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.

Seems I’ve been called up to the majors and I’m absolutely terrified. Sienna celebrated her 15-mo bday yesterday complete with a trip to the pediatrician, a couple of shots, a note that Sienna’s in the 3rd percentile weight-wise, and an instruction for me to stop giving her jars of purees and introduce her to more foods and textures. This is one of my nightmares, one of the things I’m most frightened of when it comes to being a stay-at-home dad.

I’m not good with food. In fact, I’m one of the pickiest eaters you’ll ever meet. No seafood. No mushrooms. No cheese. No palate or sense of adventure. In addition, I’m a terrible cook. I survive on fruit, nuts, peanut butter, chips, garlic hummus, and eating out when I can. My wife, who could live on cereal for the rest of her life, can’t cook either, so she’s not much help.

In addition to always giving her a taste of whatever I’m eating, I’ve been giving Sienna Cheerios, half a mug of oatmeal mixed w/ a jar of baby food, and about 4 oz of milk for breakfast; Cheerios, yogurt (which I loathe), and about 5 oz of milk for lunch; and pasta, frozen vegetables, and a jar of baby food for dinner. If she’ll eat it, she’ll also get strawberries, grapes, blueberries, bananas, apples. honey maple turkey, etc., but sometimes she likes them and sometimes she doesn’t. Eggs and cheese have failed completely.

Now I have to be adventurous for my daughter, something I can’t do for myself. I walk into grocery stores and feel lost even if I have a list; I always wind up buying the same things. My wife suggested trying out a recipe once a week, but that scares me. Cooking scares me. What if go through all the trouble of cooking something and Sienna won’t eat it (and I don’t like it?). As much as I try not to, I tend to take it personally, like I failed somehow. This is not to say I won’t do it, I’m just severely anxious at the moment and haven’t been able to MAKE myself do it…yet (as my therapist always tells me to add on to each of my sentences).

It took me forever to become comfortable with the routine we established and now it’s getting shaken up again. I guess that’s what having a child means…constant shakeups to established routines. As worried as I am, I know I can’t depend on purees the rest of my life.  Time for fishsticks (ick), macaroni & cheese (if the smell doesn’t make me vomit), and actually cooking things. Right now I feel lost…as if I were in a grocery store.

 This is me:

This is not me: