Category: Modern Dad

My Life’s Decisions Made Me the Father I am

David Pierre   ·  

When Dove Men+Care approached me to help them champion paternity leave, part of their global commitment to expanding men’s opportunities to care, I felt extremely proud to get involved. It’s not just important to push for better policies around paternity leave, but also challenge the stigmas that hold fathers back from taking it. 

My personal experience tells me that when men have an expanded opportunity to care for their families through paternity leave, it has positive impacts on the man, his family and society as a whole.

It also got me thinking about the decisions that I made in my life, and how I was never going to be the type of father my dad was. And that’s a good thing. 

Throughout my life, I haven’t done what’s expected of me. 

For instance, when I was a teen and deciding which university to attend, I didn’t bother myself with petty details such as the school’s reputation or which social clubs they offered. My entire goal was to maximize the distance between the university I chose and the small town in which I grew up. I didn’t know at the time, but this decision led me down the path to one of the most important moments in my life; becoming the type of father I want to be for my amazing son, Benjamin. 

Okay, so there wasn’t anything particularly bad about the town I grew up in. It had its own “small town Alberta charm”. But the people there accepted the status quo while I’ve always questioned why things are done a certain way. I wanted to get away and figure things out for myself. 

I needed to ponder the important questions in life. For example, “Is Canadian bacon just ham?” And why do Americans go around calling their toques “beanies”? So weird. Anyway, being in a new city, Calgary, and around new people opened my eyes to a lot of the things I’d been exposed to, and naturally absorbed, during my formative years. 

If Bacon is Ham, Then What’s a Man?

It was during this time of self-discovery that I started to question the stereotypes I’d grown up with of what men and fathers should be. You see, I grew up with a very traditional father. He wasn’t a mean man and I knew that I was loved but he did lack emotional availability. Sure, he would show emotion if he was trying to fix something around the house and it wasn’t going well. If I’d done something wrong, I’d get an angry glare.Other than that, he didn’t show much emotion. I didn’t think much  of this when I was growing up because, well, that’s just how fathers are, right? That’s how my friend’s fathers were and that’s just how it was. 

It wasn’t until I’d moved away from home that I looked back and wondered why my dad discouraged the feelings I had as a boy: “Don’t cry”, and “Don’t let your feelings get in the way” are phrases I heard often from my father. I’m sure he didn’t say those things to be hurtful. He was just trying his best to make me a “man” as he understood it.

The Two-Headed Home

My father also spent a lot of time working away from home. This meant that he was away all week and home primarily on the weekends. To me, this was one of the hardest parts of growing up. During the week, our home had a certain rhythm that my mom and I were used to. But, on the weekends, it was a whole different scene. But when my dad was home, we did things his way. 

I Have More To Give

By the time I was expecting my first child, I knew the type of father I wanted to be. I wanted to emulate some characteristics of my own dad, like his patience when teaching me new skills and how he would trust me with large responsibilities. However, I also wanted to allow my son the freedom to feel and, most importantly, I wanted to be present for Benjamin and my wife on a daily basis.  

Having a newborn is difficult, and creates a whole new dynamic in the day-to-day of family life. I’ve seen many cases of well-meaning fathers try to integrate themselves into the new routines and rhythms their partners have established, while working full-time. The problem is that the routine changes so fast with a new baby that the father often ends up holding the bottle wrong or not rocking the baby well enough, leaving all parties upset and unsatisfied.  

I wanted to know all the details and be a part of my family’s new rhythm. I wanted them to know that I could bounce properly on the yoga ball (so much bouncing, blah!). These goals were best achieved by me being fully available; away from work, on a paternity leave. 

The truth is that most new or expecting fathers I talk to feel the exact same way I did. They want to be available for their families through paternity leave. Unfortunately, the stigma of what it is to be a man still exists in our society and they worry that their careers will be tarnished or that their colleagues will think less of them. 

The Stigma Ends With Me

Which is why I’m so excited to partner with Dove Men+Care to champion paternity leave and help fight the stigma holding men back from taking the time to care. 

I will never know what might have happened had I not left the small town in which I grew up. I do know, however, that my father upheld his views of fatherhood because that’s what he knew. My hope is that, by working with Dove Men+Care, we will challenge the stigma that holds fathers back from taking precious time to spend with their children and, ultimately, end these stigmas entirely for the next generation of fathers. Everyone benefits when dads take the time to care.

Check out Dove.com for resources on paternity leave.

The Frugal Father

David Pierre   ·  

Frugal is Different Than Cheap

Okay, first things first, before I even get into this I have to clear something up. I am a frugal person, not a cheap person. I have this debate with my friends all the time. Both frugal and cheap people love to save money. However, a frugal person won’t save money at the expense of someone else.

An example, say you are out to dinner with some friends. The bill arrives. A cheap person will simply add up the things they got and pay that, maybe even try and “forget” the drink they had.  This, of course, is all at the expense of their friends, leaving them to make up the difference for tax, tip, and the “forgotten” drink.

Continuing with this example. A frugal person would never forget the drink they had with their meal, they would simply wouldn’t order a drink. They know that the same drink can be purchased at the store for a fraction of the price and if they really want to enjoy a drink like that, they will just go to the store tomorrow and get it at the reduced price!

Okay? Does that clear it up? I hope so because this is how my mind works.

How Do You Live Like This?

So how does this translate into my everyday life? It means every purchase is an opportunity to investigate details such as quality, warranty, and of course price. This isn’t restricted to just large purchases, this is also how I approach things as basic as grocery shopping … in case you’re wondering, the answer is no, my wife doesn’t go shopping with me anymore. 

Now before you think to yourself, “how can you live like that”, remember, this is how my mind works and I actually enjoy the investigative process of it all.

About Those Large Purchases

Obviously, the financial stakes are higher for purchases over others, such as buying a house over buying a loaf of bread. So when it came to buying our first home, many of my friends believed I would never be able to make such a financial commitment.

For months, I investigated different homes, neighbourhoods, and financial models of how long we would have to own under normal market conditions until owning made more sense than renting … 17 years, in case your wondering. During this phase, I relied heavily on online calculators for things like payments, amortization schedules, and interest saving by altering mortgage terms.

Many different banking sites that offer these free calculators, however, the one that I kept coming back to time and time again was the TrueNorthMortgage.ca calculator. For one, they’re Canadian. Second, I like orange. And finally, banks hate them and I hate banks.

These days, banks are just part of life and for the majority of my life, I’ve dealt with banks. I say majority because I tried the whole money under the mattress thing once, but putting 10000 pennies under my mattress made it uncomfortable. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have taken all my money out in pennies, lesson learned.

Anyway, I’m sure the people that work at banks are trained to be nice to people with millions of dollars. However, they were never that nice to me. Now, I don’t mean that they told me off at the counter or anything, I am talking about small devious type things. You know, high fee chequing accounts and student credit cards that had insanely high credit limits and low-interest rates (until you graduate). Those types of things. Turns out I wasn’t the only one either, BIG BANKS DUPE CUSTOMERS.

So, What About That House?

Okay, so I got off track there. Back to the house hunt. As I said, I spent months pouring over the details of buying a home. Calculating numbers, looking at different homes … More calculations. Then it happened!

We found a place we wanted to buy. Inner city, close to work, close to a grocery store, close to parks, and within our price range. We just needed to be approved for a mortgage.

Despite how terrible the banks usually treat me, I still checked their interest rates and compared them against one another. For the most part their rates didn’t differ much. I also got the sense that choosing a bank for a mortgage is about as technical as throwing a dart at a board. They all seem about the same. However, during this whole process we also learned something about mortgages.

Remember That Online Calculator?

All those months spent on the True North Mortgage website I learned something else besides how much I could save on interest by adding 5 dollars to every payment. I learned that I had more options for getting a mortgage than the old idea of going to your bank.

True North Mortgage is a mortgage broker, meaning, they work to find competitive rates for individuals seeking a loan. This also meant that when my wife and I decided to visit one of their stores in Calgary, we got the sense their agents were working for us to secure the best rates. Not simply, trying to trick us into something that would benefit their shareholders.

Fun Fact! I was once told by a bank manager at one of the major banks, that their only concern was making sure their clients were happy. And who are their clients? Shareholders! Not me. While technically correct, I thought it was an absolute terrible mindset.

This wasn’t the attitude we received from our True North Mortgage agent. She was down to earth, clear, and at no point made us feel like we were tricked or duped into a product that we didn’t need or want. It was simply a conversation about the process and paperwork that was needed to secure a mortgage.

A Frugal Father’s Final Thought

Alright, if you’ve come this far you’ve likely learned two things about me. One, I am a frugal person, NOT CHEAP! Two, I dislike banks because I always feel like someone is trying to trick me into spending more money than I have to,  a frugal and cheap persons worst nightmare.

And now that you know that, it should come as no surprise to you that when I needed a mortgage I ended up at True North Mortgage instead of a traditional bank. Because, as their CEO said, “Saving you money is what we do. That is what our clients love about us, and our competitors’ hate .”

Enough said!

My Birth Story … The Dad’s Version – The Final Push

David Pierre   ·  

Here it is, the final part to the thrilling three-part story of my birth story. If you missed parts 1 and 2, check them out HERE and HERE.

So Where were we?

Labor had started at 2 am Wednesday and had gone on all day and night with absolutely no cervical progress. Exhausted and frustrated, after 28 hours of labor, we made a trip to the hospital to get a small dose of painkillers, hoping they would allow my wife, Krista, to finally get some rest. The painkillers helped a bit, allowing us to rest between contractions. The little bit of rest lifted our spirits and we woke up Thursday mid-morning ready to deliver our baby.

Daytime is the Best Time

There is something comforting about the daytime to me. The sun comes up, people move about, and birds fight in the alley over a piece of old bread. This all just feels nice. The new day also brought a burst of energy to our spirits. After a refreshing breakfast of eggs on toast, we got right back to what we had learned in birthing class for progressing labor: walk the stairs; roll your hips on the yoga ball, deep knee squats.

We went outside for some fresh air. I even started counting the contractions again on the terrible app that had done nothing more than terrify me over the last 36 hours. The app wasn’t telling me to call 911 anymore and the handy chart showed me that we were well on our way to having a baby!

This went on and on and, still, nothing to report.

The hours clicked by, the afternoon turned into evening, and the evening turned into late evening. By this time, we realized that our baby wasn’t as close to arriving as we had thought and we were about to face another long, dark night of no sleep.

This is when things got intense.

Everyone told us there would be peaks and troughs during labor. After riding a peak all day Thursday, we had nowhere to go but down… depths of Mordor joke? Nah. So, unfortunately, down we went.

The mood got quite tense and it only took another couple hours of night labor before Krista was back in the bathroom. She was hunched over the counter, a familiar and unwelcome pose from the night before.

Krista was frazzled and so was I. By this time, the only help I could provide was a special water concoction.

About a week earlier, I read the book “Born to Run” by Christopher McDougall. Chris visits the Tarahumara, a Native Mexican tribe in the Mexican Copper Canyons. These people can run for hundreds of kilometers. On their runs, they take a mixture of water, chia seeds, lime and sugar. This supposedly gives them the nutrition to run forever. For whatever reason, this super drink stuck in my head.

So, as I grew worried that Krista wasn’t eating enough, the only thing that came to mind was this Tarahumara drink. Just to make sure it was the best drink possible, I also mixed in some Emergen-C. I’m not sure what I was thinking but I just kept bringing them. Krista would drink them, throw up, and I would bring another one. Come to think of it, maybe the drink was making her throw up and not the labor?

Anyway, it didn’t take long before we were calling the midwives asking them to come back, mostly to calm us down.

Midwives are Angels

By the time the midwives arrived at our house, it was around 2 am Friday morning, 48 hours into labor. I didn’t have to meet them at the door or show them where Krista was. They just appeared in our bedroom.

The first thing they did was assure us that there was no need to panic. They talked to Krista in a calm, encouraging voice, telling her this was all part of the process and that she was doing great. The comfort was meant for Krista but I drew comfort from them as well. Obviously, they are the experts, having attended hundreds of births, so their calm confidence gave me the strength to feel calm as well.

The next thing they wanted to do was check the baby and Krista’s cervix again. Did I mention that I hated these checks?

First, Nicole checked the baby. He was content, doing whatever babies do in the womb. Next, Carol checked Krista’s cervix… and… it had softened and was a half-centimeter dilated. I did a quick calculation. Given our progress thus far we would be having a baby in 960 hours!

Frankly, we had had enough so we asked the midwives what we should do next.

Business of Being Born

Here’s the thing: midwives will never tell you what you should do. Unless it is a medical emergency, which this wasn’t, they leave the decisions about your birth up to you.

That said, we knew that, if we went back to the hospital, we would be heading down the path of Ricki Lake’s “Business of Being Born”. Krista was exhausted, though, and, by this time, pleading with the midwives to take her to the hospital to receive an epidural.

To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about this new path. Part of me bought into the hype of natural home births; the whole incense, and tribal chanting… You know, the National Geographic birth. However, I knew that I didn’t have the emotional capacity to continue with what we had been doing for another 960 hours. Ultimately, I knew that I wasn’t entitled to an opinion about this. While I had been there beside Krista the entire time, she was the one laboring, not me.

With our bags packed, we headed to the hospital, knowing we would return home with our baby.

Room with a View

We arrived at the hospital around 9 am Friday morning, 55-hours into labor. When people are laboring at home, the midwives always have a room ready at the hospital for transfers. However, we couldn’t go to the room assigned to us.

Why?

We couldn’t get into the room because, incredulously, after 55 hours, Krista wasn’t in so called “active labor” defined as 4 cm dilation. Krista was still only a ½ cm dilated. It also meant that Krista didn’t meet the hospital requirements to administer an epidural. So, at first, the admitting nurse told the midwives we should go home and come back when Krista was 4 cm dilated. That wasn’t going to happen.

We waited in triage until Carol explained to us that the only way we could stay was if we were coming to the hospital to have our labor induced. Pitocin. Ricki Lake.

We agreed to the induced labor. The room was ours. Just as Krista got up from the bed in triage, she must have spilled a water bottle she was carrying in her pocket because, suddenly, there was water everywhere! So clumsy! Just kidding. Her water had broken! Another signal that we might be able to shave a few hours off my 960-hour estimate.

The room we had was nice. It had a single bed for the mom and a small nook for a coaching partner. The room also happened to overlook the parking lot we had parked in. This reminded me that I had parked in short-term parking. Forever frugal, I ran down to move our car to somewhere more affordable.

When I arrived back to the room, things had become a lot more medical.

“I Sound Like a Man”

When I got back to the room, Krista was hooked up to all sorts of monitors, doodads and an IV. It made me feel sad to know we had now handed over the responsibility of delivering our baby to the hospital. I know that Krista is a strong and capable woman so seeing her hooked up to everything and being treated as a “patient” was hard for me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that I wish we hadn’t gone to the hospital. I’m simply saying that seeing her in this state was in stark contrast to what we had envisioned for our birth and that made me sad.

The Pitocin drip had started, which made contractions longer and stronger. To more effectively endure the contractions, Krista spent time in the room’s bathtub and taking puffs of laughing gas.

I’ve never had laughing gas so I don’t know what it’s like. However, when Krista would take a puff of it, the gas making her voice sound like a man entertained her. The only problem was, she was the only person who thought her voice sounded like a man. She would go on and on, laughing and saying, “I sound like a man, I sound like a man”. We all just smiled and nodded. She did not sound like a man.

You’re Next

Apparently, it was a busy day for births at the hospital. This meant that it took a long time for the anesthesiologist to make it to us to administer the epidural. By the time we were told we were next on the list, 5 hours had passed since we arrived at the hospital. This put us at 60 hours of labor. Krista had made progress with the Pitocin, though. She was now 4 cm dilated and that meant active labor had begun.

It was around this time I noticed that people somehow got the news of our lengthy labor and where relentlessly texting me to ask what was going on. I appreciated their concern and support but I wasn’t in the mood to go through all the details of our journey. Those of you who have read this far, could you imagine receiving this three part blog post as a text message? No, thank you!

After writing out the same message a few times, I decided to simply copy and paste from then on to anyone who messaged. It read,

“We are at the hospital now, laboring. Krista and the baby are doing well and baby should arrive today. It’s been a long journey and I will fill you in on the details later.”

Finally, the anesthesiologist arrived and went through explaining all the red tape regarding an epidural. Sign this, do you understand that, the risks are these. It reminded me of those drug commercials on American television. Side effects may include diarrhea, paralysis, infection and death. If you’ve had a history of heart failure or death, consult your doctor before starting the epidural.

After the epidural was administered, things got pretty boring.

We Waited

Krista was immediately impressed by how much better she felt. She was laughing, smiling, eating food and constantly saying, “Epidurals are amazing”. Honestly, I also found the epidural to be amazing. The emotional stress of childbirth vanished with the epidural on board.

Krista and I had a normal conversation that didn’t contain a series of grunts or scowls. We talked about how much we had been through and how grateful we were for our midwives and doula taking care of us. For us, this was the quiet period before the storm. Krista was smiling and acting like herself again. The constant baby monitoring gave me comfort because I knew our baby was doing well. It was that constant monitoring, however, that would soon bring my stress level to a new all time high.

The Final Push

About 5 pm Friday, 63-hours into labor, a third midwife, Wendy, checked Krista’s cervix once again and, holy moly, the baby’s head was coming through! A full 10 cm dilated.

It was almost time to push!

Wendy, Nicole, and Carol began coaching Krista through the process of pushing. Deep, hard pushes, timed with contractions like you are taking a huge dump… real life here, people.

The midwives quickly discounted the first couple of pushes as not good enough. Further complicating the process was Krista’s inability to feel her lower half. Oh, and that fetal monitor? That thing started really stressing me out.

Beep, Beep … Beep

I knew from birthing class and from “The Business of Being Born” that the baby’s heart rate decreases during a contraction. Ricki told me this was normal. What I didn’t know was that the medical professionals expected the heart rate to bounce back to a baseline shortly after a contraction. After awhile, this wasn’t happening for us.

With the fetal monitor loud enough to drown out an ACDC concert, I couldn’t help but hear the obvious decrease in heart rate during a contraction. But, like I said, I knew this was normal. What I didn’t think was normal was the new medical people showing up in our room. Our midwives and all these medical people gathered around the fetal monitoring chart whispering with concerned looks on their faces.

This is a stress I had never before experienced in my life. I was filled with panic and anxiety. My heart was pounding, my eyes were watering, and my fight or flight response was at level maximum. I felt helpless, lost, and uncomfortable in my own skin. I didn’t know what to do.

The midwives gathered around Krista and said, “We need to get your baby out now. You need to push with everything you have to get your baby out”.

Completely clueless as to what to do, I found myself simply repeating what the midwives were saying. If they said, “Push harder”, I said, “Push harder”.

The baby monitor was still showing that our baby wasn’t bouncing back to baseline after contractions but Krista was making progress. Our baby was far enough down that we could start to see his head but also too far down for the fetal monitor to work. It was at this time that a baby resuscitation team showed up in our room. As you can imagine, this only caused more panic and more stress.

So close, Benny’s head was right there. Nicole asked me if I would like to catch our baby, with her help. I gladly agreed. With one final push, Benny was out; alert, good color and crying.

Then, like a shadow at night, the resuscitation team and new medical people vanished along with all the panic, the anxiety and the worry we had experienced over the course of those several days, leaving us with our beautiful Benjamin, born March 4th, 2016 at 7 pm, weighing 7lbs, 15oz.

Full of gratitude for the all the concern and support we had been shown and for the beauty of having come through such a difficult process, nothing could have been more perfect as that moment when I first held Benjamin in my arms.

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Surviving the Mom’s Playgroup as a Dad

David Pierre   ·  

What’s that Smell?

I smell Chanel Chance Eau de Toilette. I see every shade of brown leather boots varying in length from mid ankle to knee height. I hear the words “paleo, alkaline, and whole30”. I am in a basement with few windows, grey carpet, miniature tables, and brightly colored toys. There are eight children, seven moms, and me. It’s Wednesday morning playgroup and this is how I survive as a dad.

Socialization is Good, Right?

As a stay at home parent, one of the things that worries me is whether or not my child (Benjamin) is getting enough socialization. If he were in daycare, he would be surrounded by other children and other adults every day, 5 days a week. Heck, if we lived in a jungle tribe, there would be numerous mothers and children running around all day. Of course, if that were the case, I wouldn’t be caring for him, I would be off hunting wildebeests.

Anyway, I try my best to bring Benjamin to parks, playgrounds, kid’s museums, and playgroups so he has a chance to be around other children. Out of all of these opportunities to socialize, the most difficult for me to navigate is The Playgroup.

I Just Walked in the Door

The first thing I notice when I walk in the door is that everyone seems much more dressed up than I am. All the moms are wearing makeup, their hair is styled and their jeans look like they have never been washed.

I usually wear chino pants (washed several times), sweater or t-shirt, runners and a toque (Canadian for “winter hat”). Now, don’t get me wrong, there are moms there wearing toques. The hair underneath the toque, however, always seems to be styled into either beachy waves or perfect curls.

I do have some hair that falls below my toque, but this is only because I am too lazy to get a haircut. Also, when would I even find the time to get a haircut??

I always wonder if these moms enjoy getting this dressed up or if they somehow feel pressure from the other moms? Is it like the corporate world where everyone is expected to dress a certain way?

I know that even I have started to put more thought into what I should wear to playgroup. I have purposely picked nicer shoes to wear on several occasions.

Breaking the ice

When it comes to talking to moms at playgroup, the children do most of the work. I mostly stand around and wait for the children to interact with one another, which inevitably results in a small tussle over a toy or a chewed up piece of food on the floor.

This is a perfect opportunity to ask the standard parent icebreaker, “How old is your little one?” It’s best to never assume the child is a boy or a girl. Even if the child is wearing all pink and a tiara that says, “Little Miss Attitude”, I always wait for the parent to allude to the child’s gender. It’s just safer that way.

Are you a Stay at Home Dad?

After the icebreaker, most moms will ask me right away if I am a stay at home dad. When I reply that I AM a stay at home dad, more often than not I get a, “right on”. I’m never sure how I’m supposed to take that. Does this impress the moms? Why is being a stay at home dad met with an enthusiastic “right-on”? Does it have something to do with stereotypical gender roles? I never ask the follow up question because I feel like doing so could cross a boundary.

The conversation quickly turns to talking about our children, their milestones and their struggles.

I don’t know what moms talk to one another about but, when I talk to a mom at playgroup, the conversation is pretty light.

Participating in Activities

When it comes to helping out at playgroup, I feel the need to go above and beyond. As the only dad in the group, I feel like I should be doing more than my share of the work to combat the classic media headlines, “Moms do more chores than dads” or “Moms do more baby care than dads”. No one asked me to take on this task but I somehow feel I need to prove a point.

I always think that most dads would like to help out more at home but that, over the years, perhaps they lose the skills and then the desire to participate. I’m sure there are many instances where this isn’t the case, however, it seems to me that, when one parent is around a child more than the other, that parent understands the rhythms and routines better. Then, when the outside parent tries to replicate the game or routine, they inevitably do it wrong and lose confidence to try again.

So, is it Awkward Being a Dad at Playgroup?

I would never say anyone has made me feel awkward at playgroup. There are, however, limitations to being a dad at an all mom playgroup.

I have heard on a few occasions’ moms exchanging phone numbers and arranging separate play dates with their children. The reality is that, for me to attempt to arrange a one on one play date with another mom ultimately feels wrong. As harmless as it is, the questions that could arise from such a thing aren’t worth it.

So when I leave the playgroup, I go home with Benjamin knowing that I won’t see any of those moms or children until the next Wednesday when I’ll show up to the All Mom Playgroup in my runners and torque, do more than my share of the crumb sweeping, be impressed with the beachy waves all around me and try to avoid alluding to any child’s gender.

And, maybe, by next week, I’ll have gotten that haircut or a started my Whole 30 regimen… probably not, though.

Yes, I am a stay at home dad and this is how I survive playgroup.

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Don’t you Miss Working?

David Pierre   ·  

Thanks for Asking, Mom

A question that has come up quite a bit in the last little while, mostly from my family, is, “Don’t you miss working?”

First off, I find it comforting to know that spending all day catering to the needs of a semi-neurotic person isn’t work.

I guess it depends on how you define work.

From Dictionary.com

  1. “Activity involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a purpose or result.”

 I would argue that full time parenthood fully meets the requirements for so called “work” based on that definition… and anyone who has driven in a car longer than 15 minutes with a tired or hungry toddler would not dispute this point. On the highway, toddlers have an amazing ability to estimate the distance to the next off ramp. Shortly after passing an off ramp, its melt down time. Kicking, screaming, and turning beet red is all part of their strategy. However, the melt down isn’t actually about getting out of the car seat, it’s about testing your mental stability. Need proof? Within a few miles of the next off ramp, a toddler will calm right down to the point that you think another unnecessary stop isn’t needed. Once the ramp is a safe distance behind you, its melt down time again.

The mental and physical toll it takes on a parent to accomplish even the most basic task is challenging. The battle grounds are everywhere; diaper changes, dressing, baths, naps, food, not to mention the millions of things you never considered a safety hazard until you had kids.

Another Definition

Clearly, the definition above acknowledges the massive amount of effort that is required in order to raise another human being. So what else does Dictionary.com say?

  1. “Mental or physical activity as a means of earning income; employment.”

And there it is!

This is most certainly the definition society (minus physicists) think of when it comes to work. Heck, this is how I think of work! Work has always been about making money for me and probably always will be.

Raising another human being is different, though, and it’s honestly the most difficult ‘job’ I’ve ever had.

Well, now that I say that, I remember the summer I spent landscaping.

So, raising another human being is the second most difficult ‘job’ I’ve ever had.

Even with all the difficulty, however, being home with Benjamin is also the most rewarding and fulfilling ‘job’ I’ve ever had.

In between the battles, I get to see him grow every step of the way. I’m the first to witness his new words, his new toddler jokes, and I’m there to receive those rare hugs and kisses. I don’t wonder if his caregiver is mistreating him. I don’t wonder what he is being fed because I’m there to see it. All of it.

So, do I miss work?

As you’ve likely guessed after all this rambling, the answer to that question is complicated.

Are there days I wish I had an income? Yes.

Are there days I wish I could hang my head over my desk at work and listen to podcasts all day? Yes. (Favourite Podcast)

The all expenses paid work trips to Europe, very nice!

In reality, however, the perks accounted for a very small part of my work.

The majority of the time, work was a grey, stale cubicle setting. I sat at a desk all day listening to dull corporate conversations going on all around me. The heat was either too hot or too cold depending on whom you talked to in the lunchroom. I drank 40 liters (10 gallons?) of water a day just so I had a reason to get up from my desk and walk to the restroom.

9 hours a day, 5 days a week. It was in one word, depressing.

So, while I don’t actually miss work, what I would love is a bit more balance for both my wife and I.

My Wife Works

I am fortunate that my wife does all the working for our family. But I will admit, it isn’t fair. I often think about going back to work solely so that my wife can have an opportunity to be home with Benjamin.

In my mind, it doesn’t matter how many errands I run, diapers I change, or bathrooms I clean, it will never add as much value as bringing money into the home. That’s because our society runs on cold hard cash. I tried to pay for a latte the other day with used diapers and I was asked to leave.

Value is Nice and all

Salary.com had an interesting info graphic showing the value created by a stay at home mom.

(I ignored the “mom” part and read “parent”… what is this the 90’s?)

Anyway, the graphic estimates that a stay at home “parent” creates $112,962 worth of value in 90 hours of work.

Sadly, when I tried to use the graphic to buy a latte at another café, I was asked to leave once again.

All I can say is, the majority of families have two working parents. With no one staying home and both parents putting in at least a 40-hour work week outside the home, who does the 90 hours of staying home work??

It sounds exhausting!

Guilt Free Balance

I’ve had this discussion with my wife several times. Because my wife and I are both Geologists, in a perfect world, we would share one job. Both working 2.5 days a week while the other person is home with Benjamin. The 2 days on the weekend? Family time!

In my opinion, shared jobs create more value for families, parents, and corporations. Both parents share in the frustrations and benefits of cubicles (I would list the benefits if there were any) and both parents are adding to the latte fund.

Additionally, both parents share the frustrations and benefits of raising their child. One parent isn’t alienated because they don’t know the routines, behaviors, quirks, inside jokes, etc.

Finally, a corporation gets increased knowledge and increased productivity for the same yearly salary. Win-win for everyone.

Sadly this isn’t an option for us yet. A quick google search on job sharing in Canada reveals that the concept is used as a method for avoiding layoffs, but not as a method for creating better work-life balance.

You tell your Mom all that?

Okay, if you were smart and quickly scrolled through the above text, you now get the benefit of the shortened version:

When someone asks me if I miss work, I usually say, “hell no”!

What I DO wish, for ourselves and for all families, is a situation that yields more balance, where the efforts of both income earning and parenting are shared.

Until that perfect scenario comes to fruition, I’ll just be here making lattes at home and laughing at toddler fart jokes.

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