Everything’s fine
Mel's away, and we're okay. Seriously. We're fine.
Can you hear that?
Listen closely.
Really listen.
Lean forward, tilt your head to the side, twist your neck and open your ear hole.
Hear it?
No?
How about now?
Try harder. It may be faint but it’s there.
It’s the sound of the world’s tiniest orchestral violin. But it’s not playing those sad songs you’d expect—songs of pity and gloom. It’s playing sweet, sweet melodies. Tunes of triumph and valor. And it’s playing them for me.
Because I did it. I marched steadfastly through my first stint as a single Dad. 3 days and 4 nights on the front lines. Emotional mortars and madness at every turn. No respite, no rest. No reprieve for humble old Al.
Spare a thought, ok?
But spare no more than a thought.
Keep the accolades, while welcome and warranted, to yourself. Because I’m a humble guy and don’t want to make a big deal about it or anything.
Just another day in the life, you know what I mean?
And seriously, it was fine.
Really, it was.
It was fine until it wasn’t.
And when it wasn’t fine, it wasn’t pretty, either.
Like on the first night, when Maala decided to release her backed-up bowels at 2:00 am with the enthusiasm of a Japanese tour group, leaving me feverishly looking for wipes like a squirrel dashing between trees in a New York dog run.
For childless readers, there’s no more disturbing experience than being stabbed awake by the shrieks and ear-wincing whines of a desperate child who needs to be cleaned and comforted as you're enveloped in a smell that would make a skunk check its pits.
But seriously, it was fine.
It was fine except for the next day when I picked her up from daycare and instead of the welcome smiles and hugs I was hopeful for, she disintegrated into a burning ball of fury. All because it was Dad, not Mum, picking her up. She flailed her body across the filthy concrete in protest of my presence and ensured every soul within 3 miles felt her anguish.
But it was fine, seriously.
It was fine except at the playground when I tried to put her in the stroller and she bludgeoned my manhood with errant punches and wild kicks. At that moment, as I was crumpled over like a bag of wet sand, I shared a knowing glance with a fellow father who I imagine was just happy it was me, not him, today.
But seriously, it was fine.
It was fine except for the second night when Maala pinned herself between our bed and the wall. Inconsolable and uncontrollable, she tore through the quiet night with 2 hours of guttural wailing that eventually caused her to vomit all over herself. Thankfully, the cry-vomit knocked her out and we all were able to rest our weary souls for a few hours.
So in the end, it was fine. Seriously, it was.
It was fine except for the third afternoon when she said she wanted to go to the park, so we went to the park. But when we got to the park, she said she didn’t want to go to the park anymore. So we left the park. But as we were leaving the park, she decided she actually did want to go to the park. So then I started back for the park and when we arrived at the park for the second time, she said what she actually wanted was an apple.
So yeah, everything’s fine.
As I said, I’m not here to make a big deal about it; that’s not my style. I keep things understated. We’ve all got problems—there’s no need to get dramatic or to play the victim.
The world sure as heck doesn’t revolve around me.
But you do hear that violin, right? Cause I f*cking nailed this parenting thing.
Seriously.
How have I missed these brilliantly written, joyous explosions of life stories?? Am now a dedicated subscriber! Great work and thank you, Allan!!