I Would Do Anything for Love, but I Won't Do That
Shirking anxiety-inducing responsibility by staying busy doing anything else
To this day, I’m still not sure what Meatloaf meant when he said, “I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that.”
I know people claim it’s in the lyrics where he says, “I’ll never stop dreaming of you every night of my life, no way.” So I guess it means he’d do anything for love except stop dreaming about this person every night.
I dunno, it’s all a bit confusing and poorly worded, but there were a few weeks when my son was a couple of months old when I felt like I understood the idea of loving somebody so much but also not wanting to do certain things for them.
Despite always assuming I would be the dad that jumped in to do anything, I found myself being a parent who doubted my ability to do many things and actively passed off responsibility.
I let my wife do the swaddling. I found ways to talk her into doing 80% or more of the bedtimes. I let her do most of the early sponge baths.
I told her that it was because she was better at it than I was - that he was calmer with her - and part of that was true; however, I had also worked myself into a place where I truly believed I was unable to do these things and my failings at them would somehow harm my son’s development or emotional well-being.
When I didn’t wrap the swaddle tight enough and it fell off and he woke up from a nap earlier than he might have normally, I started to think that I was shit at wrapping the swaddles. I focused more on each fold or tuck, but when his arm still came out and he woke himself up, I just began to pass the responsibility off to my wife the next time.
Then maybe the time after that as well. It was better than him having his sleep interrupted, said my internal narrative.
When my son got old enough that he didn’t just pass out like a narcoleptic wherever he was laying and we had to actually put him to sleep, there was a couple-week stretch where he cried hysterically every time I tried to get him ready for bed.
Since he was also still gaining control over his arms and legs, he would essentially cry and hit me in the face until he finally passed out.
On an intellectual level, I knew that he wasn’t actually hitting me, and I knew that he was crying because he was tired. Yet, the intellectual response to your son cry-fighting you and the emotional one are two totally different things.
He would arch his back away from me and throw left-hand hooks into my jaw while also mixing in some open-handed slaps. It was dumb, but it hurt me. Nobody ever wants to make their child cry let alone feel like they’re fighting to get away from you.
Even though I knew I wasn’t the reason he was crying, he was so new that I hadn’t fully grown accustomed to hearing him be upset.
At the time, I worried that I was holding him too tightly or that he didn’t feel as comforted in my arms as he did in my wife’s. Maybe I was shushing him too loudly or swaying him too quickly. Should I have been rubbing his back instead of patting it? My wife patted his butt and not his back, so maybe that was it.
I worked myself to the point where I would dread the days when it was my turn to put him to sleep at night. I anticipated his cries and tears before they even came.
So my response was to avoid them.
I told my wife that she was clearly a more comforting presence, and then I tried to be as helpful as possible around the apartment so that my not putting him to sleep didn’t mean I was shirking all responsibility.
I washed dishes. I cleaned his toys and the pump parts. I made us dinner. I folded and organized all his clothes.
(This is a very accurate GIF of me doing dishes)
I did everything I possibly could to give myself the illusion that I was carrying my weight while simultaneously opting to avoid the parts of parenting that were giving me anxiety.
I never thought of myself as somebody that avoided conflict or responsibility. My life hasn’t been overly difficult, but I had done hard things. I had dealt with criticism and failures and thoughts that I wasn’t good enough in a given situation.
But I had never felt failure on an emotional level like I did with this. This felt like a problem with me. Something I was lacking that made me less comforting or soothing.
Reassuring myself has never been something I’ve been particularly good at. My friends joke that I call my dad when I have to make any decision because, well, I basically call my dad when I have to make any decision.
I talk through all possibilities of a dilemma with my wife until she gets more stressed out hearing my mental word vomit than she does by the decision itself.
So while others may be able to self-regulate and say, “He’s fine. He’s a baby. He’s healthy but he’ll cry.” It took me a while to convince myself of that.
On some level, it makes sense. This was my child’s well-being after all. The stakes had never been higher, and as somebody that internalizes every action and reaction, it was a lot to take in.
In truth, I still haven’t fully convinced myself that he’ll be OK no matter what I do. And I think that’s alright. A certain level of caution or understanding of the consequences makes some sense but I’ve learned to avoid avoiding,
I’d like to say I had an epiphany, but it was really just that I was putting such an undue burden on my wife that it became unsustainable. I had to get my shit together and take the punches - both literal and figurative.
I would learn later on in therapy that the term for what I was doing was “catastrophizing,” basically amplifying a situation until I saw it as a catastrophe or a disaster.
I also learned that, like many things in my life, I was rigidly judging my own actions as a success or failure. If I got a hit in baseball the at-bat was a success. If I got out, it was a failure.
If people read an article I write, it’s a success. If nobody reads it, it’s a failure.
If my son is calm when I put him to sleep, I’m a success as a dad. If he gets worked up and won’t sleep, I’m a failure.
It’s obvious when you can take a step away from it that judging value and “success” as a parent like that is wrong. But I hadn’t taken time to “get elevation'“ on the situation, as they would say in trendy boardrooms. I was too wrapped up in my own shit.
Success as a parent isn’t making sure your kid is never sad or never upset - that’s an impossible standard. In fact, I’m not sure I truly know if there is “success” as a parent other than helping your child make it through a day and maybe learn some things as they go.
It’s not easy for me to adapt to. I hate being bad at things, and I also tell myself I’m bad at things if they don’t work right away. It’s the side effect of being a relatively impatient person.
But I’m learning.
I’m learning to be more patient, with both myself and my son. I’m learning to be OK with knowing that simply doing whatever I can to limit his sadness and ensure his comfort is enough.
At the end of the day, nobody is good at all parts of parenting all the time. Really, nobody is good at all parts of everything all the time.
There’s nobody was watching me with a checklist or grading all my actions as wins and losses. There was no principal coming to observe me and evaluate my progress. There are no real wins and losses, and there is no administrative observation. I am the administration and I have to give myself a pass, even if things don’t go smoothly.
After all, as Meatloaf said: “Some days it don't come easy/ Some days it don't come hard / Some days it don't come at all.”
I really wish I had never tried to make sense of the lyrics to this song.