Sample "Size" Matters: Part Deux

Raising a baby

And I Rant-ant-ant … I Rant so far A-Way-E-E. In the following rant I have changed the names to protect the guilty.  

I told you there would be a part two and like with any great sequel (e.g. Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights, Babe: Pig in the City,) this one will leave a taste in your mouth.

There’s another very important type of sample size when it comes to babies and it’s directly connected to rearing the darn things. I will spare you the full geekyness, but there’s a little known fact (actually it’s VERY known, but there’s no saying for that, so you get the former) in statistics called "Sample Size." By the way, did I mention that “sample size” is the title of this post? It’s an important concept when conducting research (e.g. social sciences research) as it can assist in dictating how much validity your outcome has when generalized to the public arena. It’s the reason why we can pull out significance from scholarly research, misconstrue it and then dump it into the evening news, The View, or Parenting Magazine. Basically, the larger your sample size, the more certain you can be that your study outcome can truly reflect the population you're aiming it towards.

From this I’m sure you can delineate that when samples are too small, they can lead to inaccurate results. This is true. Unfortunately, when it comes to raising babies, people seem to forget this basic statistical concept. I’m sure many new parents have experienced this. The moment you let people know you’re having a child, they immediately offer advice. Why is that? Why is it that when it comes to babies people dart for their first amendment right?

I’ve already heard general unhelpful advice like, “You know that having a baby will change your life forever,” “Raising a baby is difficult,” and “Oh, you’re lucky you’re having a boy.” Thanks general public, I absolutely had no clue. I wish you could have been there to point out other obvious things with cliché throughout my life’s journey. It even extended to more personal preferences like “Hey when you breastfeed ...” when we are not breastfeeding. I’ve received perplexed looks from people when I disclose this. Looks that express, “You mean you’re planning to harm your baby by giving them fake boob milk?? Do you hate your baby?”

Now, I don’t mind advice. In all honesty, I often seek it and I’m going to need a lot of it in the next few years. But when it comes to raising a baby you better have sample size behind you. What I’m saying is that you need a sample size larger than N=1, 2, or even 3. Being a parent is a very individual undertaking. Sure, there are some universals like, don’t shake the baby, it’s beneficial to change its diaper, or nurishment is good for them, but those aren’t the things people offer up. It’s specifics like TV watching, breast milk, baby proofing, toys, how to put them to sleep, etc. In most circumstances these parents have raised one or two children and that hardly reaches any sample size viable enough to offer any statistical significance let alone meaning to me. Let’s be honest: no one likes it when you show up with your “I raised one or two kids. Now let me generalize for you" documentary. Let me offer you a couple of quick examples.
 

Example #1: Explicit

My wonderful wife posted the picture below on Facebook with the following tag, “Adventures in parenting. Today's lesson: How to install a car seat.” We received a lot of likes and nice comments. And then there was this one by Val Kilmer: “It’s suppose to be in the middle by the way!” Now let’s ignore the fact that Val forgot that the correct word is “supposed” for a second and let’s focus on the context more closely. Instead of offering commentary on the wonder that my wife and I are about to undertake with having our first child and how amazing that journey is, Val decided to insert unsolicited critical advice about how we were installing said car seat incorrectly, when in fact we were not.

 

Example #2: Implicit

My wonderful wife and I were at a friend’s house for a party. In a conversation with my wife, Donna Martin, and Andrea Zuckerman I was talking about how I’m taking a year off from work to stay home with the baby. The only caveat is that I have to work as a psychotherapist at my college one day a week through December to qualify for my paternity leave. No big deal and I love the work. I told the ladies that when my wife eventually goes back to work, I would be more than happy to get up through the night to care for the baby every time except for the night before I’m seeing a full caseload of clients – that’s 6 days a week for those who are counting. As I was sharing this thinking it was a very nice thing to do, I was met with dismissive smirks and looks that said, “Right, you have no clue how hard it’s going to be and it’s cute that you think you’ll be able to accomplish that.” Again, let’s look closer at the context. These women, one of whom has a baby and the other who has only conceived potato chip dip, decided to mock the idea rather than show support to someone who was demonstrating proactive care and compassion for his baby as well as his wife. I mean, no shit, it’s going to be difficult … really difficult and exhausting, but look at any single parent or any parent with a crappy partner that doesn’t help. They all have to do it on their own for stretches of time.

The above issues aren’t novel or rare. It’s just disheartening to have to experience them along with your excitement. I could just ignore them, but then I wouldn’t have any fodder for my blog and who wants to live in that world. I think one explanation is that a lot of people just really want to be acknowledged for their experience in raising a baby. From a social psychological standpoint, one can say it’s kind of like the persistent “look at me” condition that sadly rests all too comfortably in our society today. It’s what allows a sample size of one (N=1) to generalize to the world. I do want to help though, so I’ll leave those flawed researchers out there with this:

Only you and your family give a poop about how you raised your child.

And that’s beautiful. It’s beautiful because raising children is an individual, exciting, and personal journey. I hope that you’ll take this to heart and hold those moments to yourself as well as allow others to create their own. You most likely have good advice, but it means more to us new parents when we solicit it from you so that we can enter into a meaningful conversation. Now, if you fear that you may relapse and volunteer advice, just remember the Octomom has a larger sample size than you. You’ll need to catch up to her before you can submit guidance. You may not agree with her lifestyle, but she is in fact raising, feeding, and changing a hoard of babies without your help. And if you still think you want to share, I strongly encourage you to use this Sample Size Calculator first. Feel free to ask me for help. 

Whew! Rant over. That felt good. Sorry for the length.

Sample "Size" Matters: Part 1

It’s absolutely true. Size DOES matter. Just ask any person in the world, hell even query the damn universe. I know for a fact that size matters (or rather 'Sample Size') when it comes to two very specific things:

1) Making a baby and 2) Raising a baby. Let me break this down for you.

Part #1: Making a Baby
I may have previously spoken to this, but my wife and I spent a large portion of last year going through fertility treatments. By and far she had the worst of it having to go through a daily routine which included self-administering shots. I can’t even begin to know the emotional toll this experience had on her … actually I can since I’m a caring husband and a psychotherapist. Let me tell you it’s a hard-hitting and draining road to do so much and be let down time after time. And it’s very easy to feel hopeless in this experience. My wife is an amazing person and she is such a remarkable woman for having gone through this (please read her amazing blog post on this experience).

For me, it was a bit different. My semen analysis was, well, eh. My instructions were to put no alcohol in my system, work out, eat better, get healthier, take daily pills, and give them samples upon request – which I did. The only odd part of this experience was trying to give my sample while hearing conversations in the hallway of the clinic. It’s not that I felt awkward with a 2-inch thick door separating me from the staff or that it was inferred that I was supposed to sit on a bench covered with noisy paper that everyone else has sat on before to … you know; it’s just that I’m a very curious person. Trust me, it’s pretty easy to get distracted and caught up when you hear how Gina’s boyfriend Jake was seen with LaTonya at the Olive Garden and Jake doesn’t even like Italian food.

My road was in no way as difficult as my wife’s but it still affected me. It’s hard to hear, “Dr. Dino, your sperm’s motility, morphology, and volume are not as fantastic as we would have hoped.” Basically the Doc was calling my sperm “adorable.” In fact, at a later time, when my wife was getting her IUI a different doctor said to her, "What company are you using for your sperm? You may want to switch to a different donor with stronger numbers." With all of this happening, I wondered how much machismo would get my way in accepting and talking about this. After all, I am half Puerto Rican. But on the other hand, I’m not that macho - Remember?? I both love to watch and cover my eyes during “The Walking Dead.”
 
I was ok with this from a genetic and biological framework, as this happens but, at the same time, I also blamed myself for making it even harder on us. My reaction was not the stereotypical He-Man response and I was not “Master of the Universe” (see what I did there?). I was filled with deflation. I didn’t want to add to our difficulties or the demise of any probability in having a child. So, I did what any loving partner would do, I sat in my deflated position for a while and then I reacted with purpose. I planned on doing everything I could personally do to increase our probability. It wasn’t easy though, especially after a couple of times of non-success. It can make a person wonder if this work is for nothing and If we’re doing this all to have the memory of not being able to make more memories. I guess what I’m saying is that it’s tough to be strong. My wife and I talked a lot during these times with reassurance, hope, tears, sadness and any other emotion on the feeling continuum. I’m happy that we had each other through this and we are very fortunate that things worked out. Our hearts towards each other were big and eventually so was my dashing sperm. Proof number one that sample size matters within these sample size matters.  

And stay tuned for Part #2: Raising a Baby.

Terms of Engorgement

I thought only my wife’s boobs were supposed to get big.

But, man, check out my moobs. I swear they weren’t this big before. Well, thus far my life has been closely following those daddy-to-be books, and weight gain has been no exception. Many books talk about how fathers will experience sympathy pregnancy symptoms, also known as Couvade Syndrome. Couvade Syndrome is a condition where the father-to-be experiences pregnancy symptoms such as weight gain, morning sickness, insomnia, labor pains, mood swings, messed up sleep and even postpartum depression. But who gives a crap about that laundry list, I’m getting fat! In fat, I mean in FACT, some studies claim that men gain around 14 LBs during their partner’s prego state, and I’ve been steadily reaching that apex.

I would never have believed it could happen to me. On the one hand I’ve always been pretty active and watched what I eat. And on the other hand I’ve never really noticed any of my “dad-friends” gain this weight. I mean every sitcom dad, who was originally trim, stayed trim during their pregnancy. On “Scrubs,” J.D. didn’t become Heavy D, on “The Office,” Jim Halpert never became Fat Halpert and On “Fat Albert,” well … I never saw a kid so his situation might have been glandular. My point is that this weight gain has really snuck up on me.

To be honest, it’s off-putting. When I met my wife I actually had those diagonal muscles next to my stomach and now they have more of a curviness quality. In this state of my crisis I’m just trying to avoid having to buy new, bigger clothing, so I’ve been trying to hit the gym more and eat healthier. But it’s difficult. It’s tough to choose the gym over working on my kid’s room or on the house, but mostly it’s tough to work out when I don’t have the same energy that used to push me there. I actually used to love working out and now I sweat just getting changed for the gym. And, yes, my clothes situation has changed. I think I cut my wardrobe by a third based on what still fits.

It’s also very challenging to eat a salad when my wife suggests mac and cheese and tater tots for dinner (which I love), or we have the opportunity to celebrate “Burger Month” at Margaretville (which we just did). The one great thing about this experience is that I can feel and eat like a kid again. I also get to share these “too tired for the gym” and “let’s eat pizza rolls for dinner” experiences with my wife. In a way I get the sense that she experiences this as empathy on some level.  

But I know I’m not healthy and it’s time to turn things around. Gaining weight also has the ability to make people feel poorly about themselves and I want to catch it before it reaches that point. My thinking in writing this post is to call myself out. I want to be a ball of energy for when Baby Dino arrives. After all, I am home with him for a full year so I need to be on my toes. I also want to be able to run across the house to soothe him when necessary (because, let’s be honest, who wants a crying baby in the next room from you). So I begin a pledge to myself today of becoming a more energetic and active father for my baby. I will not be staring in “Who’s eating all of Gilbert’s Grapes,” or playing Rose DeWitt in Titanic (though I would still let Leo paint me naked … I mean, who wouldn’t?). My final promise to you is that you will never find me out of breath rocking the little one in my new stylish and contemporary rocking chair, rather you will find me rocking and rolling with the little one in my new stylish and contemporary rocking chair.

Celebrating “Burger Month” At Margaretville with the Ultimate Burger Melt

(Photo credit: My Awesome Wife)

My Baby Hates Me

A magical moment occurred. My wife felt the baby moving around in her belly. How amazing is that!? There were mini- kicks and punches a la David Carrradine (Of course I’m referring to the Carradine from “Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, not the one just “hanging out” in his garage). This indeed was a great moment for us in the development of our baby and family.

Up to this point we’ve only been able to experience a pixilation of our child as he danced around and flashed us on a computer monitor (which for some reason is only positioned for those laying on the gurney). It’s been awesome to see the little one move around and hear his adorable heartbeat, but it’s time to step it up a notch! For the past few weeks my wife has been grabbing my hand and placing it on her belly when she feels the baby. I felt nothing and then I felt nothing and after that, I again felt nothing. My baby must hate me.

In a book I recently examined, it talked about how the father-to-be may experience some jealously when it comes to their partner feeling the baby much sooner. Poppy-Cock! I know I have Womb Envy but this is ridiculous. Well, the book was right … color me green. Days and weeks went by with my wife feeling the baby and I nothing. I’ve tried singing, talking in a weird high pitched-raspy voice, reading, and even knocking on my wife’s belly to see if he’s home, but again I felt nothing. I came to the foregone conclusion that my baby does indeed hate me. This was a tough few weeks for me. I didn’t enter into a clinical depression or an adjustment disorder with depressed mood, but I was down and this was a weird feeling. This was something I was really looking forward to and it was difficult not to experience it when I wanted to.

Well, my 3 weeks of “the blues” ended one night while watching TV. As my wife placed my hand on her belly, I felt a punch and I let out a geschrei! Could this be the little whippersnapper!? It was indeed! My very own baby let me feel him. Now it wasn’t as strong as a donkey kick or that scene from the movie “Aliens,” (though it is true that in the womb, no one can hear you scream) but it was fantastic.

For the next week I was prepared to feel him kick like a machine. I kept my hand at my side Iike a gunner in wild west duel and … nothing. My baby still hates me? What! Now, I’m a patient man, but this was getting ridiculous. I have a friend that’s due on the same day and he can feel his baby kick all the time. Just as I was starting to doubt that the punch I felt was real, last night I felt an array of kicks from the nino. It was like the Rockettes were doing an encore (not Roxette, though they probably look similar at this point in his gestation), there were more kicks than a Stride Rite, It was a football game that went to 4^th down every series, my wife had a “kick-me” sign on the inside of her belly, he was here to kick ass and chew bubble gum and was all out of bubble gum. I was so excited that I wanted to do a pratfall like a soccer player or an aspiring actor who’s probably in an improv troupe named “Harry Plotter,” “Home IMPROVment,” or “Cactus Vinegar and the Holy Peanut Butter .” I hope this great feeling continues and my baby keeps saying hello to me. I know that my baby loves me and of course I have similar feelings towards him. I’ll admit it though; it’s nice to feel his little kicks. It’s an added bonus and makes me want him to arrive even sooner. One thing for sure is I’m going to “Billy Madison” it up alot. I know my baby will love it, but my wife on the other hand, well ….

 

Baby’s Room For Improvement

Did you get it? It’s a “Before-and-After” type phrase from the popular game show “Wheel of Fortune.” I really wanted to title this, “Check out that baby’s caulk!” but for some reason my Ego and Superego got together to put a cap in my Id’s ass. It happens …
 

Well if you didn’t get the title, this post has to do with getting our baby boy’s room ready for his August arrival. Now I’m not what you’d consider a “conventional male” when it comes to fixing things. My only educational experience was a house wiring class that I crushed in high school. Man, I was so good at wiring that the teacher took me aside and encouraged me to go into that profession. I politely declined, subsequently went through 5 different majors in college and now work with the Human Brain’s house wiring … so maybe he had something after all.

I get very excited when thinking about our baby. It’s a very emotional experience for me as I reflect on all the potential wonder he’ll bring into my life. Part of my current excitement is getting the baby’s room up to snuff. As I mentioned, I don’t particularly possess the competencies to do construction-type things, but I’ve been getting better. My father-in-law has shown me a lot and he’s been a great help. In the past two years I’ve stumbled through installing doors & door trim, tiling & grouting, installing base trim & crown molding, painting, sanding, woodworking, changing electrical outlets and of course caulk … oh the caulk. There have been generous amounts of caulk in our relationship, but I feel like it’s brought us closer. I’ve been putting a lot of work into the baby’s room and it’s turning out great. And doing this work has also reinforced some thinking for me.

As fathers, we don’t get to feel the same initial bond with our child that the mother does. This makes sense logically and medically as we don’t have wombs. However, in my mind we don’t have to be a stranger to experiencing that feeling. As I’ve been finding ways to increase this emotional connection it hit me, “I’m a part of creating the baby’s next womb!” It’s a cool reframe when you think about it. Since this reframe I often find myself sitting in the baby’s room, taking it all in, and thinking, “I helped create this for my child.” It’s a wonderful feeling and one can’t help but smile. At this point I’m just about done with working on the foundation of the Baby’s second home sans furniture. I’ve aptly named it “Womb 2: Electric Boogaloo” (Or maybe you prefer “Baby Dr. Dino and the Temple of Womb,” or “Legally Baby 2: Red, White and Womb”). At this point, the “Temple of Womb” is the Cadillac of wombs with fancy new paint, brand spanking new electrical outlets and trim, and, of course, crown molding. And let’s not forget about the copious amounts of caulk … it’s a baby boy after all.

Doing this work I’ve been feeling an even stronger bond with my child. I think it’s very important, as a father, to find little ways to increase your understanding and bond with your baby. In addition to my Extreme Womb Makeover, I’ve been talking to my wife, reading books and talking with fathers and fathers-to-be. It’s important to feel that attachment and connection to your child as early as you can as it also assists with your identity formation regarding becoming a father. It’s good stuff.

In the meantime, I will continue doing my best Tim Allen impression. Not the one where he was arrested for a DUI and again for pound and a half of cocaine (man that’s a butt load of coke!) but, rather, the impression of him fumbling through home improvements because he cares about the family that will be affected by them. This impression is for the new incoming love of my life. Here’s to you baby boy, I hope you like your new digs.

 

 

Sex Dreams.

Everyone loves a good sex dream. Especially us dudes, because we think about sex every 7 seconds. That’s oodles of X-rated cognitions if you do the math, or PG-13 ones if you’re a first-base kind of guy. But contrary to social myth there’s a recent study that came out of The Ohio State University – an institution that’s property of the University of Florida by the way – which suggests that it’s more like 19 times a day. If you break this down, men are actually thinking about sex about every 1.26 hours. Therefore, we aren’t day dreaming about sex as much as we think we are. So come on guys, get with the program! And ladies, you’re only thinking about sex around 10 times a day. It’s time to raise that bar too.

Now day dreaming about sex is one thing, but dreaming at night that’s a whole other ball of sex ... I mean wax. But that’s not really the type of dreams I’m referring to in this post (sorry for the misdirection). So let’s dive into my REAL sex dreams – dreams about the sex of our baby.

 

A lot of people have asked me if we’re going to find out the sex of our baby and I always answer them the same way.  From a Supermanish-Heismany pose (depending on the fortnight) I bellow, “Of course we are!” Now, I’m not poo pooing on people who want this surprise because, as with all baby breeding and growing decisions, it’s a very personal choice (as it should be). One person’s “I must be surprised!” is another person’s “I must find out!” so to each his own. But, while we’re still waiting to find out our baby’s sex from the doctor, I am busy analyzing my own future foretelling dreams – 4 dreams to be specific. Let’s dive in, shall we?

Dream 1: Girls, Girls, Girls.

On the eve of December 16th I finished a nightcap, put on my nightcap and laid down for a restful slumber. That night I dreamt that my wife had just given birth to a beautiful bouncing baby girl. This was a wonderful dream to experience as we’ve been struggling through fertility treatments for some time at this point. All of a sudden I was awakened by my wife and in a groggy state I heard her say, “We’re pregnant!”  Fantastic news! Derrick you ARE the Father! It felt amazing and in the back of my head I was thinking, “aw yeah, I knew it.” So that’s it! I’m a psychic and we are absolutely having a girl.

Now, dream one obviously happened very early on in the pregnancy but dreams 2, 3, and 4 happened just last week (about a week before finding out the baby’s sex) on the same morning. I actually woke up in-between each dream to explain them to my wife. Weird morning.

Dream 2: Hello Nurse!

This one was simple and to the point.  We were in the hospital and my wife was giving birth. When the baby finally came out the nurse held him/her high and exclaimed, “Its 85% a boy!” What? How does this help me at all “nurse in my dream?” What kind of medical school did you go to? What can this mean? The nurse could be telling us that our baby is going to be emotionally both genders (which if your read my last post, emotional intelligence is cool with me), or have a gender identity that was mixed and that’s cool too. Obviously this dream was not helpful and now I’m questioning that nurse’s education from Everest (I have to start telling myself, “Just because Everest has a ton of commercials during Jeremy Kyle and Maury doesn’t mean it’s good”). That’s it! I’m sticking with dream #1. We are absolutely having a girl.

Dream 3: Bakers Dozen.

Everyone loves pastry, well except me which was why this dream was a bit weird. It was 21 plus weeks into the pregnancy and we were cliché enough to have the doctor place the baby’s sex in a sealed envelope for us to give to the Publix bakery (which I don’t get at all. I would much rather find out the sex of our baby while my wife and I are holding hands and looking at the baby bounce around in the sonogram – but that’s just me. Remember these are all personal choices). The confectionary artists were to bake a cake around a certain color of frosting connected to the baby’s sex (i.e. blue for boy and pink for girl). We brought the cake home and when we cut into it, it had both colors. OK, so now the baby is 50% one sex? These Publix bakers are worse than that nurse, but at least this brought me back to reality. In my non-dream state, the baby could be either as well … so I’m good. Again, I’m sticking with dream #1. We are absolutely having a girl.

 Dream 4: Jesus H. Heist!

Jesus gives birth to our baby. That’s right! Just because we don’t practice or believe in any particular religion it doesn’t mean that Jesus can’t be a part of this exciting moment. So here we are, in a dramatic scene with Jesus lying on his back in a disheveled robe with his sandals high in the stirrups … sweating through his crown of thorns, pushing, sacrificing (you’re picturing this aren’t you). The baby is resurrected and Jesus speaks with excitement, “What is it, what is it?!” The nurse then turns to him, tilts her head and says, “You should know, you’re Jesus.” Fuck! That damn nurse screwed me again! But I think I can figure this out. OK, if Jesus is the son of God and he was reborn as himself then he would be … a boy, that’s right a boy!  As long as I don’t count that Joan Osborne song, Jesus declares that we are absolutely having a boy. And if you know a thing or two about dreams, people in your dreams are typically a projection of yourself … so that must make me Jesus. Therefore, since I’m having one of me, we are having a boy. OK, I’m sticking with dream #4. We are absolutely having a boy.

Or maybe a girl. Shit. On one hand the predictive dream claims a girl and on the other Jesus (i.e. me) claims we are having a boy. How does one pick? It’s my psychic ability vs. I, the creator of heaven and earth. I say screw it all and let’s leave this up to science. Bring on that sonogram because I need to know if it will be Pink Tonka Trucks or Blue Easy Bake Ovens for this kid!

Reality 1 – April 9, 2013

And the Sonogram indicated … twigs and berries … that’s right, twigs and berries. It’s a boy! So I guess me as Jesus knows more than me as Psychic. Good to know.

 

 

Don't Shun Me Bro ...

Ovulate-Shunned? Ovula-Shunned? Oh, It’s Ovulay – Shunned! I get it now! Allow myself to introduce ... myself. I am Dr. Dino: a soon-to-be first-time father, associate professor of clinical mental health counseling, psychotherapist, author, podcaster, and just a squirrel trying to get a nut. It’s been an exciting and interesting 19 weeks of knowing my wife and I are going to have a baby. I wouldn’t call myself “shunned” as of yet (though I’ve already been completely ignored in a maternity store) but I have been experiencing what it’s like to be a future dad in a world that’s designed for the one carrying the baby. It’s not an unfamiliar world as I’ve experienced parallel feelings when preparing for our wedding (read my experience in “Hus-Banned” in my lovely wife’s blog “A Life UnderConstruction”). My hope is that, through this blog, I can share some of my experiences with you and maybe we can empathize and learn from each other.

I would call myself an emotionally intelligent person and that is why I believe that I have found the search for Dad knowledge to be a bit off-putting. Yes, it’s true that I’m a man, but I also wouldn’t put myself in a stereotypical societal category that defines masculinity. I look at myself as an individual who has been involved in some “masculine” activities (e.g. retired mediocre 6-year rugby player, scotch enthusiast, gym rat … when I get in a zone, handy around the house, lover of AMC’s “The Walking Dead”) as well as a man that can competently express his feelings (e.g. share my experiences and thoughts with my wife, afraid of AMC’s “The Walking Dead”). So, when I pursued materials on the experiences of becoming a father you can imagine my dismay when it was mostly skewed to the former.

I sent the following Facebook message to my friends: “A Call to my People! I’m wondering if anyone knows of a good book or books for expecting fathers that do not create metaphors related to the following topics: cars & mechanics, power tools, my ‘boys’ swimming, beer & kegs, fishing, cavemen & survival guide mentalities, and the word ‘dude.’ Essentially, I’m looking for a book which assumes that men have the ability to hold a level of emotional intelligence. Thanks in advance!”

Now, I’ve used the term “emotional intelligence” a couple of times here so let me explain what I mean. Essentially, an individual with emotional intelligence has the ability to: (1) bring awareness to his or her current emotions, (2) they have an awareness of how these emotions influence their thoughts, behaviors, and reactions, and (3) they know how to have positive interactions with people and issues without allowing these emotions to take full control (i.e. the emotion becomes a part of healthy expression and interaction). More specifically, Daniel Goleman introduced a model that describes emotional intelligence though the following five main constructs.

1. Self-awareness – the ability to know one's emotions, strengths, weaknesses, drives, values and goals, and recognize their impact on others while using gut feelings to guide decisions.
2. Self-regulation – involves controlling or redirecting one's disruptive emotions and impulses and adapting to changing circumstances.
3. Social skill – managing relationships to move people in the desired direction
4. Empathy - considering other people's feelings, especially when making decisions
5. Motivation - being driven to achieve for the sake of achievement.

You can imagine that these traits would be quite useful, in addition to what a “man” is supposed to be, through the course of child rearing. Because of this, it’s been my drive to view fatherhood from a different perspective.  

Anyway, back to my Facebook message. I received some great, witty and thought provoking responses including the following from a close friend: “ummm...sorry but those metaphors are men things!!! I know my dad did a great and many of those things he taught and discussed with me...and still does!!! Many of life's learning experiences can come from those subjects..”  

Well, I hope one of those things didn’t include the word “dude,” but I think that he has a point ... well I agree with him, TO a point at least. Now I don’t want to come off as man bashing in this post (after all I played rugby and watch “The Walking Dead”), but I rather hope we can reevaluate our definition of what “being a man is.” I don’t denounce my friend’s viewpoint or personal experience, but I also hope for so much more. I believe that men have evolved to encompass attributes that go beyond what society (or let’s face it … what I) would call “stereotypical gender elements.” This would include some of what my friend refers to, but also higher levels of emotional intelligence and what some might consider combined masculine and feminine traits. Personally, I would like to read about that. I don’t need an app or book to tell me not to honk my wife’s now larger hooters and then to tell me not to call them “hooters.” I want to be the total package for my pregnant wife and child (hee hee, I said, “package”). 

Currently, I’m reading “Becoming a dad: The first three years” by John C. Carr, LSCW. It’s a good book and has steered away from correlating my wife’s trimesters with carburetors. It treats me like a person and gives a great overview of both “what to expect” and how to react to it in a holistic way. My Facebook peers have also suggested “The Expectant Father,” which is on deck.  

Becoming a dad has been an exciting and frightening experience for me and I know it’s important to respect both feelings. The next few months will be filled with baby room preparation, unsolicited advice, name section, biological and in-law parent reactions, caring for the three of us, trips to stores that don’t know what to do with me, etc. In addition, I am very fortunate that I’m able to take a year off from my professor gig (fully paid) to watch our child develop. This will surely add to the interesting experiences I encounter. It’ll be a great ride and I hope you can join me in it. Peace out Playas … well until next time!