My Daughter Hates Me

My daughter hates me or so I thought for the first few months of her life. Whenever I would hold her in my arms or even look at her and catch her gaze, she would scream and cry with such voracity and fierceness that I wondered if my neighbors would call CPS on me. More than once I found myself on the verge of tears at my inability to form a bond with my baby. I took numerous solitary walks around my condo in order to calm my increasingly fraying nerves. I didn’t feel like a father at all; what was I doing wrong?

My ALS symptoms began manifesting themselves around September 2007 when Fehmeen was about three months pregnant. Initially, slowness of speech was the only outwardly visible sign of the disease but when the baby was born in April, I was fatiguing more easily, walking with more difficulty, having a harder time with my hands, and my speech was rapidly heading towards unintelligible. I remember bringing Emma home from the hospital and being ready, willing and able to assist Fehmeen in all the parenting duties except in my case, the ready and willing were ready and willing but the able portion of the saying was, unfortunately, not able. The progressive effects of ALS, along with about three sleepless days and nights in the hospital, had taken it’s toll on my body.

I vividly remember carrying Emma one day soon after, she was swaddled and wrapped like a burrito at the time, across the living room towards our couch and I accidentally tripped on something on the floor. Thankfully, I recovered my balance and I did not fall nor drop the baby but I was forever scarred and scared by that one event. I became nervous and skittish around Emma and I began to develop a reluctance to carry her or even hold her based upon my lack of confidence in my diminishing physical strength and loss of balance.

At the time, I was also logging some major hours both at work and at home doing classroom-related work such as creating algebra lessons, correcting homework, grading tests, and preparing myself to prepare my students for the much ballyhooed and anticipated Algebra 1 Star Test in mid-May. As the calendar changed from April to May, I found that my work rate began to slow down and my ability to write with a pencil or pen started to diminish as well. Basically, things I did in the past with relative ease now took me longer and were more difficult for me to do. And the longer I busied myself with work, the less time I spent with my new baby. I was no more than a clumsy and intimidated stranger to Emma, and based upon my actions and absent father status, who could blame her for her insightful perception of reality.

And then came summer vacation.

Of the many fringe benefits of being a teacher, perhaps the greatest one is summer vacation. In my case, two months and change of getting paid to do, well, nothing, was the deciding factor for me in taking the plunge to earn my credential and become a teacher. And this summer break was not only essential for my health but it also was crucial for me to maintain my sanity and to strengthen my relationship with my baby.

Instead of leaving the house for upwards of ten hours each day to drive to work, teach, prepare for the next day, and drive home, I spent every second of the next two plus months by my daughter’s side. I was there when she awoke every morning (and after every one of her thrice daily naps). I was there during bath time every evening. I was there standing next to the changing table as Fehmeen changed her diaper (I tried a few times but my hands move to slowly and unsteadily for a kicking and wiggling infant). I was there for feedings and for playtime on the mat. When she was fussy, I would strum the guitar for her or even play the piano for her. When struggled to go to sleep, I would hold her in my arms as I sat on the rocking chair and we would listen to James Carrington, Amos Lee or early Tom Waits on cd as she drifted off to sleep. I finally felt like a father.

My daughter no longer hates me. Our relationship began to blossom about three days into summer vacation. Basically, all I had to do was to be there for her. Although physically I am unable to perform and participate in some parental duties, I have found alternative ways to both bond with and care for my beautiful child. Emma and I are now as thick as thieves. We watch football and baseball on tv together, we check out Abba videos on youtube, and we (quite literally) speak the same language to each other.

I love my daughter beyond where words can express. And I think she thinks I’m pretty cool now, too. Take a look at the She Loves Me and She Loves Me Not photos below.

She Loves Me and She Loves Me Not

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