Bad Parent: Face-Off
Fights I've had with my three month old.
by Elisha Cooper
December 26, 2006
Why are parents so obsessed with the first time their babies do anything?
The first smile, the first step, the first word. It's exciting, yes. I get excited, too. But firstism borders on obsession. And it's inaccurate. So much of parenting has to do with failing. Why not remember the bad things? The first time the baby was dropped in the bath, the first time she choked on a prune. In short, why is everything supposed to be good? In that spirit, the first time I drowned my daughter in milk was in late September.
Zoë had never taken a bottle. We had a plan to change this. One day Elise
went to her office on campus for the morning and left me and Zoë alone.
We thought it would be easier to give Zoë a bottle when Elise's breasts
were not in the vicinity. >I held Zoë in my arms as I warmed the milk and
talked with her softly about the fantastic thing she would soon experience.
Then I sat in the rocking chair, leaned her back, and inserted the nipple.
As the nipple went into Zoë's mouth, a sound came out that might be comparable
to what would happen if I tried to feed her a cattle prod. This was unnerving.
I moved her to another position, turned on some classical music, tried again.
The cattle prod wasn't working. Our morning turned into a downward spiral of
screams and spilled milk and snot. I was doing something terribly wrong; and I
would have to do it again. I think Zoë senses my frustration and feeds off it as opposed to the milk in the bottle.
Round two came two days later, once Zoë and I had both recovered. Elise
went to campus, leaving us alone again. I heated the milk, prepared the soothing
nursing environment and inserted the cattle prod. Zoë started bellowing
immediately. Again I changed positions, but her crying only intensified. I
held her too tightly
and she pooped and I ran upstairs and changed her diaper, her legs straight
and quivering. And because she was on her back, she threw up what little milk
had gotten into her and gagged and started shrieking as if I was killing her,
which I sort of felt like I was, or at least like I wanted to. So I shoved
a pacifier into her mouth, which only made her throw up more. I had completely
lost my cool. She was furious. I was furious. She was screaming, I was screaming
inside. My jaw felt like it was made of steel. Finally, I went for a walk outside,
as I figured it would be more difficult for me to strangle my daughter and
dispose of her body in view of the neighbors.
Parenting is not a competition I am having with Elise, but I do know that if it is one, it is one that I am losing. She's got the biological edge (who wouldn't prefer Elise's breasts?), so I know Zoë's rejection of me isn't personal. But Elise also has something essential that I do not have. She has the ability to deal with frustration, while I am a hair-trigger away from disaster. I can't shake the feeling that Zoë is onto this — that this is, in fact, personal. I think Zoë senses my frustration and feeds off it as opposed to the milk in the bottle. And what baby would respond to a father who says, "Drink the damn milk, please!"?
©2006 Elisha Cooper and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Elisha Cooper is a children's book author and illustrator. His most recent book is a memoir, published this fall by Pantheon Books,
entitled Crawling: A Father's First Year. |
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