Dad's Hierarchy of Needs

I know that it's almost 6 AM, because my cat Tracy is purring loudly and shoving her head against my shoulder. I make the sweet little girl wait until my watch buzzes at exactly 6:00, but she is almost as punctual as my wake-up alarm. She darts between my feet as I carefully step to the kitchen and place her breakfast in her bowl.

My other beloved small creature is as accustomed to his routine as the cat. "Bees make lots and lots of honey," I hear him say through his bedroom door.

I knock and open the door. "Good morning, Little Love."

"Good mornin'!" my son says in the same sing-songy way his preschool teacher greets him. "I was talking to Cutie and Sneaky about bees!" He indicates his plushy bunnies.

"I love talking about bees!" I tell him.

"They make lots and lots of honey," he informs me. "And they only sting if they're scared."

I guide him through the morning routine: potty, wash hands, brush teeth, breakfast, clothes. He tells me about bees, then The Magic Schoolbus, and whatever else pops into his rapidly developing brain. We leave treats for Tracy and get into the car. On the drive to preschool, my son and I take turns telling each other stories.

When I was growing up, my father told me time and again, "Your first priority has got to be taking care of yourself. If you can't do that, you can't help anyone else. Then you can take care of the people you love. After that, you can do what you can for others." I took the lesson to heart.

I consider myself as having three "jobs," and they align exactly with Dad's advice. It takes effort to provide for and nurture myself. It is extremely important to me to be the best mother I can be. And, I've got an enjoyable career as a mechanical engineer.

I sign my kid in at preschool and give him one more hug. It's only a few miles' drive to the office, but more often than not, I stop at the horribly slow drive-through of a chain coffee spot. Like so much of America, I "run" on it.

My workday is full of math and checking systems/components against various technical specifications. I perform stress analyses for a large contractor for the United States Department of Defense. Maybe others would write a few paragraphs extolling the virtues of nuclear deterrence and national security, but that's beyond my intended scope. I see my job as worthwhile in, at the very least, less lofty ways.

My stress analyses help ensure the safety of the people who interact with the given systems/components. My work improves the quality of the products my company produces, thus helping a major area employer continue paying a lot of people. Best of all, products which pass the requirements of my review are sure to have a long lifespan--think, "Reduced rework, reusable components, recyclable materials."

My career helps me improve others' quality of life, and serve the environment. These are the exact outcomes I wanted from my engineering degree. (Well, these, and the ability to pay my student loans.)

When the workday is over, I pick my kid up from preschool. It's time for our dinner, and Tracy's. My son tells me about his games and activities at preschool, and the ins and outs of his social circle. I occasionally comment, "It wasn't nice of her to throw sand at you," or, "Of course he bit you; you scared and probably hurt him when you hit him." Often my feedback is positive: "I'm so glad you had more practice drawing," and, "It's wonderful you and your friends could share the trucks."

My job as a parent is to raise this little dude into a tolerable, self-sufficient adult. A large portion of my emotional and mental bandwidth goes towards this end. I've got to meet his base needs (food, shelter, hygiene, medicine as necessary). I've got to guide the development of his social skills and moral compass. I've got to balance those requirements against fostering his sense of independence. It's a lot.

My kid loves playing with dinosaur toys in the shower. It's a waterfall that gets them, and him, all clean. I usually have to let him know, "I'm setting a timer for two minutes. When the timer goes off, your shower is over and we have to read stories." He may or may not whine for another two minutes when he hears my phone chiming.

Dry off, put on pajamas, brush teeth, and choose two stories. He typically cuddles up to me when I read to him. Then I put the books away and turn off his light. I hug him and lie on his bed with him for a while to help him settle down. He's still awake when I smooch his cheek and say good night.

He insists that our evening farewells are in accordance with whatever character he was latest playing Pretend. "Good night, Mechagozilla. I love you. Sleep well." Sometimes it's a different Toho kaiju, or Sonic the Hedgehog, or Batman. Whichever name he wants me to use, I use. Then he settles himself down to sleep.

There is no end to the reasons why people find Parenting beneficial. From economic contributions to building the future, a population needs new blood. Again, my focus is less "big picture." I'm doing everything I can to take care of another human, and that makes me feel good.

With my workday over and my son drifting off to sleep, I can finally focus on my most important job of all, according to Dad's Hierarchy of Needs. I can take care of myself.

I feel best when I and my living space are relatively clean. I wash the dishes, clean the cat's litter box, and shower. The last few hours of my day belong to my own comfort, improvement, and/or enjoyment, depending on what I need. Sometimes this means catching up with a friend or playing a video game. Lately, it has led to a lot of writing--which can either help me process heavy emotions and trauma, or serve as fun and empowering escapism. Finally, Tracy cuddles up with me and we settle down to sleep.

The internet is full of thinkpieces about self-care. It suffices to say that I agree with the common consensus: self-care is important.

Take care of yourself, and you are more capable of fulfilling your obligations to the people you care about. Take care of yourself and the people you care about, and then you can have the time/ability/bandwidth to see what you can do for others.

Thanks for the advice, Dad. It's led me to three fulfilling jobs.