Cave Man Counselor

A jagged, ivory iceberg protruding from the center of her lower gum, Zinnia's first tooth has arrived. I knew teething was difficult for a baby, but lord, I had no idea what an ordeal it actually was.

As a prodrome to her teeth actually coming in, Zinnia started to drool. By the bucket full. She soaks her bib in a matter of minutes and fiddles her index finger along her gum as if trying to pick out a particularly tenacious bit of licorice. At night, she tosses and turns, squawks and barks, and generally keeps Jenn on her toes.

The inaugural night of Zinnia's obvious nocturnal discomfort had the unfortunate juxtaposition of occurring the same night that Jenn and I had a bigger-than-it-should-have-been argument, ostensibly over whether to give Zinnia a shower. Z. was fast asleep, and by my eye not particularly filthy as babies go. She was perhaps a little sticky from the day, but nothing that couldn't wait until morning to be rinsed off.

Jenn and I had been discussing a change in routine for a while. My wife is the only person I know who prefers to bathe in the evening. Of course, she likes it in the a.m. as well, and would not kick a mid-day shower out of bed for eating crackers. She is decidedly a water person.

Me myself, I sometimes have to be reminded to shower after a bike ride or a work-out if I didn't break the perspiration barrier. Let me explain...or not. I'll just say that after years of being a bachelor, bathing, while extremely important, even crucial both socially and professionally, becomes a tad--how to put this--optional, if I knew I didn't cross the perspiration equator ... and/or I knew I'd be sleeping alone.

So there we are, Jenn and I in the bedroom, standing over Zinnia who was fast asleep. I mean, the kid was conked-out, a snoring beanbag in a pink onesie.

"Ooo--I hate having to wake her up for a shower," Jenn said in a whisper.

"Good," I said. "Lets let her sleep. She's probably out for the night anyway."

Jenn grimaced at the thought. "No," she said. "She's all sticky from the day. We need to rinse her off."

"Yeah, but she's completely crashed. And she always gets overstimulated after showering. We've been talking about doing this for a while. Why not try it tonight?"

Jenn paused, looking a little rattled.

"Because I'm not ready tonight," she said at last. "Zinnia's hands and feet are clammy, and she drools all over herself. We should give her a shower."

"Look, what's the worst that can happen if we wait until morning?"

"She could wake-up in the middle of the night and be wide awake. Her sinuses get clogged if we don't shower her," Jenn said in an angry whisper.

"If she wakes up, I'll do middle of the night duty," I said, the picture of magnanimity.

My insistence was at least in part fueled by my aching back and my desire to try anything that would reduce the amount of pacing I have to do to get her to go to sleep.

Jenn lowered her gaze to the floor in thought. She looked confused, as if not entirely understanding her own reaction. This made complete sense--how does one explain motherly instinct? It was clear Jenn cared deeply about the bathing baby business and was feeling a little out of control in that moment.

Since Zinnia's birth, Jenn has made most of the day-to-day decisions about Z's needs. I have contented myself to offer my input and opinions and then--more often than not--defer to the woman who spends 24 hours a day with our daughter. When it comes to the mundane, I simply don't care if Zinnia's socks match her outfit or her diaper is a little askew, or even if she's not wearing three layers of clothes when I take her out in the stroller. And if Zinnie wants to play with a plastic bag (the sound is very pleasing, and yes, we keep an eye on her) or pull on the occasional cat's tail, so be it. But when it comes to not letting a sleeping baby lie, well, by God, that's where I draw the line.

Now, I understand that how we are with our children reflects who we are as people. In my own life I have perhaps been a bit loosey-goosey when it comes to my own fashion sense, as well as my above mentioned bathing habits. But I do place great value on pragmatics. Given the choice, I would choose a dented up, finely tuned work-truck over, say, a corvette or Beemer. To my eye, it seemed a shame to wake a snoozing baby who was quite content to slumber in her own sleeping baby-ness.

"Look," I said, "I make very few decisions about Zinnia on my own. Lets try this now."

We did, and Zinnia spent the night tossing and turning, which meant Jenn spent the night tossing and turning, which confirmed her theory that our child should never, ever go to sleep without a shower. But then Zinnia tossed and turned the following night and the one after that, and lo-and-behold, a tiny tooth erupted from her lower gum.

It is now nearly three weeks since I began this entry, and a second iceberg has joined the first in Zinnia's mouth. She continues to drool as if she has rabies, but for the most part is taking everything in stride. My writing habit has become harder and harder to squeeze into any given day, and for Jenn, pretty much anything she wants to do outside of being a mom is extremely hit-or-miss, especially since Zinnia's napping habits have morphed into short catnaps. This allows Jenn dreams to start to bubble up, and just enough time to crack the lid on, say, a sewing project or a bit of jewelry-making before her hopes are dashed by the dulcet wails of Zinnia Rain again pouring forth from the bedroom.

Jenn and I had an air clearing last night around exhaustion, money, and neither one of us being able to squeeze into our lives close to what we would like. Jenn discussed how challenging it is to have to rely on someone else (i.e. me) for all of her financial needs, especially since we have a very different relationship with money and very different way of managing our finances. More importantly, we have been living on a limited income (and savings) since returning to New Mexico.

I have never had to struggle financially, and money has always been readily available to live out my heart's desire. But after living on a shoestring, love, and faith these past 11 months, the imperative to bring in enough money to support my family had grown to a point where it was a loud dinner bell clanging in my head at all hours. My mind knew we would ultimately be okay, but then a slew of bills would come in, and my Must-Make-Money monkey mind would kick in, driving me to pursue, pursue, pursue.

I have started my career here twice since our arrival and--good news!--am about to embark on a third.* I have been offered a 28 hour a week position with the university and start training on Monday. What this does is, it automatically moves us from the realm of "Struggling To Make Ends Meet" to "Viable." I now have the best of both worlds--the opportunity to be part of a great team mental health team (with the accompanying reliable income) while continuing to build a thriving (though time-constrained) private practice.

Though I feel a few pre-new job jitters, I am grateful to be standing on the precipice of this new phase in our lives--one where my primal, cave-man instinct knows Jenn and Zinnia will have a roof over their heads, the bills will be covered, the cats will have clean litter, and there is enough food in our cupboards to feed a platoon.

*The first was an ill-fated attempt to work for someone who was once a friend; the second was (and is) giving it a go in private practice; and the third is a hybrid of the two--combining the security and camaraderie of agency work with private practice.