Doctor Spock’s Common Sense Book of Babies And Quarantines—wait, what?

Believe it or not, there are no parenting guides for surviving the apocalypse with a newborn. Now, wait: I know what you’re thinking. The apocalypse? Come on! It’s only a pandemic - not the apocalypse! How can you be so hyperbolic? Well, riddle me this: are you truly certain?

In just a few short months into 2020, Coronavirus has sent the entire world into a quarantine, infecting millions and crippling virtually every nation on the planet, while killing thousands. Lives have been lost, economies are in ruins. World War 3 almost occurred. We woke up to the news that Kobe Bryant and countless others perished in a plane crash. The internet killed Kim Jong Un, Carole Baskin may or may not have murdered her husband; and not a single person can tell me just what the hell is going on with Michael Jordan’s eyes.

There are Murder Hornets, aggressive rats, and potential parallel universes! The Doomsday clock - the metric in which international scientists use to determine just how far our world is to utter catastrophe - is a mere 100 seconds from midnight. Not hours, not minutes, but seconds. This certainly does feel like Endgame material, doesn’t it?

Still in denial? Consider this: the Romans had about 1-thousand years before civil war led to their destruction. The most influential civilization in all of human history. It reads like a crowning achievement, until you put it into greater context.

Did you know that the sea sponge is over 700 million years old? It has, to date, survived five major extinctions and is projected to endure until the sun goes supernova. Given humanity’s propensity for chaos, confusion, and calamities, Where will humanity be in just 1-hundred years?

I’ll ask again: are you sure this isn’t the apocalypse?

As we speak, a Stay & Home Suburban blogger named Susan who has, like, lots of opinions on everything--and who really thinks you should stop buying formula, despite your inability to pump--is sifting her Parenting & Alternative Medicine blog, chugging her last handle of Tito's vodka, staring at her Xanax and Placenta tablets, wondering, "Why is God testing me?" 

Well, we're all being tested, Susan. Why didn't YOU prepare us for this? This was YOUR moment to shine! You always had so much helpful advice - to all the parents in the park that couldn’t manage their crying children.

You were always so willing to regulate the diet of other pregnant women. You were there after, of course, making sure we always remembered to feed our children. And you make sure to warn parents NOT to normalize alcohol use in front of their children, because it would enable them 18+ years down the road. Yet, White Claw was “basically water”, you explained.

You knew ALL the precise ways to quell a colic baby’s screams. And you were kind enough to warn us about the looming threat of Autism, if we so much as considered vaccinating our children. And of course my child needs religion. Why didn’t I think of that myself?

You had the parental precision of Shaquille O'neal at the free throw line. You could always pinpoint the problem with precise precision. And in the era of Coronavirus, with the absence of managers that you need to speak with, because there was always too much cinnamon in your pumpkin spiced latte, and you always felt attacked - you were supposed to be the one to save us! You were the hero we needed, Susan.

In a shocking turn of events, Susan really needed a haircut, has finally started unpacking her issues with her parents, has developed asthma and subsequently, an aversion to wearing masks in public. Sadly, Susan can no longer help any of us. So, I’m prepping for the apocalypse. And parenting.

I've had ample opportunity to watch numerous post apocalyptic sci-fi films recently, in preparation for what may come after this pandemic. And it turns out, there's not much to extract from any of these films, and the movie titles do NOT write themselves.

"Thanos Raptured My Mommy."  
"What to Expect When You're Expecting... Aliens." 
"Babies Don't Fight UFOs."

See what I’m saying? Yet, I will admit that the idea of baby John Connor, equipped with a bottle, trying to fend off a Terminator by short circuiting it with baby formula is pretty freaking adorable. But that does very little to help parents in the COVID era cope with their newfound reality, often as both parents, educators, mental health professionals and newfound wine lovers.

In the absence of quarantine blogs and adequate movie references, here I am, hoping to help, by being as honest as possible—always. As a first time parent, I’m as “armchair quarterback” as it gets. I offer unqualified, unsolicited experiences for you to reference. All thoughts, advice and concerns are optional. I’m not a pediatrician or a psychiatrist. I’m not a politician, a doctor, lawyer, basketball player, and I’m certainly not a billionaire. I almost certainly wouldn’t be building a website if I were any of these things.

In the few months since the birth of my son, my partner and I have learned a lot on the fly. The family members we expected to be by our side are sidelined in the era of Coronavirus. My mom has not seen my son—none of my family has. My family members range from essential workers to those who live in retirement homes, or who face exposure to Coronavirus. Many will call us paranoid, but as a parent, I’m not obligated to heed your advice to see if all pans out. My priority is keeping my family safe.

My partner lost 2 liters of blood during childbirth, had two blood transfusions, and with that reality, any illusions I had of being the primary breadwinner during COVID-19 quickly vanished. My partner needed time to recover, and my son would need me by his side.

My partner and I have argued, screamed, cried and fought. We’ve also developed patience, trust, love, understanding, and more importantly - compassion. We’ve learned on the fly. We’ve adapted to our child’s sleep schedule. We’ve watched him develop into a curious, cuddly smiley baby. A perpetually grunting splitting image of myself, equipped with ALL of my partner’s mannerisms - he even screams at me when exposed to sunlight!

We even developed our own language. Everything is the dishwasher now—everything. I can’t stress this enough.

“Did you put the clothes in the dishwasher?”
”There’s a bottle ready in the dishwasher.”
”Put the food in the dishwasher!”

The tomatoes are in the dishwasher. Sometimes, when we’re feeling extra psychotic - we even attempt to put the oven in the dishwasher. Yesterday, my partner asked me to put the left ovaries in the fridge. One day, soon, I may even end up in the dishwasher.Or the fridge. Chances are, I may end up deserving it.

I’ve cried over leaving parsley at the grocery store. No parenting book ever prepared me for crying over missing out on Chimichurri. One particularly terrible Asthma cough caused me to burst most of the capillaries in my face, my curls were shaved off due to a lack of haircut options, and occasionally, I look like Dennis Reynolds from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, specifically and only in the episode where he stops wearing makeup. I’m tired and sleep deprived. The world around us all is in chaos - and there is always someone out there look to police how YOU feel. Yet, I’m lucky and grateful to have this time with my son.

Just days ago, I thought my baby was squirming in my arms because he was trying to get comfortable. My partner quickly informed me that my son sees my chest and is trying to feed through my shirt.

Evidently, my son is fat shaming me.

I knew about the Freshman 20, but no one prepared me for the Father Forty. My son is also perceptive. He will know I'm watching him while he's sleeping, and his eyes will snap open like something out of a Friday The 13th film if I dare to leave the room.

"What are you doing, creeper?" my wife will then ask me. 

"Wha--How did you kn--" I mutter. 

"We can hear you." she tells me, once again dashing my dreams of becoming a ninja.

During the era of Coronavirus, I have developed an admiration of parents who have been forced to adjust their lives to wear many new hats, while simultaneously having most of their thoughts policed by others. Relationships have become strained, as years of social interactions are being compressed into just a few short weeks. It was supposed to take years to build up this level of resentment!

Many parents have self-restraint down to a science when dealing with Karen’s and Ted’s and Tim’s. These people are often attempting to help, but in so many cases, this helpful, practical advice takes on the form of judgemental, holier than thou BS. I saw it with my single mother, and I can see those “helpful” parents and non-parents eager to rear their heads now, as they have with so many parents before them.

Some of you can just take a deep breath, compartmentalize, reflect, let out the most nuanced, healthy responses imaginable, and kill these people with kindness. It's beautiful to witness! This approach will keep you alive and kicking into your 100s.

I’ll probably get carted off of a QuickChek line by paramedics while screaming,”He cut me in line! Don’t let him have the sandwich!

I respect healthy, responsible, and dare I say, enlightened parenting, but I’m a belligerent caveman, fighting and punching my way through this pandemic/apocalypse, equipped with a wonderful partner and strong woman who never complains, despite having every right to do so - and a beautiful, healthy baby, that knows daddy needs to lose weight if aliens or Murder Hornets show up.

In a world of chaos, anxiety, in-fighting and division, I hope to bring some levity to the conversation. You need this far more than you need another armchair therapist right now.

Stay safe, and make sure you’re prepared for anything.