Tied

Babies? Not so easy to put back together.

And there’s all these perils we have to be mindful of—soft spots, necks that can’t support heads, nasty-looking belly buttons waiting to fall off . . . don’t get me f**king started on the circumcision. Men aren’t good multitaskers, remember?

So for most, infant care is an activity best left to the mothers.

Most—but not me. Because I cut my teeth on Mackenzie. When she was an infant, I wasn’t around for the nighttime routine stuff, but I learned a lot about everything else. If a man can change a baby girl’s diaper, there is nothing he can’t accomplish. So, because I have her infancy under my belt, and because I’m pretty much awesome at anything I do, I’m not intimidated by James’s crying. It’s not a fun part of fatherhood—but I can deal.

I shift him from my shoulder to cradle him in my arms.

“Whaaa, whaaa, whaaa . . .”

“Hey, buddy, what’s with the tears? You don’t have to cry—I’m gonna have you back to sleep in no time.”

I grab a pacifier off the dresser and tease it into his mouth. Whimpering, he gives it a few sucks before opening his mouth to screech because he realizes it’s not the real thing. I catch it before it falls to the floor.

Then I sit in the rocking chair. “Yeah, I know it’s not what you really want. And I don’t blame you—your mom’s boobs are spectacular. But . . . you gotta take what you can get. And right now, this little piece of plastic is the next best thing.”

I slide it between his lips again, and this time he doesn’t reject it. He sucks rapidly and his eyes fall closed for a moment before he drags them back open—a sure sign he’s exhausted but fighting it. I rock slowly in the chair and tap his ass gently in a steady beat.

In a soothing whisper I tell him, “You want to hear what your old man did today? I set up a fifty-million-dollar acquisition for a man who invented a new app. He’s kind of a tool. When you’re older, you’ll learn the world is full of tools. Anyway, this particular tool didn’t think the deal was good enough, so Daddy had to explain to him why it was. First I showed him . . .”

You don’t really want to hear the rest, do you? Suffice it to say, twenty minutes later, James was out cold. I kiss his forehead and lay him back in his crib. Then I go out to the living room looking for some quality time with my girlfriend. I find Kate on the couch, with a still-half-full basket of clothes next to her.

She doesn’t acknowledge me right away—and she’s not folding clothes anymore. She’s holding a pair of baby socks in each hand, unnervingly staring off into space. In deep thought.

Usually for guys, when our women are contemplating something serious? It’s a bad sign.

Cautiously I sit down next to her. “The baby’s asleep.”

Her blank expression doesn’t change. “That’s good.”

“Kate? You okay?”

Snapping out of wherever she was, she turns to me quickly and tries to blow it off. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Fine—a red flag if there ever was one.

I don’t waste time with pleasantries. “Fuck fine—what’s wrong?”

She focuses her attention on the socks. “I just realized . . . this is my life now.”

I try hard to decipher the hidden female message in that statement—and come up with zilch. “O-kay . . . and . . . ?”

“And folding clothes, dirty dishes, afternoon walks, naptimes, changing diapers . . . that’s my life. That’s what I have to look forward to.”

“Well . . . changing diapers won’t last forever. And in two more weeks I’ll be able to make you cum again in numerous, illicit ways—that’s something worth looking forward to.”

That gets a chuckle out of her, but it’s halfhearted. “I’m a terrible person.”

I rub her shoulder. “If you’re a terrible person, I’m in some seriously deep shit.”

This time her smile is a bit more genuine. “I love James, Drew. Love . . . isn’t even a strong enough word . . .”

I nod, because I and any parent know exactly what she means.

“. . . and I know how lucky I am. Lots of women would kill to be able to stay home full-time with their kids. I really am grateful for the life I have—but I never thought this would be all I’d have.”

And the tears start to fall. Big ones.

In the days after James’s birth, he wasn’t the only one on a bawling binge.

Kate was a mess.

I thought I understood the havoc hormones can wreak on the female personality—but I didn’t understand jack. Pregnancy hormones are a whole other animal entirely. She cried because James was beautiful, she cried because she loved me so much, and because of how much I love her. She cried when James cried, and when he slept or if he sneezed. She cried because she hadn’t lost all the baby weight two days after he was born, the way those motherfucking evil, narcissistic celebrities make women feel they should.

Even though I’m accustomed to my son’s crying jags, seeing Kate cry will never be something I’m okay with.

My chest tightens, squeezing my heart as she wipes at her cheeks. “I feel so guilty for missing work—for watching you walk out that door in the morning and wishing it was me. How screwed up is that?”

I rub her back and tell her the truth: “It’s not screwed up at all.”

Kate looks at me with surprise in her eyes.