I wake up at 4 a.m. — 3:30, ideally. In that quiet time, I catch up on my mobile and work in a little yoga with Baby’s Pose, where you basically try to eat your own feet. Then I’m ready to scream for my first breast of milk. While the rest of the world is asleep, I’ve already won the morning.

I cut down on unnecessary decision-making by wearing the same thing every day: pajamas. It has sort of become my signature, and it also projects a certain unassuming, “I woke up like this” confidence. I’m saying, “I don’t need to wear corduroy overalls and an engineer’s cap to look like I belong.”

No matter how successful you are, you can always grow your network, so I try to meet one new baby a day. Granted, it’s easier when you’re in day care, but even if you’re a stay-at-home infant, there’s no excuse not to go to a playground or a singalong and mingle. I used to be shy about it, but now I just crawl right up and stare. People really respect that directness. It’s like, we both know why we’re here; let’s cut out the goo-goo-gah-gah and get down to brass tacks.

I’m a big believer in naps. I used to do two long ones at 10 o’clock and 2:30, but now I’m into the Leonardo da Vinci method of six 20-minute spurts throughout the day, at more or less random intervals. It’s just enough time for my energy to replenish fully and not quite enough for my caretaker to do anything productive or even watch a show — the sweet spot.

I find it immensely helpful to block off 45 minutes for unstructured time to do whatever: bounce in a jumpy chair, throw a toy across the room, spit up all over a new cashmere sweater. I do my best thinking in what I call my “play pen,” this little cordoned-off area that’s just for me. If I’m enjoying myself in there, everyone knows not to interrupt me.

Beyond breast milk, my pediatrician has me on an all-purée diet. It’s a simple rule: If you can eat it with four or fewer teeth, you’re good. I thought I’d get bored, but I’ve become an evangelist.

One thing I’ve learned: When you’re having a good poop, don’t let anything get in the way. I don’t care if I’m at a restaurant without a diaper-changing station, or on a red-eye flight, I’m not stopping. Inspiration is rare; deal with the collateral damage later.

Look, life can be hard, and no one’s going to judge you if it’s too much sometimes and you need a release. I like to get the stress out by crying for two straight hours. A lot of babies say: “Two hours? I do my crying in 15 minutes.” Sorry, but that’s just not enough. You need a solid two for the endorphins to kick in.

At the end of the day, I make sure I log some family time. These are the people who literally keep us alive, yet how often do we just sit down in front of a YouTube cartoon about shapes and tune them out? Babble at your loved ones. Drool on them. Scratch their faces. Your investment in them now will pay dividends when you’re in preschool.

In my crib at night, I reflect on the day and list three things I’ve learned. Maybe it’s how to operate a toy dump truck, maybe it’s the ability to clap, maybe it’s recognizing who my father is among the other larger adults. It doesn’t matter how big or small; the crucial thing is that you’ve overcome challenges, evolved, and are ready to do it all over again in six hours. Namaste.

Teddy Wayne is the author of the forthcoming novel "Apartment." Greg Wayne is a neuroscientist and artificial intelligence researcher.

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