Fatherhood: Part One (This is an Ex-Brain)

I once had a brain.

It was a nice brain. Soft. Squishy. Lots of wrinkles. At times I would take it out, abuse it, and then put it back in time for work. I'd have a good laugh about how it had been cooked, fried, toasted, plastered, battered, beaten, or otherwise tread upon in hopes of leaving it too bruised to protest the return of the dull wackaday drudgery of spending eons each day talking on the phone to persons not fit to drive a car, much less operate a computer. By the time it healed, the weekend would arrive once more, and I would resume the subjugation of my most rebellious and resilient of organs.

Then we had a child, or, to be more precise, a zombie overlord.

Of course, it's living, has a pulse, and doesn't shuffle around much, but otherwise resembles a zombie in every other aspects: he drools, wails, moans, tries to bite me (despite not having any teeth), eats incessantly, contributes no saleable product or service, and, most importantly, has eaten my brain.

Many might argue the point that it's not like I was using it anyway, but in point of fact, I was. Maybe not for anything particularly important, but it was nice to be able to remember, for instance, the name of our son, my phone number, where we lived, and how to put on socks--all of which have become monumental tasks of epic proportions thanks to the fact that the boy ate my brain.

Those with children probably already know why, unless you had perfect non-screaming children who slept peacefully throughout the night and day with no interruptions. If so, you die. You die and go to hell (/mr garrison voice).

For those not yet accustomed to the joys of parenthood, I can only describe it as such: Our boy has been possessed by the ghost of a demented off-key opera singer from ages past, and longs for the stage. Any chance he gets to perform, he will, his most favorite of musical selections being that old favorite "LWAAAAAAAAGGHHHH!!!! in G". However, he's also been known to spontaneously belt out a rousing rendition of "AHHHH! AHHHH!! AHHH!!!!!!" with the sort of gusto seen only in drunken barroom brawls.

The pitch and timber are of eyeglasses-shattering frequency that have already cost me a pair of lenses, and I fear the hearing-loss will almost certainly be permanent. It is as if I had gone to a concern the night before, and leaned against the Marshall-stack for the entire evening. Everything is muted away from the child. When people talk to me, I see lips move. I hear a vague mumbling sound emerge from their lips. What few chunks the boy has seen fit to leave me of my brain process this as speech, but it is no more intelligible to me than a Pict on redcaps.

I think there might have been a time when I could think, when I could hear, when I could know the feeling of having slept more than the average Navy SEAL during Hell Week. Those days are no more. My brain has finally died. It's flown the coup. It's off its rocker. It's shuffled off its mortal coil, and gone to join the bleedin' choir invisible! This is an ex-brain.

Heh. Nice Monty Python reference at the end. "This brain is pushing up daisies."

If it's any consolation, it DOES get better. Sort of. My daughter's now five. She is the queen of talking back, not listening, and completely zoning me out. Except, of course, when I'm on the phone, then she suddenly remembers who I am and wants my attention at top volume. With her, I am Broken Record Woman. "Stop it. I said stop it. Knock it off! Stop! Hey! I'm ON THE PHONE!"

My son has mastered walking enough now that he wants to run. Everywhere. Cap that off with everything you ask him, the answer is a resounding NO! Even when he wants whatever it is. If I set him down and take my hand off him, he's gone. I bought one of those monkey backpacks that doubles as a clever leash (so that people hopefully won't look at you like you're a refugee from Dr. Caligari's School of Toddler Raising) and he flipped the first time I put him on it. He went from being a running-away-but generally-OK toddler to the Amazing Epileptic Screaming Bloody Murder Boy.

But, eventually, you'll get some sleep. At least until you realize that it's better to have at least two of them, then it starts all over again.

Good luck with that.

Awesome post!! And man I feel for ya. I had sanity at one time. After 3 kids, all boys, I have none. I forget everything. Most of the time it sounds like I have alzheimers. Me: "Hey can you go get the.....the....the thing in the bathroom." UGH!

As for having more, I can only scream at the top of my lungs DON'T DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!! One is a beautiful number, two and it's still semi beautiful. Three it's a freaking disaster that never ends.

Originally posted by vckums
Most of the time it sounds like I have alzheimers. Me: "Hey can you go get the.....the....the thing in the bathroom." UGH!

Vckums... that's a wonderful theory... but unfortunately I was like that before kids.

Thelibra... It does get better. For a while it's almost blissful. They get old enough to feed themselves, walk around the house, and sleep through the night. They are likely to stay in a stroller and are relitively quiet. Bad news is... this only lasts for so long. Please hang in there, you can survive this.

MM... I have something I call the mom rap for my 6 year old son. It goes like this...

No, No, What did I say? What did I say? Stop it, Stop it, What did I say? What Did I say? (then my son responds "stop it means stop it")

No, No, What did I say? What did I say? Stop it, Stop it, What did I say? What Did I say? (then my son responds "stop it means stop it")

Get off her, your going to hurt her. Get off her, your going to hurt her. I dont care if it's your toy. I don't care if it's your toy, I said get off.

Get off her, your going to hurt her. Get off her, your going to hurt her. I dont care if it's your toy. I don't care if it's your toy, I said get off

(my son responds with, "but mom...")


No, No, What did I say? What did I say? Stop it, Stop it, What did I say? What Did I say? (then my son responds "stop it means stop it")

No, No, What did I say? What did I say? Stop it, Stop it, What did I say? What Did I say? (then my son responds "stop it means stop it")

( I could go on..... but i won't.)

LMAO

I couldn't have put it better myself if i wanted to. You have nailed it so perfectly! Our little girl; is now 7 and 1/2 months old. She is getting better and we used to call her the banshee LOL

She used to scream and someone somewhere would know someone was dying - well at least the brain was. I feel for you and am with you 100% in spirit - with no hearing senses in operation.

Sleep? Now i still wonder who, in their right mind, would even have come up with that concept unless they had no kids. It certainly does not apply and that 7 and 1/2 months down the line! And then they become teenagers and I am told nothing changes only that it is the parents that start screaming.

ahhhhhhh the joys of fatherhood!!

[edit on 25/9/2007 by shearder]