It’s hard to believe it’s already been two months since Evie was born. Overall, I still love being a dad. It’s the most rewarding role I’ve ever had, but I won’t pretend it isn’t exhausting.
Joni continues to be an absolute rockstar. She sleeps like a champion, adapts to whatever schedule we throw at her, and has entered what I think is her cutest phase yet. She’s walking everywhere now and talking up a storm. She still has an uncanny ability to charm complete strangers, and it seems like every day she picks up another word or phrase. Right now her favorites are “no”, which somehow comes out sounding exactly like Kevin Hart, and “cheese” and “please,” which she pronounces with the same emphatic little staccato rhythm. She toddles through life with complete confidence and reckless abandon, blissfully unaware that gravity is still undefeated. My favorite part of this stage, though, is that we’re finally beginning to communicate. She’s becoming less of a baby and more of a tiny person with her own thoughts, opinions, and an emerging sense of humor. Watching her personality unfold has been one of the greatest joys of my life.
Evie, on the other hand, is currently in what I would call my least favorite stage of infancy. The first time around, sleepless nights felt novel. Every new challenge was just another milestone of becoming a parent. The second time through, the novelty has worn off. Sleep deprivation isn’t exciting anymore; it’s simply exhausting. Evie also seems to need much more physical contact than Joni ever did. If one of us isn’t holding her, she’s usually working her way through increasingly urgent levels of protest until someone picks her up. She’s still incredibly cute, full of those wonderful little newborn stretches, squeaks, and expressions that somehow make you forget the previous night’s lack of sleep. But both Emily and I are eagerly awaiting a little more routine, especially if that routine involves sleeping through the night.
Having two children has also changed the logistics of…well…everything. The amount of equipment required to leave the house is staggering. Diaper bags, bottles, extra clothes, strollers, baby carriers, toys, blankets, it feels like we’re moving every time we leave the driveway. On our recent trip we even had to upgrade our rental car to a full-size SUV just to fit three adults, two kids, and the mountain of gear that apparently accompanies them. Traveling is unquestionably harder than it was with one child, although both girls have actually handled it remarkably well. I suspect the real challenges are still ahead of us, but for now I’m holding onto the hope that a little carefully rationed screen time on airplanes will prove to be a worthwhile investment.
I’ve also noticed something about myself this summer that I haven’t entirely figured out. I’m more frustrated than I remember being the first time around. It’s easy to assume that frustration comes from having two kids instead of one, but I don’t actually think that’s true. Joni has been wonderful, and while Evie certainly requires more attention, I don’t think she’s the whole story either.
Life outside of parenting has been unusually heavy. We’re dealing with the looming uncertainty of our home’s flooding issues, the boat has developed its own list of problems, work has been demanding, and it feels like there’s always another problem waiting around the corner. Individually, none of those things seem overwhelming. Together, they create a kind of background weight that I’m carrying every day. I find myself so focused on solving today’s problems that it’s difficult to think about tomorrow.
Emily, understandably, wants to dream about the future. She wants to plan trips, projects, and what’s next for our family. I want those things too. Lately, though, I’ve found myself struggling just to keep up with the present, and that’s created some tension between us. I don’t think either of us is wrong, we’re simply standing in different places emotionally right now.
Writing this down has reminded me that seasons don’t last forever. Parenting changes. Babies sleep. Problems get solved. Floods recede. Boats get repaired. Children grow. I know this difficult stretch is temporary, even if it doesn’t always feel that way in the middle of another sleepless night.
My hope is that by the end of the summer I’ll read this entry, smile a little, and realize that this was simply another season of life that we made it through together.
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