It starts in the back, just below the shoulder. It’s the first reminder, every day, of the day to come.
I’m not sure if the pain is real. It’s gone every day around noon. But if my son doesn’t wake me up, the pressure does.
It reminds me to keep moving. Not that I need the help. My son will be escaping his playpen any minute now, and I’ll be forced to chase after him, lest he finally figures out how to open the door this time.
I don’t know how to talk to people about that pressure. When I do, it inevitably relates back to “just being a dad”. It is as pervasive in my life now as feedings and diaper changes.
I don’t talk about it, because frankly, no one wants to deal with it. People want pictures of the baby. Updates on his day. There isn’t a lot of room to talk about the every day aches and pains of an old dad.
But still, it persists.
It persists regardless of how tired or fussy my son is. It continues through the entire programming run of PBS Kids. It soldiers on whether or not my friends are available to talk online.
And so I go with it. A few Tylenol here, a quick stretch there, and the pressure’s gone, for a bit. I play games with my son and take him on little adventures, and for most of the hours I can’t feel it.
But it always comes back. I’m not sure the pressure ever leaves. It gets buried behind the orders of the day. The bottle dishes and the diaper changes and the story time and playing catch have to come first. There’s going to be time to deal with the pressure later.
I can deal with it after work, or after the gym. I can deal with it after bath time and bed time. A few hours on the couch, or in front of the keyboard, and maybe a quick stretch, and it’ll be alleviated for an hour or two.
That’s all I need really. Just an hour or two to bring a little elasticity back. It won’t do much, probably, but it’s enough for now.
The pressure’s not going anywhere. But we’ve got things to do tomorrow.
Holy Sh*t I'm a Dad 