And then ...

The Lights Come On.

I noticed on Sunday that Sam’s eyes were tracking the living room lamp as I took him to bed. (Where he’d immediately start crying, but we know that, so it’s like a game. An incredibly frustrating, drive you to the point of insanity, kind of game.)

And Monday morning I take him while he’s waking up to change his diaper, and for the first time he looks at me. Watches while I walk to pick up a wet wipe, and watches with mild concern while I clean him up.

It’s like someone flipped a switch. Prior to this point his emotions could pretty much be categorized as "awake," "hungry," and "sleeping."

He’s now aware enough and can see enough details to start thinking about things. It’s like he’s passed into a more thorough humanness. He sees things, he judges, he makes decisions.

Of course, once I was through with his diaper, his first decision was to start crying because I don’t secrete milk.

The last few weeks weren’t easy. Sam spent most of his time crying. His smiles are fleeting, lasting about 15 seconds, and then he’s back to the wailing.

He’s now growing out of that. It’s like we’ve reached some kind of milestone, some kind of marker that encourages us to keep trudging forward.

Being part of a family is not easy. Being one of the leaders of one is much harder. I’ve thought about this the last few weeks. Couldn’t really help it. When you go four weeks without really seeing the sun or having the time to do the things that keep you sane, and then throw in a soundtrack of non-stop wailing, your thoughts are going to go depressive.

Most people grow up with frothified images of marriage and parenthood. Most of us had a great deal of happiness as children, why shouldn’t we have equal amounts of fun as a parent?

Now, six weeks after I’ve heard the cry for the first time, I realize most of the fun I had was because my parents weren’t having any. They did all the worrying, they did all the work. They had to show all the patience while I struggled from infant immaturity to adolescent immaturity (and on to adult immaturity, but that’s something else).

And they had to occasionally lay down the law, working up enough anger so that the point would stick. None of these things are fun.

I don’t believe the people who talk about how raising their kids is easy. You are a liar full of lies who pours lies over your Cheerios for breakfast.

Most snippets of advice we get contradict each other, and are really just kind of mental pacifiers people give to each other – "Let’s try this when he’s crying or refuses to sleep, maybe this is the answer."

You just keep moving forward, throwing together your fathering and mothering "skills" on the fly. It’s the sense of obligation you feel, it’s the price of being an adult. It’s the debt you pay to your parents, and somewhere in the back of your head you hope it’s going to be the best thing you’ve ever done.