Like most males my age, I grew up reading and loving comic books. There's something universal about wanting to be special, to have some kind of superpower that makes you different from everyone else, to be able to go out and slay the monsters of the world and be adored by all. There's a reason you see the same basic stories, the same hero archetypes, throughout the mythology of cultures all over the world - Greek, Egyptian, Norse, Chinese, etc - they all share some basic common themes. Part of me always wondered what drove those mythic men and women to such feats of prowess in the first place.
But I digress. My point of this somewhat rambling post is that you don't have to look for comic books or ancient mythology to find a superhero - just look to any parent anywhere. Since having Liam a little over two months ago, Kristen and I have joined the ranks of parent superheroes, and have gained some superpowers of our own. All parents share some basic superpowers - the ability to function on 1-2 hour catnaps spaced hours apart; being able to simultaneously hear the whisper of a baby's cry from miles away and ignore the 100+ decibel noise of a vacuum (or other white noise maker) calming an otherwise inconsolable baby; holding back the murderous rage that erupts over getting your coffee with 2 creams instead of 1 (or some other ridiculously small slight that, pre-baby, wouldn't have made you bat an eyelash).
Parents also develop some of our own, more unique superpowers. Kristen, for example, has gone beyond the normal parent super-hearing to develop an auditory sense that rivals bats or dolphins - I'm pretty sure she can hear baby's cries in the next county, and I swear I've seen her navigate pitch dark rooms littered with obstacles through echo-location alone. For myself, I've developed the talent of sleeping anywhere, anytime. I'm not talking your garden variety "oh he can sleep on a noisy bus" kind of ability - that's for college kids and other such amateurs. I'm talking about sleeping while continuing to do tasks that only require lesser brain functions. I've found myself "waking up" after 15-20 minutes of my higher brain sleeping while I continued to walk Liam through the house, bouncing him and shushing in his ear to keep him calm and blessedly quiet.
There is, however, a dirty little secret about superheroes that you don't hear about in the comic books or the old myths:
Even heroes need rest.
I'm fairly sure that the Silver Surfer got to make a pit stop or two between cruising the universe looking for suitable worlds to munch on. I guarantee that Hercules (or Heracles, if you prefer), stopped for a bite to eat between his epic labors. That's where the old heroes of lore differ from the modern day variety: parents don't really get a break.
As all parents know, this is a full time, 24 hour a day, nonstop job. For those of us with slightly more challenging babies, like Liam, this is especially true.
Here's a typical day in the life of our two heroes, Kristen and Zach - at least right now:
We'll start with the first feeding of a normal day person - that is to say, anywhere from 5 to 7 AM, which I would define as the normal start of your average non-parent. Liam wakes up from sleeping with either me or Kristen (because he cannot sleep by himself - he just screams), and somewhere between five and 60 seconds begins to cry, and cannot be calmed until the feeding begins. He starts breast feeding with Kristen, which will last generally last about an hour to an hour and a half. At this time, our intrepid father is usually feeding the dogs, washing dishes, maybe putting some diapers in the laundry, trying to get ready to work, or if it's a blessed non-workday, getting some breakfast for himself and his fellow hero. At this point I usually get to leave and go to work, leaving our incredibly brave mother to deal with Liam alone – an occurrence for which I always feel guilty.
Every now and then, Kristen gets to get up and actually do something with Liam: perhaps put him in a wrap and go for a walk, or just move about the house as a normal person would. More often than not, however, she is tied to the chair with him for the day, as he begins to scream the moment you set him down outside of the arms of our intrepid heroes, and does not stop crying until he is picked back up and soothed for some amount of time. We have yet to dare waiting him out - our constitutions aren't up to that.
Fast forward approximately 8 hours. I arrive home, generally during my beginning of another long feeding. I quickly change, perhaps try to do a few chores, and then take Liam from Kristen to give her a much-needed break. As soon as he is done breast-feeding, I quickly turn on the vacuum and walk him around the house while bouncing - this is usually the only way that he will be calm during evening hours. Sometimes he will sleep for a bit at this point; other times, not. If he does nod off, I am always quick to lay down on the couch and join him – the old adage about sleeping while the baby sleeps is incredibly true. At this point, Kristen generally starts off her break by pumping – she never gets the chance to do this during the day while I'm gone. She then follows this up by taking a shower, actually eating a complete meal, or any other basics of life that we take for granted before we have children.
Hopefully, I can either keep him calm or he sleeps long enough for Kristen to grab a few winks yourself. We follow this up with our midnight feeding, which between the actual breast-feeding, burping, diaper changing, and calming down, tends to last about two and half hours. Generally I then sack out on the couch with Liam sleeping on my chest. Rinse and repeat.
Oh, I should note that at this point that generally any time Liam is not nursing or sleeping, he is grunting, wailing, or outright screaming. There have been a few exceptions to this rule, but so far, they have been rare indeed. Liam is unfortunately a very poor self calmer. Having my engineering background, I like to compare his emotional stability to the classic engineering definition of (in)stability - his mood is like a ball perfectly balanced on top of a round hill. Any nudge on that ball, and the ball goes one way or the other, and cannot return to the center without an outside force intervening. As soon as he starts screaming, he just gets himself more worked up, spiraling downwards towards an inconsolable rage unless Kristen or I intervene in time.
There are some bright points for the heroes of the story: my aforementioned sleeping superpower usually rubs off on Liam - as long as he is sleeping with me, he generally has one sleep cycle a night where he sleeps anywhere from four to even six hours a time. This is a huge improvement over the early days of 2 hours at a time. He has also shown a few rare instances of wakeful happiness where he has actually allowed us to play and interact with him. Hopefully these will become more prevalent with time (we keep hearing they will, but can only chalk this up to wishful thinking at this point). His horrible colic was diagnosed as such by my mother, Martha, and we've since been giving him Gripe Water with every feeding, which seems to really help - he's merely normal fussy as opposed to inconsolably, ear-shatteringly crying. And, for all this, we are incredibly thankful that Liam is merely challenging and not impossible due to any kind of illness or abnormality - he's perfectly healthy, and except for his recent bouts of colic, hasn't required any kind of medicine or extra care from the pediatrician. My heart and soul go out to the parents out there who have to deal with those burdens on top of the normal insanity of an infant.
Ok, since this post has moved on to novella length, I'll wrap it up. At least I finally know what drove all those heroes throughout history to their magnificent feats, to be chronicled in man's memory for all time: they needed something easier than taking care of their babies.
