I’m a competitive father

A lot of parents get pretty competitive. Here is a great example from a blog I like: Me Turned Mom. You see it all the time. A bunch of parents sitting around in a music class or watching their kids together from the viewing room of a swim class, and they should be paying attention to their own child but all they can do is look at all the other kids and analyze them. This is why “My kid is an honor roll student” bumper stickers were created.

I’ll admit I’ve fallen into this too. People who know me well know that I’m about as competitive as anyone can be. And if you don’t think I am more competitive than you, I will hold a competition of some sort to prove it!

Okay let me put it this way. I grew up with a poster on my wall that had a picture of a kid in baseball gear and the line, “I play to win.” That’s what I stared at as I fell asleep every night of my childhood. I took that mentality to heart and still believe it today. Everything is a game and I want to win it all. I want to be the best at everything I do. And when I say everything, I mean I want to be better at tying my shoes than you. Everything.

So naturally this way of living is carrying over into my parenting. But I don’t just compete against other babies or their fathers. I compete against my own son. I take everything he does as a challenge and throughout the day we have many battles.

Diaper changes. Battle. Putting him to bed. Battle! Getting him in his car seat. BATTLE!!!!!!

You might think I am stupid for competing with my 4 month old baby. But Chandler is quite the formidable opponent. He learns quickly and he never ever gives up. When I first started swaddling Chandler for bedtime (wrapping him up in a blanket…kind of like a baby straight jacket) it was pretty easy. No fight. No struggle. I could have him wrapped up in no time.

But a lot has changed since then. Chandler has become a mix of mini-hulk and mini-houdini. I remember the first morning we woke him up and his little fingers were sticking out the top of the swaddle tickling his own chin. He had this look like, “Take that Dad. It’s on.” And then I could have sworn all of his wiggly fingers except the middle one disappeared for just a second.

Now every time we put Chandler to bed he and I put our game faces on, pump up our Reebok Pumps, and go toe to toe. At first it was just a contest of strength and speed. As soon as I set him down he’d realize what was happening and start flailing his arms and legs like a mad man. For a while I could easily counteract this tactic. But as my young padawan has grown stronger with the Force, he has become increasingly difficult to reign in. He has evolved.

So I’ve evolved. I’ve switched to using mind games. I give him his pacifier before I set him down and I start singing his “night night” song. So far he hasn’t figured this out and most of the time he goes down without a fight. Victory.

Sometimes he’s past the point of placation and then the game reverts to a frantic arms and legs version of Cat and Mouse. Most nights I win. But every so often he gets his hands out of the swaddle. As much as I hate losing, I’m proud of him.

The Baby Bjourn is another good example of how I take Chandler’s innocent and unwitting personal development as a competitive challenge and affront on my manhood. The Baby Bjourn is basically a harness so you can hang your child from your chest and do some “hands-free parenting.” I used to be able to put Chandler in the Bjourn all by myself using one hand to hold the Bjourn open and the other to place him in it. That was before he got heavier and wigglier.

Now he has gotten to a point where I can’t safely hold him in that one hand without sending him to the fate of Humpty Dumpty. Most parents would have someone else help them put him in the Bjourn safely. But not me. I took this personally. I have what you might call a Quixote Complex. I quickly found a way to slay this windmill and by cleverly holding Chandler against my chest I was able to maintain the stability I needed to put him in the Bjourn myself.

It seems EXTREMELY trivial when I write it all out like this. I guess that’s the point. Maybe this article is a cry for help or a self inflicted intervention. “Look Nate…this is not just another blog post. You’re writing this to tell yourself you need help.”

I don’t need help. You know who needs help? Chandler. He’ll need help if he ever wants to beat me. And I’ll give him all the help I can.