At Home with the Child – Day Eleven
My child is asleep upstairs, and taking advantage of this one, or at best two, hours, I would rather use it to get some sleep, more than anything. But I had to decide. Either I sleep, which I desire more than anything, and which I truly need, or I write this post.
But what I've learned in the past almost two weeks is that
with a child, we never do what we want, but what we have to do.
So instead of sleeping, I'll write what I have to write.
I had a truly insane day, and don't let anyone think I'm sitting at home with the child complaining that I have to do the dishes or mop the living room. I wish that were the case, but unfortunately, it's not, because I have a few companies where I'm the managing director, and no matter how much I tried to arrange things so I wouldn't have to deal with work now, I couldn't manage it.
Today I had to go to the bank, I was at lawyers', an accountant's, a notary's, so I had to deal with the most disgusting parts of work for me, but with the child with me, the child was there with me the whole time. I changed diapers in the bank, fed him at the accountant's, and pulled over on Széll Kálmán Square with hazard lights in the biggest rush hour to find the child's pacifier, because that was the only thing that could calm him down.
Does anyone remember how naive I was in one of my first posts when I was agonizing over how exhausting a 1-hour trip with the child in the city was for me? You know, that hourglass running out of sand story. In light of yesterday, I look back on that day with romantic nostalgia, because yesterday we were in the city for 9 hours and not just one, but several places.
At this point in the post, I definitely want to express my gratitude to CIB bank, and I thank them for allowing me to handle my affairs there in four, that is, four and a half hours. Four and a half hours with a child. They weren't particularly moved by the fact that I was with a child, pushing the stroller up and down like an idiot. From their perspective, they closed the matter by saying that their only corporate colleague is on leave, so I have to wait, and then the branch manager will deal with me.
Okay, but when? I ask. They don't know, but I have to wait at least an hour and a half. I say that's great. So if the child starts crying, I'll put Ádám next to the branch manager's desk, let him also enjoy the experience, let him listen, maybe I'll get to the front of the line sooner.
Diaper changes, feeding, and I haven't even talked about the child's need for movement, because it doesn't work if I take the child out of the stroller, because if I do, Ádi will tear down the whole bank. In retrospect, maybe I should have done that.
In the end, the woman wasn't right, because I didn't have to wait an hour and a half. I had to wait two and a half hours, and then after we got to the front of the line, they quickly sorted out my affairs in a relaxed two hours.
But the worst part of it all wasn't the waiting, but knowing that the child's usual routine was starting to completely fall apart. Ádi didn't sleep at all that day. On this day, the child woke up at 6 AM and didn't sleep more than 30 minutes until 7 PM, and even that was only 20 minutes in the car between the bank and the lawyer, and another 10 until I took him out of the car on the way to the accountant.
The child surprisingly coped well all day until 5:30 PM, when he completely broke down, and nothing helped anymore. Not biscuits, not a pacifier, not toys, not music, nothing helped.
I sat in the car on the way home in the evening rush hour, as deadly tired as the child, Ádi screaming behind me, and I just stared ahead and knew I was in deep trouble. I almost felt the hand of life on the back of my neck, screwing me over at full throttle, and there was no solution. I sat there helplessly, listening to the child's frantic crying, and looking at the sea of cars in front of me, drowning.
Why didn't my wife help me? Because she was admitted to the hospital that morning. Why didn't I ask anyone for help while I was taking care of my business? Because I thought it was possible to work with a child, but IT IS NOT.
It's not possible because
what does a baby need first and foremost? Security. A routine, so that everything happens at the same time, in the same way, at the same pace, in the same environment. A baby needs predictability
because that's what makes them feel safe, that's what gives a baby a foundation. Everything is new for a baby, everything is unusual, and in a constantly changing world full of new things for them
babies need something to hold on to, something they can always count on, something that can calm them down, and this anchor, this base, can be nothing other than home.
The apartment they always see, the people around them, who, if something is wrong, Mom and Dad come, and they know everything will be okay.
This is where I completely broke down, knowing that the child didn't have his base, his routine was missing that day, his sleep time to rest, in short, he had nothing that day. By the time we got home, he was completely exhausted. He didn't even wake up when I took him out of the car, I didn't even want to take off his slippers and cardigan so he wouldn't wake up.
When I told Reni what happened to us, she said there would be consequences for this. I'm afraid of that too.
The family model and the roles of men and women within this family model are becoming increasingly central questions. I don't want to take a stand on the issue for now, but the fact that in 98% of the world's families, the woman stays at home and the man works, this didn't happen because of some global oppression, but because this family model was carved out by life. I only mixed the work I get paid for and the work I mean by raising children and managing a household for a single day, and everything fell apart on the very first day.
Not because I didn't organize my day well, but because these two jobs are incompatible for the reasons described above.
Either I raise the child at home in the quality a baby needs, or I go to work. There is no in-between, no both-and.
Either I'm home raising the child, or I go back to work. If I tried to do both, I would fail at both. My commitment to being home with the child only works if I stay home with the child, and only at home.
Now would be the part where I take a stand and make a declaration, but I'm not going to fall into that trap, and I'm too tired for it. I don't have the strength to fight a gender ideological battle right now, but this isn't even a battle, it's just my day.
Another day I had to get through, whether I wanted to or not.
