On the back lot of L.A.’s Culver City studios, Paul Reiser emerges from his bungalow office – which looks more like a big living room – drinking herbal tea. The star of TV’s Mad About You is dressed California casual – fresh jeans and a starched blue–striped shirt. The blue shows off his dazzling periwinkle eyes, which, surprisingly, aren’t the least bit bloodshot. But that’s not to say he isn’t sleep–deprived. Since last September, when Reiser’s real–life wife, Paula, gave birth to their first child, Ezra, his life has spun into a cyclone of daddy–related productivity. Mad About You, which Reiser cowrites, coproduces, and stars in with actress Helen Hunt, is entering its sixth season with a new challenge. Like the Reisers, Paul and Jamie Buchman are bringing up their first baby, which arrived during last season’s ratings–grabbing finale. Then there’s the Mad About You CD, which celebrates the birth of Baby Buchman, with music from and inspired by the show. Reiser, who studied music composition and piano in college, cowrote two songs for the compilation. But his proudest recent effort is his new book, Babyhood (Rob Weisbach Books), a largely autobiographical follow–up to his previous best–seller Couplehood. Slipping off his loafers, Reiser talks about Babyhood and fatherhood, pausing periodically to pull a recent photo of Ezra from his shirt pocket and gaze at it rhapsodically.
Joanna Powell: How does Babyhood begin?
Paul Reiser: It starts with "the discussion." I remember my wife and I used to get on plane and see everybody else with their babies. They’d be putting strollers and car seats up above, and we’d think: Oh, please Lord, don’t make us go through that. Then we had a conversation: "We’re just gonna enjoy this great blessing of freedom and not have kids. Deal? Deal." But suddenly we’d start talking about it. And that starts you dipping your toe in the water, and before you know it you say, "I guess we’ll try it." Granted, this is not everybody’s case. Some people want to have kids and aren’t able to, and some people have kids that they didn’t intend to. But this was our experience.
Ezra was born six weeks premature. It must have been quite terrifying.
It is in retrospect, but at the time I think I was too busy to know how terrifying it was. It’s like there’s a fire and everybody’s busy throwing buckets of water. You don’t realize the gravity until you get home a think: We almost lost the school.
Was his life in danger?
No. He was born early. But he was born within a safe range of premature.
Did you ever think about what it would be life if you were the one giving birth?
No question. God was very clever that way. Because men just are not strong enough to do it. I believe in the back of every guy’s mind, no matter how much he loves his wife, is this thought: I’m just so glad that it’s not me.
Can you recall bringing Ezra home from the hospital?
The biggest thing I remember is that there was just no transition. You hit the ground diapering. It was sort of like having a guest. You put him in his chair, and say, "Would you like something? Would you like a Diet Coke? Or, no, you people have milk, I understand. Would you like to freshen up? Oh, no, I guess you’ll just kind of sit there." My wife and I looked at each other and looked at him, thinking, Now what? Do we just look at him until he’s in high school? There must be more to do. The first period is totally reactive. You’re waiting for him to do something, and then you’ll put out that fire. He needs a diaper changed? Got it. He needs to eat? Got it. He needs to sleep? Okay.
How did your dog react?
Unfortunately the dog took a huge step down the evolutionary ladder. We had our dog for ten years before the baby. We weren’t like these craxy people who leave everything to their pets, but we pretty much pampered this dog, and suddenly – she’s just a dog. And, no, you can’t lick the baby. In the beginning we were holding the baby and the dog couldn’t see it. All the dog saw was a blanket. And she must have thought: Boy they love this blanket. They don’t put this blanket down. One time the baby was asleep, and I saw the dog sniffing. And walking closer and closer and closer. I may or may not have seen teeth – but I thought I did. And I’m not the fastest guy, but if there was an award for the fastest toss of a Labrador across a living room, I’d have won. She has never bared her teeth since. Now she sleeps very protectively, and the baby loves the dog.
Did you do anything to try to ease the transition for the dog?
No. I’ve heard about people who bring home a baby diaper for the dog to smell. But I didn’t try it. You don’t do that when you have company coming. You don’t go: "You know what? The Pollocks are coming over. Here are his pants." I thought the dog would figure it out when we got there.
What about picking out a name? How long did that take?
We had the boy’s name picked out, but we didn’t have a girl’s. When he turned out to be a boy, we were so relieved. Literally, in the middle of contracting and pushing, and with my wife being drugged–out and half–lucid, we were still coming up with names. She would go: "Esther!?" Breathe, breathe. "Sarah! No." We were down to the wire.
Your wife Paula is a psychotherapist. What do you admire most about her as a mother?
Ahhh, that’s a good question. There was this wild moment once in the middle of the night, when I suddenly found her so attractive. I was looking at her, and she woke up and she just became the very essence of woman to a degree that she never was before. There’s something that happens in that delivery room, when a woman becomes ten times more a woman, and a guy becomes six times less a man. You feel really dopey and useless and like a spectator. I did, anyway. From then on, my wife has always known what our son needed, and hasn’t even had to think about it. It took me a long time, and still does, to remember to think of him. I mean I think of him all the time, and I whip his picture out to anybody who happens to be in the country at the time I’m walking by them. But I will still flake out, and say, "Listen, can’t we go to a movie Saturday?" She says, "Okay, who’s gonna watch Ezra?" And I say, "Oh, yeah, I didn’t think of that." There’s a compartment of her brain that she had to develop for this, which is always plotting out the days: You know, we can’t do this because he will be sleeping then, so we want to get him to sleep early so he’ll be up from the nap, so when we travel, and – Wow! It’s like playing chess and knowing who moves what the next day. I’m lucky if I can move my rook. And she’s got the next 15 hours mapped out.
And what do you do best as a dad?
I stay out of her way.
Do you sing to him?
Oh, sure. Not only do I sing to him, I sing entire conversations. You become Jerry Lewis. You’re singing: "I’m gonna brush my teeth now." It’s like there’s a rule that regular talk is not okay for the baby. They have to be sung to [singing]: "Here’s some applesauce." It’s even more amazing how you start to talk in third person: "Daddy’s gonna take you out for a walk now." Then you start talking to your spouse in third person: "Okay, Mommy’s gonna change you because Daddy’s really tired now." And, you know, she’ll counter with: "Tell Daddy no, I had you for the last nine hours. Daddy’s gonna take you." And then, the saddest extension is doing it when nobody is around. I actually was home alone, and I said, "Daddy’s gonna take a shower." It’s very embarrassing.
What’s the biggest change being a father has made in your life?
Having a baby dragged me, kicking and screaming, from the world of self–absorption.. Now I say to myself: "I know you want to sit down, but you can’t. I know you want to go away for the weekend, but you can’t." There are times of feeling resentful and moments when, quite honestly, I don’t want to wake up at that hour of the morning. But you get past that and realize you have to let go of what you think you want. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Right now, go and be with that baby. Just play with this beautiful little boy.
Many women are still concerned that an awful lot of men think the time they spend playing with the child is "baby–sitting."
I think I’m pretty hip to that, and yet it certainly comes up in my brain too. I’ll think: Well, I just had him for more than 15 minutes here. If for some reason my wife wasn’t around I know that I would adjust my life so that I could take care of this kid. But since we’re both around, there’s this organic instinct that mothering feels more "right." But she’ll push me, in a good sense, to give more, to be more. She doesn’t just say: "Take him ‘cause I’m tired." She’ll say, "Why don’t you take him for a walk and spend time with him?" Guys need a little help in knowing how to care for a kid. It’s not that I think: Gee, parenting is beneath me. It’s just that I wouldn’t think of it. I’ll take him out in the stroller and she’ll say: "Talk to him." And I say: "Oh, yeah, that’d be good, wouldn’t it?" Suddenly I realize I’m having a great time. I’m talking, he’s laughing, we’re playing. And I didn’t think of it.
Do you want to have more kids?
Yeah, I do. We talk about that. But not tomorrow.
What sort of advice do you have for new parents?
They’re not the sharpest people – babies. So, you must be everything to them. And, in terms of your marriage, it does two things simultaneously: One, it separates you from one another, because you’re drained of energy. You’re putting all your energy into the kid, so there’s not much time for the luxury of working on "us." You say, "Hey let’s one of us get three hours’ sleep, that’ll be good fun!" But at the same time that the experience is pulling you apart, it’s also bonding you. You have this joint venture! You both made this baby. And that’s the thing I still can’t get over. I say to my son: "You didn’t exist two years ago. You were actually made by the two of us." I don’t know how it happens, but it’s pretty wild.
You used to joke that the most commonly heard phrase in your home was, "Chicken or fish?" because everything came down to planning food. Is there a line you say every day now that you have a baby?
"It’s your turn." That easily could be the title of the book: It’s Your Turn.