Being a good husband and father is paradise

It’s 5:30am on another Monday. Your youngest son is crying for the third time tonight and it’s your turn to bottle feed. It takes 45 minutes to put him back down, leaving you just enough time to chug a protein shake and Celsius. Just deodorant today, no shower.

Your wife and mother of your three kids is finally getting some deep sleep after a tough night. You gently kiss her forehead.

You throw on your clothes and pick a watch. You say bye to your groggy ten and six year olds. You rush to your car; you’ll tuck in your shirt later.

The midwestern sunrise is beautiful. It turns less beautiful as you get closer to downtown.

For years you took the metro north to Grand Central; now you’re stuck in the MCOL version of heavy traffic. As the city’s unimpressive skyline comes into view, you feel pangs of nostalgia for the NYC life and better pay. You try to be content.

It’s early. The office is bland and run down, and the desks are mostly empty. You don’t understand why they insist you come in-person Monday-Thursday.

Running a corp dev group for a PE platform was always your end goal since the Analyst days. Leading $5m transactions is easier and more engaging than working up the PE ladder. You sit down and get to work.

A few salespeople, operators, and marketers stop by your office throughout the morning for small talk. You’ve told them you do finance, but have to clarify over and over it’s not accounting. At least the PE owners in LA appreciate you.

You bring up your wife and kids every few sentences to remind the ladies you’re taken. Maybe they would’ve been interested eight years and 45 pounds ago. Still, you feel good about staying faithful.

Your late morning is spent walking your analyst through the model again. You wonder every day how he passed your interview screens. He makes $160k for some reason.

Lunch is packed in a brown bag. While it was made with love and care, you still miss NYC deli sandwiches. You call your wife and thank her.

You pull out a crumpled note from the bag: “I love you daddy” and a stick figure drawing of you and your six year old son playing baseball. It’s a masterpiece that should be hanging in the Louvre.

Your afternoon is bogged down by calls. An owner still doesn’t understand why you’re using EBITDA less Capex instead of EBITDA to value the company, and his attorney is being a bulldog on the purchase agreement for no reason. This deal should’ve been done a month ago. You reiterate your stances and hope it all blows over in a few days.

You decide to stop by the 4pm office party. A few groups are talking about various topics like biking, restaurants, and whether they should get their eight year old kid a phone. You leave early.

The drive home is stalled by an accident ahead. The drivers here don’t know how to merge properly. You ponder if settling for $175k base and moving halfway across the country was a bad choice.

You call a church friend to pass the time. He rambles on about his construction job and how thankful he is for what he has. He’s a bit long winded, but you listen and feel guilty for being grumpy all afternoon. You volunteer to help him fix his car this weekend.

You pass churches and old gas stations. The brand new Chick-fil-A is packed even on a Monday. The BBQ joint is empty; that’s more of a Friday night place. There’s a charm to the area, but you’d rather have a beach house in California or Florida. You turned down a ton of carry for this.

Almost home. Friendly neighbors. Kids playing outside. Massive ranches. Cows. Horses. The sunset. Maybe you do like it here, at least a little.

Your house looks like a modern castle and sits on two acres of land. It’s paid off. Years of hoarded IB/PE money goes much further here. You wish it was easier to maintain, but it beats the 800 sq ft apartment you grew up in. Your mom would be proud.

“Daddy!!!” scream the kids as you open the door. Your wife is exhausted. You set up the table.

Your daughter offers to pray for the food. You notice she is wearing a little makeup; that’s not a battle for today. Your middle son asks for a phone. “No, you’re six.” He’ll learn to stop asking. Dinner is a quick, messy occasion.

You take the three kids upstairs to play while wife rests. Your boy accidentally smacks your crotch with a toy sword. Your girl asks you to braid her hair six different ways. Baby blows out his diaper. Then, it’s bedtime.

Your wife waited for you during the years of 90 hour weeks. She gave up her successful marketing career to raise your first two kids. She was thrilled when you finally decided to pursue better work life balance. She held everything together for the big move and a surprise pregnancy. Now she’s feeding your baby to sleep. You will never understand why she picked you.

You clean up. She reminds you where the small ceramic bowls go, even though you have never misplaced them (that one time doesn’t count). This kind of thing used to make you mad, but you’ve learned to be more patient. She apologizes for nagging.

You both make an effort to connect despite the tiredness. She talks about a new recipe she found. You dream together about going back to the Maldives. You tell her you still have a big crush on her and “ask her out” for the hundredth time. She rolls her eyes and takes your hand.

Baby falls asleep. You put him down. Finally some quiet time.

The thrills of youth are behind, and the ambitions of life are still ahead. But for now everything is okay.

Being a good husband and father is paradise.