I do not live in Daddyland anymore. I only realized that today, after about three weeks on the job, after three weeks of taking my son to daycare. There I was this afternoon, walking fast from the subway to my kids’ preschool to pick them up. I had on headphones and listened to music.
I was coming from work, where I had sat for 15 minutes at a colleague’s birthday party and eaten four pieces of cake, all with milk in them (I never eat milk around my milk allergic daughter).
Oh, and I took a walk in the sun at lunch.
As I speed walked out of the subway station, I saw a big red-headed guy in shorts and a t-shirt pushing a stroller, and, suddenly, I realized that I was not that guy anymore. I will never push a stroller in the middle of the day anymore, not on a regular basis.
Sure, now I’m the working part-time guy hustling to daycare so he can spend many hours with his children. That’s great. But that’s not life in Daddyland.
I’m closer to sports practices and helping with homework than to baby food and open preschools.
And I’m not sure what to make of it. I miss my kids. I liked the cake at the birthday party. I miss the shorts and t-shirt. I like the walk in the sun and the long interviews about the future of journalism.
I really miss my kids.