Post-Partum Regression  

DH is on my last nerve.

When we first discussed his plan to take the entire month of May off for paternity leave (the single best perk of having a government job), I was thrilled to have two more hands to help me with the kids.

21 days later, I'm not so sure...

First, there was the near-accident with DH at the wheel (actually, to be completely honest, there were the THREE near-accidents). The first time, he was looking at the crazy dancing man who works the corner trying to attract customers to a nearby pawn shop. The second time, he was trying to send a text on his cell phone (even though we live in a state where texting while driving is strictly verboten). The third time he was simply in his own little "manland," and didn't realize that the Suburban in front of him wasn't going to run a red light.

Then, there was DH's church attire for services last week. Left to his own devices for dressing himself and G, he chose to put himself in a pair of khaki shorts and G in a pair of cowgirl boots... clothes that might be ok for the park, or even mid-week mass, but not for Sunday at what is a pretty traditional (ie, conservative) Catholic parish. Naturally, I -- clad in the only dress that currently fits me -- asked him to change.

But the proverbial straw that broke this camel's back happened Saturday afternoon. After spending half the morning searching for the perfect birthday gift for a three-
year-old boy, DH called the child's parents to get the address for the party... only to find out the party was the week before. I was furious, but G was heartbroken; she was really looking forward to the party, which of course, DH had told her she'd be attending. I asked him for an explanation (I'd postponed plans with one of my best frends because of the party), and he told me the invitation had it wrong. Seriously??? Of course, DH had conveniently thrown the invitation away, so there was no proof for his dubious alibi, but I suspect his memory -- and not the invite -- is the real culprit.

When I explained DH's symptoms to a friend, she said it was a case of "post-partum regression." I had to laugh at her diagnosis; not to joke about post-partum depression -- I coped with this very real and definitely NOT laugh-worthy condition when I weaned G -- but because it so accurately explained DH's frame of mind. While my mind and body were working overtime, thanks to a surge in hormones and adrenalin, DH's was reeling from too many nights up late with a cranky baby. His brain was regressing, shutting down, failing to process the realities of every day life.

Talking to some of my other friends -- just about all of whom have welcomed baby #2 into their homes in the past year -- I learned that this is fairly common for dads. While mom does most of the heavy lifting, dad stands by in a fog, paralyzed into inaction by both an innate lack of estrogen and out and out fear.

If this keeps up, I think I'm going to claim Father's Day for myself this year. I'm going to need a break.