Kids, back in olden times, long before I met your mother, there existed this wonderfully smart, funny, multicultural children’s program complete with grouches, counting vampires, a big, blue, baked goods-loving monster, a frog that read the news, a diverse cast, and, well, no omnipresent, 3rd person-spouting, red muppet in sight.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. There’s no way around Elmo and you’d be right. Elmo is ubiquitous – books, clothing, toys, music – and (to my dismay), I realized when I watched “Sesame Street” with Sienna for the first time, he’s completely taken over the show relegating most of my beloved characters (Count von Count, Oscar, Cookie Monster, Bert & Ernie, Big Bird) to what amounts to a special appearance. Only Grover seems to have survived the purge as he has his own little segment called “Super Grover.”

I’m not going to lie. I’ve never liked Elmo. I’ve always found him grating. This has nothing to do with Kevin Clash’s (the voice behind Elmo) homosexuality or his sleeping-with-underage-boys scandal (though I’m pretty disgusted by the latter). In fact, I found the documentary Behing Elmo: A Puppeteer’s Journey to be fascinating and uplifting. This is just about Elmo’s character not only being annoying, but being EVERYWHERE and thus driving me bananas.

Luckily, thanks to Netflix streaming and YouTube, I can expose Sienna to what life was like before Elmo. We can watch classic “Sesame Street” episodes or clips of some of the show’s best songs and segments like “Rubber Duckie,” “C is for Cookie,” and “It’s Not Easy Being Green.” And you know what? Sienna enjoys them! She especially likes “Rubber Duckie” since she has one of her own. And as a plus, I really get to re-live my childhood as segments such as “Pinball Number Count” pop up during episodes filling me with a deep nostalgia.

I know I can’t cut Sienna off from Elmo completely, nor would I want to. That would be cruel and tyrannical. She loves “Elmo’s Song” and plays with plenty of Elmo-related toys (the Elmo-onesie, we inherited, however? Gone). But I want Sienna to spend time with and get to know Big Bird and Oscar and Bert and Ernie and Kermit and Cookie Monster and my absolute favorite, The Count. She might not ever know them as much as she knows Elmo or this Abby Cadabby, but that’s ok, because if one day she turns to me and says, “One apple! TWO apple! Ah-Ah-Ah!” it’ll all be worth it.

I’ve already talked about my depression and anxiety, my fears of failure and success, and even my fear of food, but something I’ve yet to talk about is my slight case of agoraphobia. More than 15 months in and I’m still afraid to take Sienna out…even for walks to the park or  around the block. Part of it is a worry that Sienna will get sick. Part of it is an irrational fear of judgment. What do people see when they look at me? Do they see into my mind and soul? Can they tell from my perpetually hunched shoulders that I grew up with gynecomastia? And, of course, I still feel the “stigma” about being a stay-at-home dad due to my brain’s twisted view of success.

I also don’t do well in crowds, and it’s one of the reasons I tend to avoid Manhattan even when a NYC Dads Group meetup sounds exciting. I hate people rushing and pushing their way onto trains or past me on the sidewalk. I hate huge groups of school children out at the zoo or museums or wherever. And I’ve learned that large meetups aren’t for me, the ones where there are 30 or so dads with their offspring running around (including my own). I need to be able to talk to people one-on-one to prevent myself from becoming overwhelmed.

But herein lies a problem. Sienna needs to get out. She needs to make friends. She needs to experience and explore the world outside of the comfort of this little apartment. I can read to her all I want, but showing her pictures of monkeys does not compare to showing her ACTUAL monkeys. Now, I do much better when I’m with Elaine, and we’ve made Tuesdays sort of a family day. We’ve gone to the Bronx Zoo, Adventureland, and other places. We plan to head to the beach soon (something about which I’m VERY nervous). But I can’t count on Elaine all the time. I’m with Sienna every day of the week.

I’d love to have a set play date with one of my friends and his/her kid(s), but that has not yet come to fruition. I feel that would help me, though once again that would be relying on someone else when I alone am the one who needs to break through these fears. My therapist is always telling me I just have to do it, but I always fall into the trap of “I don’t UNDERSTAND how you just do it” to which she says, “STOP TRYING TO UNDERSTAND!!” That’s one of my problems…I need to understand everything and when I don’t, I freeze and/or stubbornly fight against it.

What I need is to fully take in the fact that my depression and anxiety pale in comparison to my daughter’s needs. I’ve not yet been able to do so, but I’m working on it, I’m trying insanely hard because in the  end, the solution is one sentence, four words, none larger than 3 letters: do it for her.

Here is a piece I recently wrote for the NYC Dads Group blog. I got to thinking about the differences between Mother’s Day and Father’s Day and how the societal perception of the two influenced my family’s perception of the two which I then internalized. I hope by the time Sienna’s a parent, the stereotypes associated with each will have completely disappeared…a big wish, I know.

You can read the piece here and if you’re a dad (stay-at-home or otherwise) in the NYC area who loves to spend time with his kids, please consider joining the NYC Dads Group.

Sienna has a cold; coughing, sneezing (she says, “Bless you” each time…it’s really cute), unable to sleep. little appetite, glassy eyes, nose bubbling and gushing like a waterfall. And there’s not much we can do. I feel utterly helpless. Last night, after giving Sienna some chicken soup, Hyland’s cold tablets, and children’s Motrin, Elaine and I comforted her as best as we could and put her down in the crib. We then lay in bed holding each other as we listened to our daughter’s screams and wails broken only by a  hacking cough. After a we decided some mediaval torture was in order (aka using the NoseFrida aspirator) – talk about shrieks! – we put her back in her crib and I stroked her nose until she finally passed out.

The poor girl has no idea what’s going on, of course. She doesn’t understand why we wipe her nose and suck out her snot. She doesn’t get why she can’t sleep…she just knows she can’t. And as much as we want to explain it, we can’t. Despite all of this, Sienna’s sunny disposition is mostly intact, so we’re lucky in that sense. We’re also lucky we have yet to experience REAL illness and that our daughter was born perfectly healthy…10 fingers, 10 toes, no congenital diseases or chromosomal disorders. We know how lucky we are. Elaine talks about it constantly and even spent a bunch of money on a keychain that contained a bunch of good luck charms which reminded her of Sienna and brought tears to her eyes. I don’t know how parents of children with developmental problems or chromosomal/congenital disorders do it. I salute them mightily, because I feel powerless and all Sienna has is a cold.

I thought I knew what helplessness was. My breakdown left me shaking, stuttering, and crying for at least 6 months. I can’t imagine how Elaine felt, how my PARENTS felt, during this time. I know I felt hopeless and impotent, completely dependent on others. But I’ve discovered those feelings pale in comparison to seeing my little girl in any sort of pain.

I dread the day Sienna gets really sick. I don’t want to think about it, but my mind (which always runs in extremes), won’t stop. I need to concentrate on being there for my daughter during this slight illness. I need to suck away her snot despite her anguish. I need to hold her and calm her as best I can. And I will. I’m a dad and that’s my job.

I wasn’t sure if I could write about the sudden loss of James Gandolfini because this blog is supposed to be about my battles with depression while raising my daughter, but both my therapist and my friend, Oscar, told me that this is my blog and I can write about whatever I’d like. Thus, because I’ve been anxious about writing about the man who brilliantly portrayed Tony Soprano on my blog, I’m a little late to the tributes and thoughts and summations about the actor’s life and his cultural impact.

To be honest, it’s rare when I’m affected by a celebrity’s death. The last time I remember feeling so shocked and saddened was we unexpectedly lost John Ritter. That time it was because I’d grown up watching John Ritter and his death made me think about my own aging and mortality more than usual. In the case of James Gandolfini, my first thought shock that he was younger than my current 39 years when “The Sopranos” premiered. Then I began to think about the greatness of the show (I’m still mixed on the ending, but I do recall my heart pumping like crazy) and the emotional complexity Gandolfini brought to the character of Tony Soprano.

It was Gandolfini’s eyes, his movements, his vocal inflections, that made me believe that even the head of a mob family could suffer from panic attacks, an anxiety disorder, and depression. As I watched Gandalfini as Tony in that first episode clutching his chest, trying to breathe, I could see myself; Tony was me and I was Tony despite him being a wealthy, powerful, and often vicious character and me being a real, working class, easily frightened person. I also watched as Tony stubbornly fought his therapist, just as I do; Gandolfini’s acting during Tony’s therapy sessions was beyond genius because he truly captured via his body language and facial expressions how hard it is to be in therapy.

As I recalled Gandolfini in the wake of his death, I thought about Jeffrey Tambor. It sounds like a strange leap, but believe me, it’s not. A few weeks ago, my sister attended an event in which Jeffrey Tambor (of “Arrested Development” fame…perhaps my comedy ever) spoke about his own battles with depression and anxiety (http://theinneractor.com/336/personal-development-for-actors-jeffrey-tambor-on-using-fear/).

After the event, my sister, in a very sweet and caring manner, spoke to Jeffrey Tambor about me and my struggles. It amazes me how far-reaching depression and anxiety are; how many people are affected regardless of job or social status, wealth, etc. I too often compare myself to others negatively. Gandolfini’s abrupt death led me to thinking about his interpretation of Tony Soprano, a powerful man repeatedly left powerless by anxiety, and then to Jeffrey Tambor, a successful actor who deals with the same battles as myself. It’s time I begin to positively compare myself to others since so many of us share these diseases and disorders.

So thank you James Gandolfini for bringing the culturally important character of Tony Soprano (as well as numerous other characters on stage and screen) to life. You will be most definitely be missed.