Recently, I had to take my two youngest kids to the doctor.  My daughter, Adelaide is four but will quickly correct that to say almost five. My son, Parker is three months. I nearly fall down the stairs in a sleepy zombie walk to make his bottles two or three times every night. I made the mistake when Adelaide was a baby to let her sleep on me, and she did…every night for a year. It was easier than getting up every couple of minutes because she was fussing or I was worried that she had spit up or any of the myriad of things that can go wrong with an infant. I am doing my best right now to not fall into that with Parker, but he still ends up sleeping on my chest as we both fall asleep when I am burping him at 3am. The reason I bring this is up is one that irritates me every time I hear it. And I know that people don’t mean anything by it but, this is 2019 and we are supposed to be more careful about what we say. Right?

Back to the doctor’s office. I get them out of the car, which as you may know is a pain to get one out of a five point car seat then get her to stand still while I collect diaper bags and then lift the car seat out of the car. I am loaded up like a Sherpa preparing to summit Mt. Everest. I insist that Addy holds my hand as we cross the parking lot. One part to keep her from running out in front of a car and one part to balance me as I carry the million things necessary for taking a baby anywhere. Addy bounces in the door and heads for the elevator, “Which button Daddy?” She loves pushing the buttons. She presses the up button and we wait for the elevator to open. As my arms are about to fall off from the weight, apparently my wife thinks Parker needs a couple bowling balls in the diaper bag…at least it feels that way. The elevator finally opens and there are a couple of older women inside. We push in and I hear “Oh Dad’s babysitting today” the old woman smirks. I smile awkwardly as I want to remind this well-meaning old woman that I am their father, not their babysitter. But, I don’t. Just a smile and an awkward head nod as Addy clings to my free arm, tucking herself slightly behind me.

Into the doctor’s office, get them checked in and finally get to put everything down, that now includes Addy’s coat. My arms feel like putty as I plop down. Addy is already bouncing around the room, looking out windows and touching EVERYTHING. We’ll leave my mild germ phobia for another day, but it freaks me out. “Okay, let’s go wash our hands” I say. So I pick up everything and take her to the restroom, which she goes into the women’s room because she “is a big girl, and big girls don’t go in the boys room”. Okay great. She runs inside to wash her hands as I uncomfortable stand by the door that I have an inch open so I can hear if she needs me. Water running “are you okay” I ask “Daddy! Ugh” apparently I am already an embarrassment. The paper towels, okay here she comes, with about forty feet of paper towels. Ugh, I plop back into the waiting room and hear a woman across the way. “Uh oh, Daddy’s babysitting” a woman laughs as she fails to notice her kid eating a magazine. Awkward smile and head nod. The door opens “Parker and Adelaide!” Let’s pack up for the mountain trek and follow the nurse to the room where Addy is going to literally bounce off the walls. The nurse takes vitals and starts asking important questions about allergies and history but makes sure to preface this questionnaire with “If you don’t know, that’s okay we can look up from the last time they were here”. Really?!?!? Why wouldn’t I know about my own children? She finishes up and reminds me that the doctor will be right in as I am thinking that maybe I am just being a bit too sensitive to the babysitting thing today.  The door opens and in walks a mid-forties woman in her white coat. She introduces herself “I’m doctor so and so” and she starts the examination. She goes through all the pertinent questions again and is finishing up. Everything is looking great. She gives Addy a sucker for being so brave and such a great big sister before asking Addy “so what are you going to do today with daddy babysitting?” What the hell?!?!? I think as Addy gets ideas. “Happy Meals” she suggests as the doctor leaves the room. I am screaming in my head.

I am not their babysitter. I am their father. I am not only building toys and fighting monsters under the bed but I am also up in the middle of the night giving medicine to sick children. I am making bottles and changing diapers. I am picking out dresses and making sure they brush their teeth. I am not a babysitter. This isn’t a novelty that they are with me and my wife is at work. This isn’t the face of a panicked man that doesn’t know what to do with these kids, counting the minutes until mommy gets home. I am their father and even more so I am their Daddy. That title means more to me than everything else I have ever done, won or bragged about. I am their daddy and please stop cheapening it by calling me their babysitter.