“You don’t have to do it,” Elaine said. All our beach stuff was set up. Sienna was already having fun in the sand. That left me standing there taking deep breaths.

“I DO have to,” I replied, looking everywhere but at my wife and daughter. I hadn’t had two surgeries to correct gynecomastia and three years of laser treatment on my back just to chicken out when the time came. I took off my hat and tossed it aside. My hat’s like Linus’ security blanket. I’ve worn one as much as possible ever since I was a kid; it just makes me feel safer, though it couldn’t protect me against cruel pranks when I was at camp. Another deep breath and off went my shirt. I’d purposely worn my “Breaking Bad” t-shirt thinking this would be my “Heisenberg” moment. I know Walter White isn’t the best character to emulate, but I looked at it like a chance to take control, to leave the self-loathing defeatist I am behind with just the removal of my shirt.

“Is anyone looking?” I desperately asked Elaine.

“No one. No one cares.”

“I’m still so big,” I said. I scanned my fellow beach goers, my brain conveniently and automatically deleting everyone except those who seemed genetically bred or lived their lives in a gym.

“You’re not big at all. The guy right over there is twice the size of you. It’s ok. You’re ok. We’ve got to get sunscreen on you.”

I stood as Elaine sprayed sunscreen all over my cottage cheese-colored body. I hadn’t been to the beach in more than seven years. The last time was when Elaine and I had visited the Dominican Republic. That time she’d shaved my back and I spent the whole time imagining people were staring at the stubble. It had been more than twenty-eight years since my body was devoid of both gynecomastia and back hair, more than twenty-eight years of taunts and teases; of one kid pointing out to everyone else that I robotically tugged the neck of my shirt forward each time I came out of the house so that when I got on the camp van, everyone was laughing at me; of a 17-year-old kid, a head taller than me and a real jerk who would go on to date a girl on whom I’d had a major crush, looking down the back of my shirt and yelling out in front of everyone, “Damn your back is hairy!!”; more than 28 years filled with similar stories and events, of hiding my defects as best as possible and hating myself. Physically there was no more need to hide.

I kept repeating, aloud, that no one was looking at me. I tried standing straight, something difficult and exhausting since my shoulders now lean forward after years of hunching. We took Sienna’s hands and headed down to the water to let her feel the waves splash and rush around her feet for the first time. She was in heaven!

“Do it for her. Do it for her. No one’s looking at you. Do it for her.”

I tentatively walked deeper into the water as Elaine held onto Sienna. It was cold, but not freezing. I took a look back and then dove into the water. I swam for a bit and looked back. Sienna’s eyes remained locked onto mine. Elaine kept telling her to look at Daddy. I made my way back to my wife and daughter and then the three of us returned to our little spot on the beach. Sienna went right for her pail and shovel. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Elaine told me to just lie down and relax. “Relax!” I commanded myself. “No one’s looking!” I forced my arms not to cross over my chest. I lay in the sun. Sienna played in the sand under Elaine’s watchful eye.

We stayed at the beach for a few hours before deciding it was time to give Sienna lunch and head home so she could nap. We packed up and headed to the boardwalk. Elaine took off Sienna’s swim diaper and washed her in the shower. I stood watching, wondering what it was like to not know shame. I worried for Sienna. I never want her to know that awful feeling, though I know I’ll never be able to completely protect her from it. Children will tease and bully her, but she’ll never get any of that from me. I’ll be the one to soothe her and tell her she’s beautiful, and should anything crazy appear (like my gynecomastia did for me), I’ll make sure it’s corrected ASAP.

We had lunch and drove home. Sienna passed out in the car. Elaine told me she was so proud of me. She kept her hand on my thigh. I started feeling shaky as soon as we got home. Elaine ordered me to the bedroom and put Sienna down for her nap. I felt I needed to blog, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even look at our beach pictures. Elaine came into the room and I said I HAD to blog and she said I didn’t, that I’d write when I could. Guilt about not being able to blog was crushing me. I don’t know how long it was between that and my breakdown – not a simple panic attack, but a full-on breakdown. I was in hysterics. Tears, shaking, stuttering. I held tightly to Elaine who hugged back, telling me she was proud, that I was courageous, that I’d accomplished something huge, that a year ago I never would have been able to drive to the beach, make the day all about Sienna, and drive back before losing it. I felt like I was looking down at my quivering body from somewhere else, trying to figure out why I was bawling and trembling.

At some point I started repeating, “My dad said I’m as big as house!” and crying harder. I’m not sure when he actually said this. I’d buried the memory, apparently, but I do know that growing up, my father showed massive intolerance and derisiveness towards overweight people; both myself and my mom were heavy. It was just one part of dad’s personality which at times was viciously sarcastic and bullying. He also blatantly favored my sister. My dad is no longer like this. It is incredibly important that it be said that father has completely changed and he and I have a great relationship now. I love him. I think he’s a wonderful father and grandfather. I trust him as much as I can trust anyone. I know he’d never hurt me and that he feels miserable about my childhood. So to any family members out there that might be reading this, know that I forgave my dad a long time ago, but apparently the child in me remains hurt and buried memories keep surfacing. There just one of the reasons I’m still in therapy and on medication. I repeat: I love my dad. He is NOT the same person.

Elaine said the breakdown lasted about an hour. I felt guilty that I couldn’t help with Sienna’s dinner, but Elaine said we were a team and she’d take care of everything. Mentally drained, I fell asleep. I was supposed to go to the movies that night, but my movie buddy canceled. Still, I awoke and decided to go anyway. I needed to get out. Elaine asked if I was ok to drive and I said I was and so I went to see Fruitvale Station, an excellent film. A year ago I wouldn’t have been able to go out; I would have been bedridden for days. I recognize these things, but I don’t feel them. That’s something I still need to fix. My therapist always tells me my feelings are irrational and irrelevant.

After the movie I went home, read for a bit, and fell asleep thinking it was all over. It wasn’t. To be continued as soon as I’m able…

I forgot to turn the baby monitor on last night which, as you’d expect, meant Sienna was due for a nightmare. I woke up sometime before 6 when Elaine brought our hysterical daughter into our bed. I hadn’t heard her screaming, but Elaine had. Apparently she went into Sienna’s room and the girl was an absolute wreck – wailing like a banshee, tears and snot streaking down her face, body trembling. She could have been screaming for hours before Elaine finally heard her for all we know. My amazing wife did her best to comfort her, rocking her in a chair, but the trembling and crying didn’t stop. Eventually she decided to bring her to our room and soon afterwards, Sienna calmed down. After about an hour or so, she fell asleep.

I don’t remember much. I recall stroking Sienna’s hair and back while half asleep. At one point I went to the bathroom which evidently led to Sienna going nuts and calling out, “Daddy! Daddy!” until I came back. I never heard this, but Elaine told me about it while she was getting ready for work. I have to say that although I felt some surprise, the overwhelming emotion filling my body was love…love for this little girl who was so terrified that I’d left the room. She needed me! My daughter needed me and through her words and actions showed her love for me.

It makes me wonder about that nightmare. Was I in it? Did something bad happen to me? Is that why she panicked when I left the room? You know, it doesn’t matter. I’d rather think she needed the security of both of us in that moment and she freaked when I left. Regardless, this nightmare proved a few things: 1) Sienna calls me “Daddy” 2) She needs and loves me 3) I can no longer think of a time when I loved my daughter more.

Sienna’s napping now and I hope her dreams are sweet. And Daddy, who thanks to an awful nightmare got to experience a deep feeling of love, will be right here when she awakes.

One thing that Elaine and I are consciously attempting to avoid is being “one-uppers” (people that hear or see the progress or accomplishments of someone else’s children and then come back with something like, “XXX sang the National Anthem at 11 months!”). There’s pride and then there’s obnoxiousness. There’s a statement of fact and then there’s boasting. There’s natural conversation and then there’s setting a dangerous precedent. I know that every parent feels their child is extra special. I’m no different, especially since I never thought I’d have a girlfriend, let alone a child. However, that doesn’t mean Sienna is extra special in the grand scheme of life. She’s just extra special to me, Elaine and probably members of my immediate family. I try my best not to let that personal feeling affect how I interact with people regarding my daughter.

For the most part I tend not to tell people about Sienna’s developmental progress or if I’m talking to someone and the topic comes up, I just say she did so-and-so at whatever month and leave it at that. Sienna walked early and when asked about it, I’m realistic. It’s an awesome thing, sure, but man, it also means extra months of me chasing after her! She’s an early climber, which is great, but it also means that I have to watch her like a hawk earlier than I would have liked. Her pediatrician says that she’s months ahead of where she should be, and while I’m proud of her, I know that I’m losing less time for myself, and for a stay-at-home dad, that’s a bit difficult. There are so many times when I just want to leave her in her crib because I’m tired or I want to take care of something, but I know I can’t. That’s something you lose as your child gets older and develops skills. It’s not a bad thing, but it can be exhausting physically and mentally.

One thing I do worry quite a lot about is posting on Facebook. Like almost everyone, I post about some of her developmental milestones. She crawled! She walked! She said, “Daddy!” I can’t help those things, because I’m so excited and proud and want to share it, but I feel anxious that people will misread it as gloating or feel inadequate because their children are progressing at a different rate. When I posted that Sienna walked for the first time, one of my friends responded that he was upset that his son who is 3-5 months older (not sure exactly) still hadn’t taken his first step. Such things makes me nervous about posting on Facebook even though I want to share the joy I feel about my daughter.

The same can be said when it comes to posting photos. My best friend told me to take tons and tons of photos because I’ll forget each stage as Sienna grows. And so I try not to leave the apartment with Sienna without having my camera. I then post tons of pics on Facebook mostly because I like making ridiculous captions and so my family and friends can share in the pics if they so choose, but I know there are people out there who could care less. I always feel anxious about posting pics; I don’t want people to feel I’m boasting.

The dangerous precedent I referred to earlier when it comes to being a “one-upper” is unhealthy competition, both for the parent and the child. I’m no better than anyone else (in fact, through therapy I’m still trying to learn that I’m just as good as anyone else, though right now, that belief remains elusive). And Sienna? Well, she’s no better than any other 16-mo-old.

I plan to blog about the perils of competition some other time; I feel competition warped my self-worth long before I had a chance to create an identity. But today it’s all about one-upping. In my opinion, one-upping can lead the parent into an awful behavioral pattern while the child inadvertently absorbs pressure and perhaps, even the belief that he/she is superior to someone else. Maybe that’s one of the thing that leads to bullying? Who knows? It’s certainly possible.

Question: “So what did you do before you were a full-time stay-at-home dad?”

Answer: “Hamana-hamana-hamana!“

I hate that question. I never know how to answer it because I’m embarrassed by my work history and eventually I feel the need to disclose that I had a nervous breakdown. I really wish people didn’t consider work so important or such a categorical thing. It’s hard enough for me to have to internally battle the irrational definition of success that I’ve lived with most of my life without also having to deal with the feeling that I’m then going to be judged by those who ask me about my past work. It’s something I dread each time I meet someone new.

Today we were supposed to have a NYC Dads Group meetup at Fort Totten which has a nice playground and soccer field and is located close to the Throgs Neck Bridge. It’s a rarity that there’s a meetup in Queens, and this one had 7 other dads going including the event coordinator. I didn’t RSVP for the event until this morning because Sienna has been getting over a cold, so I wanted to make sure she was healthy enough to go; I didn’t want her to infect anyone else. Anyway, I got to Fort Totten and discovered that the event coordinator couldn’t make it, but the meetup was still on. I flushed with anxiety immediately because the event coordinator was the only person I knew who was going to be there. I debated going home, but decided to try and get through the meetup. I stood at the entrance to the park for 20 minutes and then posted a couple of messages, but no one responded. I finally headed to the playground in hopes of finding someone.

I let Sienna loose and stood around hoping for another dad to show up. I posted a pic (the same pic at the top of this entry) on FB and noted that I was anxious and indeed I was. Finally a guy came up to me and asked if I was with the Dads Group. Whew! At least one other person showed up! He told me his name and introduced me to his adorable 4-yr-old daughter. Then came the dreaded questions: “What do you do?” “Where did you work before becoming a stay-at-home dad?” Despite hearing them so often, these questions always stop me in my tracks. I become very vague. I worked in film for awhile. I worked in administration. Inside my stomach churns and pure disgust runs through my blood vessels. The thought, “You were supposed to be something!” flattens me. I feebly mention I have a masters in media studies. And then I know I’m going to tell about my nervous breakdown. It’s almost like a crutch sometimes – an excuse for why I failed in the work world. And then it’s, “My goal is to write.” It’s almost always the same, and it’s a reason why I rarely talk to anyone about work. If you ask me what my friends do for a living, I can only give you hazy descriptions because I really don’t know and I don’t talk to them about it. Talking to people about work reinforces my self-deluded belief that I’ve failed in life, and sometimes, not even looking at Sienna can get me out of it.

Today, luckily, the other dad, after I brought up the breakdown, mentioned he suffers from social anxiety despite being a fireman. That gave us something in common, at least. From there I concentrated on the kids. As I mentioned, his daughter was adorable and liked trying to help Sienna at the playground. Sienna had a great time climbing up and down the stairs and going down the slide. Still, I was shaky from not just the lack of people who showed up, but from the work question, and eventually I had to leave. It’s been hours and the feeling’s still with me. My therapist tells me not to listen to my feelings because they’re almost always irrational. She’s right, but I can’t seem to push them away.

Somehow I need to loosen this hold work has on me, I just don’t know how to do it…yet.

Insomnia update – still going on. Taking melatonin every night. I hope this ends soon.

Fact: I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since Sienna was born. I’ve heard this isn’t unique, that once you have a kid, your mind automatically listens for any little noise thus causing you to awake in the middle of night time and time again. My parents said that despite me pushing 40, it hasn’t helped their sleeping habits. My best friend also weighed in and said that getting older plays a role, that he falls asleep only to awake a few hours later and remain up for who knows how many hours. He said that he now goes downstairs and watches an episode or 2 of some show in hopes he’ll fall asleep again.

I definitely think that having Sienna has changed my ability to stay asleep and/or feel rested regardless of how much sleep I get, but it doesn’t explain my current bout with insomnia. It started when Elaine left for Las Vegas. At first I attributed it to the stress of taking care of Sienna completely alone and missing Elaine next to me at night, but it’s continued despite her return. Actually, it’s gotten worse. The other night I couldn’t fall asleep until past 5 am, and after getting up at 8-something to take care of Sienna, I spent the rest of the day in a zombie-like state (even though I took a 3-hour nap). I took a melatonin that night at 9 pm and quickly fell asleep, but I awoke a few hours later, fell back asleep, awoke again, fell back asleep, awoke again, etc. In all, I got probably 9-10 hours of sleep and I’m still exhausted.

I think part of what’s killing me is the inability to stay asleep. It used to be that I spent hours trying to fall asleep, but once I was out, I was OUT; nothing could wake me up. That’s no longer the case, though I tend not to hear Sienna when she wakes up because she sits in her crib and talks to herself instead of crying. I have my alarm set for 8 am and hit snooze again and again depending on how tired I am. Sienna never complains. Once I snoozed ’til TEN!! I felt ridiculously guilty about that. In a sense, Sienna not crying and almost always sleeping through the night is a blessing. People will say we’re lucky, and I have to agree. She started sleeping through the night when she was 4 months. She only seems to have trouble when she’s either teething or sick. She does fight naps, though.

Still, this current stretch of insomnia is driving me nuts! I’ve had insomnia all my life. It was so bad in junior high that not only did my mom have to talk to the school’s dean (I was constantly late because I couldn’t wake up), but I went to a sleep clinic where all I remember is having to fill out a bubble sheet composed of something like 500 questions. My parents never took me back. In high school, I went around on about 3 hrs sleep a night and then crashed on weekends.

Now that I’ve had so many years of therapy, I realize that my childhood insomnia was primarily the result of monkey mind; my brain just would not shut up! I still suffer that, and lately it’s been terrible. So when you combine the monkey mind with constantly waking up because I now have Sienna and perhaps getting older, it’s not good in general. But these last 5-6 days, it’s been beyond horrible. Tossing and turning. Thinking a lot about death and the usual self-inflicted guilt trips and barbs about being a failure.

Why now? What is so on my mind that my ability to fall asleep is worse than ever??? I’d love to take melatonin every night, but I’m afraid to. I have a feeling my body will eventually adjust to it and it’ll lose its effect. Plus I always feel groggy the next day, and I hate that.

I guess all I can do is hope this stretch ends soon or maybe I somehow pinpoint what exactly is keeping me awake. All I know is I’m in desperate need of much more frequent visits from the Sandman.