The other day, I got one of those dreaded calls: “It’s Stacy from the preschool office. I’m calling about Benjamin….” There were about 00:07 seconds between the last

A moment ago, I was scared to death my son had been sucked under by quicksand behind the swings, but upon hearing that he had upchucked at the “friendship table” I was
thrilled. Here was a genuine, minor emergency that I could answer in the middle of the day. I picked him up, bought him Gatorade, and cared for him the rest of the day—all without the anxiety of missing time off the work clock.

Several months back, I underwent one my of my many life crises. Our second child was six months old and Wendy and I were still acclimating to life with two kids. I was working a ton of hours, at the office and later at home. I frequently missed dinners. Worst of all, Jacob often looked at me blankly, as if to say, “And you are…?” And Benjamin was telling my wife, “I can’t fall asleep until I give Daddy his cup of air.” The “cup of air” involves my son pouring imaginary flavors in a pretend nightcap for a calming end to the day. Because of all my extra work hours, I was missing my cups of fresh air—my kids.

After an unhealthy amount of soul-searching, I stepped off the linear track of career advancement and created a more flexible work schedule. As a result, I’ve had time to regularly change diapers, instead of the occasional wipe up. Jacob has gotten so used to it, he only poops when I’m the one with him. I’m also no longer inept at feeding him and have learned to imitate his dance moves. Recently, when we brought a runny-nosed Jacob into bed with us, he patted my chest and whispered one of his first words, “Dada.” This was it. I had transformed from a nonentity to a key player (My wife, despite doing so much of the child care, couldn’t sleep the rest of the night because she had yet to hear him say “Mama.”)