Along Came Daddyhood

He smells the weakness.

His nose and feet twitch instinctively as the mechanical mongering of the garage is faintly heard and he knows that my wife - his mother - has left us alone together. This is his cue, his summoning to awake and pounce on the weak one left behind.

The attack begins with a muffled cry. I have come to know that cry as a scare tactic. A taunt meant to send my blood pressure sky high much like a coyote circling his prey from a distance.

I scurry about the house collecting paciphers, blankets, gripe water, and any other items that may temporarily stifle his unrelenting outbursts.

Deep down, I see these props for what they are. They are my water guns and he is the inferno.

His muffled cry now becomes a full on battle cry. He is eager to engage me and shame me into running my hands through my hair and dialing my capable and competent wife for rescue. But I am eager to meet his challenge.

He is not to be taken lightly. I am 26 and a salty veteran at life compared to my formidable opponent, but what he lacks in experience he more than makes up for in unpredictability and shriek-ability. He has the is stubborn and merciless.

I enter the bedroom, the oft-chosen site for many of our clashes. He flails his arms from within his bassinet and begins cooing and giggling at my entrance. His laughter ridicules my presence and his cooing is no doubt some form of infant trash talk berating me before we've even begun.

I pluck him from his bed and he stares at me wide-eyed, no doubt shocked at my willingness to endure the spittle and ferocious screams he will direct at me.



He laughs.

It is a laugh borne from disdain for me, entertainment at my attempts, and relief that he will not meet the iron will of his mother.





He waits.

He bides his time before striking and we continue circling each other as though we are sword-wielding combatants directly from King Arthur's round table.

The tension is palpable and unyielding against the back drop of Praise Baby and Baby Einstein but I see the first subtle signs of his coming attack.

He yawns.

He waits and again he yawns. The yawns grow stronger and less concealable and soon it is clear that he will be striking soon. He begins fussing like a pent up bull in anticipation of his entrance into a rodeo. Emboldened, I make the first move in an attempt to catch him off guard. I shift him against me so that he quickly finds himself in a sleeping posture against my chest. My plan is to sneak-attack him and hope he is too tired to retaliate. I have grossly miscalculated.




He screams.

He is irate over my surprise attack and launches a full-on assault on my ears and spirit. I shift him into several different positions that I have learned from the master, Ashley, but it is to no avail. I have angered the bull with a bright red cape and he is intent and making me pay quite possibly with my sanity.

He doesn't not waver in his assault. He will not be reasoned with nor is he interested in surrender. He will not relent until he has wrestled my dignity away from me, because Rowe does not take prisoners.



As he settles into a berating rhythm I find myself becoming systematically worn down as he drops the hammer on me. I have no counter as he has successfully defended all my offensive tactics. Though I promised myself I wouldn't do it, I begin entertaining the thought of calling for help.

He senses my indecision and increases his audible attack on me. Victory is only seconds away.

I fumble for my phone and as I am close to dialing the numerical code for surrender, I hear a glorious sound.

The long and laborious sound of the garage door emanates through the house. Back-up has arrived. His screaming subsides into a smattering of whimpers before he retreats completely into silence and as the sound of my wife's footsteps echo in our kitchen...

He sleeps.