My son turns 1 year this week, so we need to debrief. Gather around.
Zion was born in a beautiful hospital in New Jersey, USA in October 2021. If you want to know how I pulled that off, read this post (Spoiler alert: I didn't).
I remember ugly-crying while recording Zion's first minutes in the world. I'd rather leak a sex tape than share those videos of me crying. Zion was so tiny and looked nothing like me (a good thing). I still don't think he looks like me, but this is contentious. Come and visit us and place your votes.
Let's back up a bit ⏪: the hospital COVID protocols were strict when Zion was born, so only one person was allowed to accompany my wife in the delivery room. After trying to pull off Ugandan-esque tricks to sneak me and my wife's mum into the room(s), we realized we were not in Kawempe (a beleaguered town in Kampala, Uganda) and there was no one to give a ✌🏾soda✌🏾 in exchange for circumventing hospital policy. My wife, mama, and I sat in the waiting area as we waited to be told how high to jump. It was a beautiful crisp white Instagram-ready waiting area, with Selling Sunset potted plants in the right places, and posh seats. Several nurses buzzed up and down until my wife's contractions synchronized with my pulse. We got our marching orders: there could only be one companion. I deferred to my wife: this method will save your relationship. My wife, with great trepidation, told mama I had to be the one to remain. It was my baby, so I had to go through the process. It sounded like a threat but I responded with quiet acquiescence.
In the delivery room, I manned my little station beside my wife's bed like a Buckingham palace guard. I took instructions well: this method will save your relationship. I held her hand. I kissed her forehead, made soothing sounds, and offered words of encouragement. I fetched caregivers, comfort food, and cups of tea. I fetched caregivers, comfort food, and cups of tea. I fetched caregivers, comfort food, and cups of tea
Childbirth is hard, man. Mansplainly speaking. Despite our desire to deliver naturally, we weren’t able to. We stalled for natural birth as long as we could. Eventually, my wife was wheeled into the operating room (OR) for a C-section. I draped ill-fitting scrubs over my 12-hour OOTD and strutted the runway to the OR, crippling anxiety in tow.
In the OR, she lay on the table in the center of the room. I stood near her head, caressing her scalp to provide comfort. The lights were so bright you could see my sins and insecurities. There was a giant sheet curtain at her waist separating the doctors from us, the mere mortals in distress. A few minutes after I stumbled into the OR, Zion let out his first squeal. A squeal we would become intimately familiar with. Our biases set in: "he has such a beautiful cry." "He is so beautiful." "He is perfect." This is how you never believe your child can be the school hoodlum. The bias starts in the delivery room amid cute coos and subtle smiles.
After the doctor's rapid show-and-tell for proof of life, the nurses took Zion to the measuring station. That’s where they divined if he would be a toxic male with a podcast and pitiful opinions. No. Not really. The nurse told us he was above average height. But that’s probably what they tell all the other parents they flirt with.
After a couple of days in the hospital, searching for sleep and the right breastfeeding angles, we went home. Zion was healthy.
After 1 year, Zion has taught me a lot:
1. Repetition repetition repetition
Zion will wake up and do the same thing every day with the same—nay, incremental—excitement. That persistence and repetition allow him to master things like stuffing food in his mouth piecemeal instead of the usual whole-hand-down-throat method. That persistence lets him crawl. That persistence lets him walk.
2. Fear failure not
Zion learns things quickly because failure is just a chance to return with a few tweaks. This is why children can learn multiple languages quickly. While you’re afraid to pronounce “genre” or “Veuve Clicquot” aloud, a child will make a game out of the permutations of pronunciations.
3. Fall upwards
You know the joke about being dropped on your head as a child? I thought my child would never fall or hit his head. LOL. Babies fall and keep falling until they fall a little less. It’s inspirational.
4. Routines build royals
Breakfast at this time. Lunch at that time. Play for X hours. Go to bed at this time. Babies are well managed and they love it. Adults could thrive under the same conditions.
5. The present is a gift
Grant it, we don't know what babies are thinking while they mumble cute sounds and randomly break into heart-melting smiles. But I can bet they don’t worry about yesterday or tomorrow. They just focus on the box the new shiny toy came in. Not the toy you spent all that money on, of course. The box, though 🔥. The present is a gift.
You can't wait til they start sleeping longer. Then you wish they would slow down. You want them to feed themselves. Then you want them to stop clearing the whole loaf of bread. Stop it. The present is a gift.
6. Forgive and forget
After the furious cries of sleep training, you'd think you'd have to win back their affection in the morning. Smiles and giggles greet you at dawn instead.
1 complaint
The one thing we shouldn’t learn from babies is their valuation of uninterrupted sleep. That one, they need to reconsider.
Happy Birthday, Zion. Daddy loves you.
Have a blessed week ✌🏾
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