Thought this post was lost: I'll just leave it here
I got a chance to talk to some friends that I only connect with a couple of times a year. It was nice, if too brief; the idea that I can get across six months of my life in an hour long phone call has always been laughable.
No, we do what we always do. It's a mixture of jokes, remeniscence, and catching up, and it never seems to be enough of any one, even though it's another kind of enough - to remind you that you miss the other people. To remind you that they are no less important for their distance.
During the conversation, they asked what it felt like to be a new father, and I said I was tired. It's an old joke, and they laughed, noting that everyone says that.
Thing is, it's the truth.
I was trying to find a way to sort of explain this to them, because I had a very difficult time wrapping my head around the idea before I found myself knee deep in it. Because we've all been tired. I pulled all-nighters in college. Had nights that sleep was just out of reach, hours crawling by and leaving a depleted husk for the next day's work. Pets wake people up in the night, strange noises at odd hours...the thing is, everyone can imagine how tired a new parent is.
At first.
I'm six months into it now, and I have not had a full night of sleep in that time. It changes a person. I am very glad to note that I wake up and try to figure out what's wrong with him - I'm not mad, not even upset. This is my new reality and it is really, really hard.
When I was talking to my friends, I mentioned the all nighter. I talked about how I didn't really remember all of it. That wasn't the whole of it, but I was trying to give them a picture of what sleeping like this does to a person's memory. It's weird. It's selective. It's not something that one can be prepared for.
And when that's the part that gets isolated, it sounds a whole lot like a weird version of detainee day camp. But that isn't all it is. I have a baby who smiles when he hears my voice. I get to play with him, and teach him, and watch him change every day. Granted, those memories probably aren't sticking with the clarity I'm used to, but his mom is taking a lot of pictures.
I still can't explain it. But for some reason I feel like I should try. It won't change anything, really. No matter how fine a point I hone it down to, it won't be the same as living it. Maybe it's just a solidarity thing. Perhaps someone might read this and think "I remember that - wow" or someone might read it before the experince only to think back on it and say "oh, I get it now - this is normal".
Maybe lack of sleep has me slowly losing my mind. Guess we'll never really know.
No, we do what we always do. It's a mixture of jokes, remeniscence, and catching up, and it never seems to be enough of any one, even though it's another kind of enough - to remind you that you miss the other people. To remind you that they are no less important for their distance.
During the conversation, they asked what it felt like to be a new father, and I said I was tired. It's an old joke, and they laughed, noting that everyone says that.
Thing is, it's the truth.
I was trying to find a way to sort of explain this to them, because I had a very difficult time wrapping my head around the idea before I found myself knee deep in it. Because we've all been tired. I pulled all-nighters in college. Had nights that sleep was just out of reach, hours crawling by and leaving a depleted husk for the next day's work. Pets wake people up in the night, strange noises at odd hours...the thing is, everyone can imagine how tired a new parent is.
At first.
I'm six months into it now, and I have not had a full night of sleep in that time. It changes a person. I am very glad to note that I wake up and try to figure out what's wrong with him - I'm not mad, not even upset. This is my new reality and it is really, really hard.
When I was talking to my friends, I mentioned the all nighter. I talked about how I didn't really remember all of it. That wasn't the whole of it, but I was trying to give them a picture of what sleeping like this does to a person's memory. It's weird. It's selective. It's not something that one can be prepared for.
And when that's the part that gets isolated, it sounds a whole lot like a weird version of detainee day camp. But that isn't all it is. I have a baby who smiles when he hears my voice. I get to play with him, and teach him, and watch him change every day. Granted, those memories probably aren't sticking with the clarity I'm used to, but his mom is taking a lot of pictures.
I still can't explain it. But for some reason I feel like I should try. It won't change anything, really. No matter how fine a point I hone it down to, it won't be the same as living it. Maybe it's just a solidarity thing. Perhaps someone might read this and think "I remember that - wow" or someone might read it before the experince only to think back on it and say "oh, I get it now - this is normal".
Maybe lack of sleep has me slowly losing my mind. Guess we'll never really know.