Why Parents Should Occasionally Take a Night Off

Sometimes – alright, maybe often – I don't practice what I preach.

Take some of my New Year's resolutions: get out of the house more, make time to relax and recharge, don't be so darn hard on myself. How am I doing? Fail, fail, and a colossal fail.

Walking away from the domestic duties of being a stay-at-home dad is not as easy as it was back in the glory days of my son's infancy. Now the tot has a voice that sobs “dada, no bye-bye” in a tone calibrated to wrench at my heart, and he requires far more energy to look after. I feel guilty leaving my wife, exhausted at the end of a long workday, to mind him while I go for a run or have a drink with a friend. So most days I hang on the home front, a daddy till the tot hits the hay.

Prior to having a kid, I of course heard that toddlers need constant attention, but I thought it was an exaggeration.

It ain't.

Just this morning, for example, my son was quietly playing with these crayons we have that write on the windows. I took advantage of the distraction to check in on my Twitter feed, which led me to a blog post, and then, only a minute or two later, I realized he was at my feet, saying, “Dada. Dad. Daddy!!”

But his voice was funny. Because he had a crayon jammed far in his mouth, which he twirled around like a popsicle over his now-blue tongue.

It's as if he's watching to make sure that I'm watching him, and if I'm not, he redraws my attention by doing something crazy.

When I go to the bathroom he climbs into his highchair and perches precariously on the edge of the seat, calling for me all the while. I have to leap to his rescue or else, if predisposed, hope he doesn't fall on his head.

Even when he naps I get little reprieve. In response to , I've taken to laying him down next to me on the futon. When he stirs he sees me and settles back down. He's happier and better rested, but on the other hand, I'm chained at his side in the dark, unable to get up and do something. (Like using the aforementioned bathroom in peace.)

Now, I don't want to sound like one of those people lamenting their entire loss of self to parenthood. Fatherhood has deepened and strengthened me in ways I never imagined. But I do experience toddler fatigue, and it's difficult not to resent his incessant demands.

So last weekend, when the stars aligned and offered my wife and I a chance to escape for the night, we took it. We had a free place to stay at my aunt's house in Philadelphia, a car from my vacationing mother-in-law to ferry us there, and babysitting in the form of my eager parents.

A friend and fellow-father had told me what would happen when we left: “You'll be almost giddy.”

I thought, sure, giddy with happiness. What I didn't expect was that I'd be giddy with freedom.

It didn't hit till late in the afternoon, while waking up from a blissful nap. I was rising of my own volition – no one was crying, there was no diaper to change or lunch to make. I could stay in bed longer, which I did, listening to the sounds of children playing games after school out on the street. I felt just as footloose and carefree as a kid at the start of the weekend.

Seeing me lying there, my wife said, “You your face looks different. Like you're on vacation.”

It was true: my cheeks spotted color, my eyes shone brighter, my jawline had relaxed. At home I hold pockets of tension in these places. It affects my smile and expressions. My whole way of physically relating to people comes through a slight scrim of stress.

Releasing this anxiety left me liberated – to a point. As the night went on, I felt my son's absence like a phantom limb. I read the time in relation to his schedule of dinner, bath, and bed. I woke up in the middle of the night swearing I heard him cry. And the next morning, upon waking toddler-early as usual, I had to make myself not call my parents to check in on him.

I imagined how happy he'd be to see us. And sure enough, when my wife and I arrived at my parent's, he greeted us with hugs. Then he showed me the chunk of soft-pretzel my dad had given him, which he had gnawed to a nub. “You want more?” I asked him.

He ran to my dad. “Pop-pop,” he said.

As they walked to the kitchen hand-in-hand, I thought, “We should've stayed out longer.”

Because even though the tot does require constant care at this point in his life, that doesn't mean that I – or my wife – are the only ones who can provide it. My instincts were right at the start of the year. I need more time away, to feed the person under the parent, to remember that I'm not just a father but a husband and a fun-loving guy who enjoys a night out on the town.

This requires some effort in scheduling, and its not likely to happen as often as I would like, but that means the payoff – the intoxicating sense of liberation – is all the more powerful. I'm already looking to experiencing it again!