Is Parenting Supposed to Be This Hard?

Do all parents live like this? I wondered, waking to the sound of my adorable, diaper-clad alarm clock. My new morning routine started at approximately 3:30 am when Colby, our 3-month-old son, would summon his mother for food with his clamorous cries. Unlike myself, my wife is a heavy sleeper, so I jostled her until she drowsily awoke, ready for duty. There was no snooze button on this brand of alarm.

My wife's whole-hearted dedication to our children continuously impressed me; she was beyond exhausted, but she handled night-time nursing and her postpartum recovery with maternal resilience and strength. Meanwhile, I was on my last nerve, despite having the luxury of falling back asleep each night while my son nursed. Parents of newborns and young children experience higher levels of stress and exhaustion, and I was no exception. Despite being a child psychologist, raising two young kids was taking its toll on my mental health.

On this particular morning, I must have drifted off, because suddenly it was 4:59 am and my toddler’s wailing was vibrating the baby monitor off the bedside table. Like clockwork, her daily 5:00 am howling demanded my immediate attention before our neighbors had reason to complain. I begrudgingly left the warmth of my bed to prevent alarm clock #2 from waking up the entire building.

Desperate for a moment alone with a cup of coffee, I coped by thinking about the forthcoming morning embrace from my 2-year-old. I shuffled into CeCe’s room and, in a discouraging turn of events, was startled by a piercing “NOOOOO!” blaring from her crib like an air horn.

“No Daddy! I want MOMMY! Go away!”

Not the warm welcome I had hoped for. My brain was barely functioning at this hour, but my clinical expertise kicked in out of habit. Groggy as I was, I had just the tool for the job: a little handy-dandy emotional validation would curtail CeCe’s dejection.

“I understand, sweetie. You miss Mommy and really wish she was waking up with you,” I affirmed.

“NO! Go to the city! You’re GROSS!”

“Does my validation ever work?” I muttered, lifting Cece out of her crib. Clearly, acknowledgment from a sleep-deprived, zombified father wasn’t what my daughter needed at that moment.

Without warning, CeCe darted out of her room while I sulked behind her. Before I could register what was happening, she started banging on our bedroom door, where my wife and son were still sleeping. It was my responsibility to guard that door at all costs before she set off alarm clock #1 again. I dutifully employed my second parenting tool of the morning, known as the “command sequence.”

“CeCe, please step away from the door.”

More banging.

“If you don’t step away from the door, you’ll have to go to the time-out chair.” Thank heavens I had my certification in Parent-Child Interaction Therapy (PCIT). With my credentials, I was confident she would heed my warning.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The highly effective “command sequence” had regrettably transformed my daughter into a human jackhammer.

How many more parenting skills could backfire before sunrise? It was 5:05 am when I sent CeCe to the time-out chair, without one sip of coffee in my system. Not. One. Sip.

““Uuuughhhhh…” I groaned, like an undead corpse, fumbling to apply evidence-based parenting strategies from the grave.

As a new father of two, I detested playing the gatekeeper each morning, monitoring our bedroom door like a sentry. Even worse, I felt awful for sending CeCe to time-out for behavior stemming from a natural desire to be close to her mother. None of this felt right.

Enter my inner critic.

I’m an early childhood expert, shouldn’t I know what I’m doing? How am I supposed to figure this out when I can’t even remember what day it is? Is parenting supposed to be this hard?

After a hefty dose of self-flagellation, I concluded that I lacked the emotional, physical, and spiritual resilience necessary to parent well. I simply was not cut out to be a good dad. I could feel my throat tighten and tears well up, but I reflexively suppressed them.

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Once the time-out ended, I turned on the TV to keep CeCe distracted from her door-drilling mission. Meanwhile, I pulled out my phone to pacify my own anguish. Since having kids, my morning routine had devolved from exercising and meditating to predawn time-outs, Bluey, and doomscrolling.

As I distracted myself with the news, a New York Times headline caught my attention.

“Surgeon General: Parents Are at Their Wits’ End. We Can Do Better.”

My eyes widening, I read on: “A recent study by the American Psychological Association revealed that 48 percent of parents say most days their stress is completely overwhelming.”

The surgeon general himself had issued an advisory about parental stress and its effect on mental health. Apparently, caregivers across the entire nation were really struggling.

A better man may have felt disheartened by this state of affairs. A better man may have seen this as discouraging news. But I was a shell of my former empathic, compassionate self. Instead, faced with this worrisome warning, I felt a huge rush of relief. I felt seen. I felt normal.

Perhaps, I didn’t lack resilience. Perhaps, I wasn’t unfit for parenting. Perhaps, our toxic culture made it near-impossible to take good care of our kids and ourselves. And perhaps, half of all parents felt the same way.

I turned to look at CeCe, who was smiling at Bluey as I grappled with the state of parenthood in both my home and my country. I put the phone aside and placed my arm around my daughter, who was oblivious to the daunting world she had been born into. She snuggled into my side, and I was, without warning, consumed by a primal urge to protect her.

I felt a dormant, but familiar energy awaken inside me. This latent vitality was the “better man” within me, rising from the dead. But this man was no zombie. This man was resurrected by paternal instinct; by vim and vigor; by “girl daddy” energy. My life force was back.

I looked to the future with a newfound resolve. If I was fated to raise my children in a toxic culture, I would need to find a healthier path of parenting for the sake of my family…and myself.

Stay tuned for Part II...