Full-Time Fatherhood: Hardest Job of All

Like an increasing number of people, I found myself unexpectedly without a job a few months ago. No, that’s not exactly right. Rather, while my wife, Debbie, spent her days as a social worker, I suddenly had two jobs, both at home: part-time free-lance writer/public relations executive and full-time househusband and parent for Derek, our 4-year-old son.

I had little preparation for the latter career, but intensive on-the-job training has taught me some of the basics of being a homemaker. I offer the following lessons I’ve learned for the consideration of other men who may be spending more time at home.

Lesson No. 1

Being a househusband is the toughest job I’ve ever had.

Whenever Debbie or another woman used to mention how hard it is to be a housewife, I would always nod my head in sympathy and mouth politically correct statements--”Are you now working inside or outside the home?” But I was really thinking, “Aw, c’mon. You should have a real job like mine, with constant, unreasonable deadlines, repetitive tasks and tyrannical and immature bosses.”

Now I know that no deadline is as inflexible as a child’s cry for breakfast, lunch or dinner, that the cooking--to say nothing of cleaning and washing--must be done over and over and over, and that a child can be the most demanding tyrant of all.

I never realized how much work it takes to keep a house running. The first few weeks at home, I was amazed to find that shopping, cooking and cleaning up for three meals could take the whole day.

But the household chores have been the easy part. The heavier burden--by far--has been entertaining, educating and disciplining my son.

Part of that burden is that I can never let down. I always have to keep up with a boy who has unlocked the mystery of perpetual motion. Every minute he may be about to eat a spider or throw a book through a window.

Even harder is the emotional toll. I never stop feeling for very long that I’m not doing enough for Derek. Yes, I may be giving him the right things to eat, but am I giving him the educational stimulation he needs? Is he watching too much television? Am I making enough opportunities for him to play outside? And do those playtimes foster an active imagination and develop motor skills? Am I giving him enough time with friends so that he’s learning social skills? And will those friends be a good or bad influence?

Oh, and is he happy?

Looking out for Derek also means always having to look at myself. I have to examine everything I do around him, for he is studying me and will surely mirror my slightest immaturity. I was a television sports addict until I heard Derek say that he couldn’t talk to me because he would miss one of his cartoons.

Dealing with all these physical and emotional burdens takes a lot of time, which brings me to:

Lesson No. 2

“Quality time” is a myth. If I want a relationship with Derek, I have to put in the hours. If I don’t, I miss out on my son’s life.

These past months have given me not just a chance to catch up on Derek’s intellectual growth, but to establish a deeper, richer relationship with my son. Recently, Derek intentionally misbehaved at a church picnic, and I punished him. In the past, discipline meant I got a few hours, perhaps as much as half a day, of the cold shoulder treatment from him. This time, after about five minutes, he walked up to me, plopped down on my lap and laid his head on my chest.

I thought about what had opened Derek’s heart to me. I hadn’t been giving him more presents, as our reduced income has eliminated most trips to the toy stores, video arcades and amusement parks. I had changed my behavior in only one way: I spent more time with him at home.

Looking back, I know I wanted so much to believe I could have it all, that I had accepted the peculiar notion that the quality of my time with Derek could make up for the lack of quantity.

But, I made no such assumption in any other area of my life. When I went out to dinner with Debbie, I made sure we could linger at the restaurant as long as we wanted. When I wanted to become a better jazz pianist, I practiced more. And I’d never told one of my bosses that I could go home early because the morning had been quality time.

Of course, spending more time with Derek leaves less time for other parts of my life, but I don’t mind at all, because of:

Lesson No. 3

Being a househusband is worth it.

One of the most demanding jobs in the world is also one of the most rewarding, with times where my joy is as strong as any I’ve ever felt. I’ve always known I feel something special for my son, but in these past few months I’ve grown hopelessly, uncontrollably, head-over-heels in love with him.

Since I’ve been home, I’ve gotten to play catch with him, and hear him squeal with delight when I toss a fluttering knuckleball--that he then asks me how to throw; take him to the doctor when he was sick, and hold and comfort him when a nurse had to take blood and give him shots; watch him imitate me as I exercise and hear him say, “Hey, Dad, we’re doing the same thing and we’re twins, right?”; watch him as he sleeps at the end of the day and feel amazed at the intensity of my love for him.

I got a job. My time at home ended. I accept the reality that, as Robert Bly says, the Industrial Revolution has assigned men jobs outside of the home. Plus, we need the extra money and security that a steady job will provide, and I genuinely enjoy my public relations career. But for as long as this period of unemployment lasted, I’m thankful.