It was December 2002. At a holiday party for the boating magazine I worked at, I listened as my wife, Becky, who was eight months pregnant, talked with my boss, Betsy. They were discussing how clueless I was . . . even though I was standing right there.
“I don’t think he has any idea what’s in store for him,” said my wife.
“Oh, me neither,” said Betsy, shaking her head. “Definitely not.”
I smiled politely. After all, Betsy was my boss, the top editor at the magazine. But, in my head, I scoffed at them. They were nuts! I had it all covered. The plan was I would leave my full-time editorial job at the magazine the following month to raise the kid and work doing freelance writing and some part-time editing. How hard could it be?
Becky had concerns that I wouldn’t have time to work. She said raising a child was probably going to be a lot more work than I thought it was. I assured her, I knew the reality was that parenting would be demanding and a lot of work. But, I was confident I could do it.
I kept saying it would be easy early on. Newborn babies don’t move. When the baby’s laying there or napping, I’d work. When the kid starts moving? I’d find time during naps and the evening. How hard could it be? I remembered my mom watching soap operas during the afternoon. I just wouldn’t watch soap operas. “This will be easy,” I remember saying.
Fast forward five months.
“Is everything okay?”
Betsy wasn’t making polite conversation. She was staring me in the eye with a serious look of concern on her face as she asked the question.
I had gone into the office to look over some pages and make some edits. Becky had returned to work several weeks earlier, and this was my first trip into my office since then. I had Emma in a car carrier, and I’d tied a balloon to the handle to give her some entertainment in case she got fussy. I had a diaper bag on my other shoulder, and a small cooler with a bottle in case she needed it. I’d fed and changed her just before heading in, hoping to avoid as much baby maintenance as possible.
Em was an easy-going baby. She didn’t fuss unless she was hungry or had a dirty diaper, and she was laid back when people held her.
Of course, everyone in the office was excited to see a baby. They all rushed over to look at her, make googly sounds and silly faces.
And then I noticed something weird.
As they turned away from Emma to look at me, they’d have a smile. But when they saw me that smile suddenly vanished and they’d look very serious. It was like they had a jolt. They’d then get awkward, look away, and go back to work. I probably wouldn’t have noticed if it was just one person, but it happened repeatedly. Something was off.
I was in an office doing work with Em next to me when Betsy came in and asked that if I had a second when I was done if I could talk to her in her office. So, once I was done with my work, I walked into her office carrying Emma along. When she asked me to close the door, I thought it was weird. Is this serious?
“Is everything okay?”
Betsy always had a no BS personality. She wasn’t the kind of person who if you had a booger on your nose was going to be polite and pretend it wasn’t there, leaving you to find it three hours later when you look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. No, she would look you dead in the eye and without any hesitation or sugar-coating would say “You have a booger on your nose.” It might sometimes leave your ego bruised a bit, but you always knew where you stood with her.
The tone of her question was straightforward and serious. It was a bit unnerving, but I rolled with it.
“Yeah, things are going alright. The baby’s doing well…”
“I mean, with you.”
“Yeah, I’m adjusting to fatherhood—”
“With your health. Are you okay?”
“…Yeah. Why?”
“You’re so . . . thin.”
She didn’t say “thin” like “Hey, you lost a little weight, I see. You look great. Been working out?” It was “thin” like “Are you dying?”
This was her first time seeing me in months. Apparently, I looked downright skeletal. Now, those uncomfortable looks everyone in the office was giving me made sense.
I hadn’t realized I’d been losing weight. I hadn’t thought about weight or weighed myself. I hadn’t had time to think about it (or much else).
When I got home I realized I’d lost 10 pounds since Becky had gone back to work just a few weeks ago. At the time I didn’t have a lot to lose in the first place. I stand 5 foot 7 on a good day. I was 145 when Emma was born, and likely more when Becky was home and people were bringing us food and we were eating lots takeout. Now I was at 135, a weight hadn’t seen in nearly 10 years. The reviews weren’t great.
Once Becky went back to work, baby duty was all on me during the days. Looking back, I’m still not sure how I was so busy. On paper, it really should have been easy. The kid didn’t move yet. But somehow I was straight out with all the diaper changing, bottle feeding, and a whole lot of cooing and singing and talking and just staring for hours at this beautiful little baby. I was so preoccupied that I was apparently forgetting to eat enough.
Once she was satisfied that I wasn’t dying, Betsy and I talked about parenting life. If she thought “I told you so” when she discovered how busy I was with it, she didn’t say it. But, man, was she right.
She told me I should write a blog about being a stay-a-home dad. I thought it was a great idea. Of course, it never happened. I didn’t have time to feed myself and barely had time to go to the bathroom (I mastered the “power poop” during this time), and the kid wasn’t even moving yet.
After scaring everyone at my office, I made sure to start eating regularly. I quickly regained those 10 pounds I had lost, and quickly added another 10 pounds for good measure. You can’t be too careful.