I have been, throughout my life, fairly obsessed with cleanliness and order. Some folks, myself included, felt like parenthood could be a hard transition for me based solely on this tendency. How easy was it going to be for me to alter my expectations? Or would madness simply envelop me?
As with most things, parenthood hasn’t been something I’ve had to consciously fight to adapt to. It’s just happened TO me, and there was an immediate, subconscious understanding that life in all its forms would be fundamentally different moving forward. In fact, it wasn’t until recently that I really paused and reflected for the first time about all the grotesque tendencies I’ve come to not simply accept, but embrace.
For instance, it’s not at all uncommon for me to have mucus somewhere on my body. In fact, I’d guess that the only part of my day that is snot-free is right after getting out of the shower. Another weird byproduct of fatherhood? Not giving a damn about food falling on the ground; hell, I’ll even eat it sometimes, 7-second rule be damned. Then there are the frequent puddles of drool scattered around the house. I can even observe it happening and not even care to get up and wipe Miles’s mouth dry. After all, what’s the point?
That’s not to say I don’t still have standards. I clean the house. I shower. Miles gets baths. But when it comes to picking up all the quinoa that Miles has generously dispensed on the floor, I’ll probably just put on a pair of slippers and call it a night.