Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Postpartum Depression for Dads

Postpartum Depression for Dads

A news item today reports that researchers have found Dads suffer Postpartum Depression too.

What took them so long?


Maternal Postpartum Depression occurs shortly after the birth of the baby.

Dads have long known that Paternal Postpartum Depression Onset (or better known as PP’d On) sets in 16 years after the birth or at about the time the son gets his driver’s license and the daughter goes to her first Prom. It coincides with the realization that your progeny are determined to erase any apparent connection to their Dad in their manner of grooming, dress, music, vocabulary and values. They shut themselves in their rooms, deaf to anything Dad says. They would change their inherited DNA if they could. Drives Dad insane.

But the PPD gets worse a few years later when Dad and Mom have to pay the kids’ way through College. Dad becomes aware that the tuition and accommodation would easily pay for that sports car he had always dreamed of buying as soon as he began earning a decent salary after all his years of toil and study. And as if that doesn’t depress him as much as he can bear, he realizes he won’t even be able to afford a Male Midlife Crisis some years down the road: you know, the new unnecessarily expensive car, the boat, the condo at the marina, the irresponsible behavior, the move up to premium booze from domestic beer or even a new pair of jeans.

As the statements for the credit card you gave son and daughter to tide them over some of the typical college student’s unforeseen necessities, like books, arrive, Dad notices that his credit card has gone to trendy places he would never dream of patronizing. Dad treats himself to frozen pizza from the supermarket, son and daughter and truckloads of friends go to a place that charges ten times that. Dad splurges on a pair of Levis jeans once a decade from Penney’s, daughter gets hers at some trendy place he never knew existed, paying a whole lot for the fashionably shredded knees. You question these extravagances and you are met with that “Oh Dad!” that means you are so out of it you’ll never understand them ever again.

Twenty-six years after the birth Dad is about to get over his Paternal Postpartum Depression when son calls to say he’s worried and embarrassed. Dad thinks that at last he has become relevant again. That euphoria lasts for mere seconds until son clarifies that he is worried and embarrassed because he recently discovered to his horror that “I am beginning to sound just like you” when dealing with his toddler’s behavior.

As the grandchildren approach adolescence and your son and daughter begin their difficult task of dealing with it, you are at last delighted when they occasionally seem to want some sage veteran Dad’s advice and support. It’s your moment for revenge. Instead of offering a sympathetic shoulder, you cheerfully relate anecdotes of all those times when they had challenged you and driven you to distraction. You begin to laugh hysterically the more they insist they are serious.

That’s when they call in the men in the white coats to take you away. Paternal Postpartum Depression is incurable.

However It can be relieved so long as your savings last long enough to bribe your grandchildren with the latest video games, and you can indulge behaviors that you scolded and grounded your own kids for.

8 comments:

~CovertOperations78~ said...

Louis, is that YOU in that adorable photo? Awww it gave me the warm fuzzies! You are a good Dad!

I went "Ouch" when I read your piece on Paternal Postpartum Depression. It was funny, sure, but it hit a bit too close to home.

"It coincides with the realization that your progeny are determined to erase any apparent connection to their Dad in their manner of grooming, dress, music, vocabulary and values. They shut themselves in their rooms, deaf to anything Dad says. They would change their inherited DNA if they could. Drives Dad insane."

That was me. That was me. I want to say sorry to my Mum and Dad. I was a teenage Bolshevist. Didn't want an allowance. I grew my own vegetables and went out the house in hideous tie-dyed clothes. Renounced all revealed religion. I saw political implications in everything. Everything to me was a form of oppression, or discrimination against women, teens, students, everything. Fought with my parents at every opportunity. I am sorry. I am sorry.

louis said...

CO'78, it is very filial of you to say "sorry" to your parents. But that wasn't only you. It was I, it was all of us, even our parents before us. That final cutting of the umbilical or the apron strings, the defiance, the establishment of an identity, any identity except that of our parents, even if it's one we will have to cringe at every time we remember it, is a necessary part of becoming an adult. It's painful for both the parent and the child. It is repeated in some form with every generation, and hey, even tie-dyed came back into vogue: my grands have been wearing some :)

After taking a second look, yes, I own up to being that guy in the photo. I was relieved to notice that I didn't still have the long side burns, the beard and the leisure suit I wore not long before this picture.

Pak Idrus said...

Louis, How come you are telling my story. It look like we all went to the same school and only at this age could we indulged ourselves with the reality of those episode of our journey of life.

Louis I believe that is what good and smart parenting is all about. And we live to see and enjoy the fruits of our labor. Well that is life my friend, take care.

louis said...

Hi Idrus,

A news item yesterday claimed that older people are happier. The researchers guessed several reasons for this.

What ever the reason for us (Eek! Are we really "older people"?) to be happy, isn't it great to be able now to not care or even laugh about things that used to send our blood pressure shooting up, in retrospect, for nothing?

Unknown said...

Poor daddy. You look so very young in our family photo...did we drive you to look old before your time? :) I had to laugh at the "Oh Dad!"...I get the feeling Marc and I still get mileage out of that one, while starting to hear it from the mouths of our babes.

Take heart and solace in the knowledge that my kids - you know, the ones you're bribing? - are paying us back. With interest. And they haven't even gotten their drivers licences yet. And yes, it begins...I've now a pair of pants and a shirt that predate Har. My version of the blue blazer. :)

On the plus side, Geoff and I spring for your top shelf booze and fancy socks every once in a while now, so maybe you can begin planning for a post-midlife crisis, eh?

louis said...

Hi Lise,
That you and Marc still get mileage from "Oh Dad" shows how long term the brain damage from PP'D On is.

That any postpartum photo of me can look young is tribute to Photoshop.

Add a tie this Christmas.

I trust you can hear my hysterical..oops, sympathetic, laughter at your woes.

Love.

Unknown said...

Having a day to meditate on this...let it be said that I did listen to you whilst growing up.* Exhibit A: All of the inherited parental phrases that unbidden, horrifyingly come out of my mouth tend to be yours ("okay, pal", "monkey say cool breeze", etc). Except for one. Oviletelo...which is a momism and will forever be what I think when the kids ask for something totally outrageous.

*I just didn't let it show. That wouldn't have been cool.

louis said...

Lise,

Those expressions are copyrighted. I want royalties!

By the way, Mom and I understood cool all along.

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