How to Raise Tiny Humans Without Losing Your Mind
Coming Out of The Tunnel and I’m Doing JUST FINE
When you signed up for this email—whether it was three days, three months, or three years ago—you were greeted with a photo of me and my family:
I forget about this photo. I’m reminded of it when someone replies to that introductory email and I am gifted this artefact from the past, an apparition in my inbox. A photo that is no longer accurate. It hasn’t been for years: it’s a relic, a reminder of a time that no longer exists. I have less grey hairs. The dog would say the same. There is a tiny baby in my arms, still small enough to carry in one arm, his future golden curls yet to sprout forth. This little squidgy chap, this blast from our past, who today proudly displays his Reading Eggs Level One certificate above his bed, confidently declaring, “I am a cat!” whilst tapping the words with his finger.
In a matter of weeks, this baby of mine will turn five years old. The “entirely defenceless and dependent” phase is done. The toddler phase, too. My babies, babies no more. It’s an odd feeling. I’m reminded of last year’s conversation with a FOOK (Father Of Older Kids) who introduced me to the idea of The Tunnel—a place where all parents reside whilst their children are under five:
In the three years of TNF, we’ve covered all kinds of topics and I’ve spent a long time wondering exactly this is. I think there’s something special happening here: a group of dads that have congregated to redefine what fatherhood means for them, and to perhaps contribute towards a shift in the wider definition too. But the core of what this might be—its legacy, if I may be so bold—comes down to sowing seeds. There are many of you with kids younger than mine—dads who find themselves deep in what a close friend recently called The Tunnel: the place every parent remains whilst their kids are four and under; when keeping a small child alive and under control takes all that you have. Parents in The Tunnel can cycle through bliss and despair on a turnaround that would give non-parents whiplash.
I’m coming out of The Tunnel and I’m doing JUST FINE. The brightness is dazzling. I’m not the only one with it on my mind this week. I’m writing this essay in my local cafe whilst a dad next to me is wondering whether to head back into the darkness again, having just emerged, bleary-eyed, out of it. His internal monologue can be summed up by paraphrasing a disgraced 90s R&B star: “My heart’s telling me yes, but my mind, my mind is screaming at me NO.” Another friend, a new dad as of two weeks ago, is heading into his tunnel for the first time. Who will these new parents be when they emerge from the other side?
If only you could send a message back into The Tunnel for yourself. If only every time you stumbled, you might have found a note from another dad who had navigated this rocky moment before you. If you’re imagining a Dark Souls-like messaging system—where instead of blood stains on the marble floor of a gothic cathedral you see felt-tip marker scrawled on the walls of your hallway, messages floating up to inform you precisely what you need to do to successfully steer through this minor crisis—well, you’re just as odd as I am. Pat yourself on the back.
What might future Kevin have gifted back past Kevin, that fresh-faced young buck above? Here are a few:
Remember: “This too shall pass” There is no phrase that has become more dependable, has given me more relief, and has helped me weather even the most brutal storm than this one. With very few exceptions, your current battle will not be one you will keep fighting forever. There are times—sleep regressions my soul still bears the scars from, dinner battles that felt like Sisyphus was pushing rigatoni into a little mouth rather than rolling a giant boulder uphill—that this will feel far from the truth. But trust the process, hold your co-parent close, and remember: things will get better.
… but be careful what you wish for. You’ll be eager for the next milestone without realising how much you’ll miss when you get there. You’ll want them to speak, then experience the gut-wrenching sadness when they stop saying that wrong phrase in the cute way they’ve always said it. This week, I was reminded of a trip to Yosemite—my daughter was three years old, she thought we were saying “Your Semite,” so started calling it “My Semite.” My heart aches to think of it. I wish I had kept a book filled with all these malapropisms. Your kids will get older. You think you won’t miss these moments. I promise that you will.
There will be large swaths of time when your child will develop a complete fixation on a particular fruit. You better hope—in these times of economic uncertainty—that it isn’t raspberries. Consider yourself warned.
Don’t be prepared to do something once that you aren’t prepared to do a thousand times. It could be the one funny face you pull to stop a meltdown when they’re a year old. It could be the Harry Potter edition of Dobble that is currently the hottest thing in our house. It will be something. Pray it’s something you can do whilst remaining horizontal.
However long you think you need to do anything, double it. Whether it's bathtime, bedtime, dinner time, getting out of the house, taking a walk, or colouring a Marvel PDF printout, I found that the majority of parenting stress comes from my kids not doing things according to my timetable. Whenever I can let go of this, I'm a better, happier dad.
Choose your battles. He wants to wear a Spider-Man outfit every single day for a month? Go nuts. (Just remember to wash it.) Do you want to be the dad who told your son he couldn't? Or the be one he remembers as going out to buy a Vemon outfit so they could chase each other around New York City together? Women have been told to Lean In at work. What does it mean for a dad to Lean In at home? If in doubt, the simple question remains: What Would Bandit Do?
Your feelings about screen time will shift again and again. You’ll go from an Amish-like approach to iPads before they’re born before realising that the cursed spell of Cocomelon is the only way to do the ten thousand tasks required every day. Whatever you do, someone will tell you you’re doing it wrong. So do what is right for you, try to be conscious of what you let them watch and when, and search out chances to use screen time to help you forge deeper connections with your kids.
As hard as it can be, one fatherhood superpower I’ve worked hard to develop is to find a way to recenter yourself outside of a stressful situation. I once read a Reddit parenting thread where a dad said, “THEY’RE NOT GIVING YOU A HARD TIME, THEY’RE HAVING A HARD TIME.” That line came to me at the right moment and somehow altered my brain chemistry forever. Empathy: it’s a hell of a drug!
OK. That’s enough for me. Keep an eye on your inbox tomorrow for a chance to share yours, or if you’re a dad still in the tunnel, to ask for some advice.
Opening Up the Vault
Inspired by Robin Sloan and Craig Mod’s model of “Unlocking the Commons,” I’ve been shifting the idea of TNF subscriptions from “a few dads pay to get something behind a paywall” to “some of you subscribe to keep everything open for everyone else.” You seem to like the idea as much as I do. Here’s a note from another dad who got in touch to lend their support:
I've been on the free plan for a while, but you really sold me with your new direction of "unlocking the commons". For me, getting special access for myself isn't half as enticing as knowing my support goes to making this fully available to everyone, paid or not.
Thank you! One interesting side effect is that unlocking the commons has encouraged many of the “curious moms” who read this newsletter in the shadows to throw in a couple of dollars too. We had one such mom join the community this week which, as a dad accurately said, is “helping our diversity metrics to go up!” Happy to have everyone here.
In this spirit of unlocking the commons, I’ve gone back and selected a few older essays relevant to parents currently in The Tunnel. These were previously behind the paywall and have now been freed.
I’ve got more, but this newsletter is already running long and being threatened with the GMail guillotine. I’ll unlock some more tomorrow. Thanks to this recent surge of support, I’ve never felt as excited about the future of this newsletter as I am right now. There are now 350+ of you supporting TNF—an all-time high. I’d love to hit 400 supporters by the end of the month. So, for April, I’m offering a third off an annual subscription. Come on in. Let’s keep this newsletter open to everyone.
Good Dadvice
An “Inside The Tunnel” Special Edition
Say Hello
I’ll be back tomorrow with an old-school Open Thread where we’ll share stories on raising tiny humans. See you then. How was it this week?
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My 18 month old loves standing on his rocking chair, leaning over the edge, and pulling out all of his books as I hold his shirt to keep him from face planting into his bookshelf.
And, he loves standing on a chair and putting keys in the front door lock, out, and back in again. Forever. It's all he wants to do.
I appreciate you naming all the things I'm currently experiencing, and reminding me to take a beat and appreciate it all. Even if I'm not horizontal. It's all going WAY too fast, and too slow at the same time.
The tunnel! That’s great. I’m there right now with my almost 3 year old and 19 month old sons. Youngest just got over the flu yesterday and I thought we might skate by with my oldest, but alas, it wasn’t to be. Fun night turned into a fun morning, making pancakes for my youngest when my oldest goes to start vomiting and I dash from the kitchen into the living room to help him only to turn around and find my youngest climbing up the step stool and diving off face first into the floor. One mouth bleeding, the other spewing. The rapid fire prioritization that’s required in this phase is incredible. It’s like a constant puzzle to solve. Balancing in every moment what needs your attention most right then, while planning for the weeks and months ahead, and still trying to provide, be fit, and fun to be around.