Things I Understand I Never Did Before

So Lucas is three months old now. Well, nearly. Not so much has changed in the last month, and we've settled into our routines pretty well by now. In the last week or two, he's started getting a LOT more verbal. He makes this hooting "oooh" sound, quite a bit. that anyone other than Amy or I might find annoying, but we find tremendously funny - especially when he gets excited and enthusiastic and it becomes "OOOH!" and occasionally "OOO-waaahhooo" and other variations when he starts smiling and twisting his mouth around. In fact, we were mildly embarrassed at a local restaurant the other night 'cause well, kiddo ain't quiet when he's making noise - family trait - and while we found it amusing, we had no doubt the other dining patrons probably did not. So I guess I'm starting to understand those parents who have the noisy kids but never seem to want to restrain them, or do so half-heartedly. Your heart really isn't in it; you love those expressions of emotion and LIFE from your lil' dude.

Here's a few other things that lately I've come to understand, even if not directly yet, that I never had tolerance for before now:

"My Little Johnny would NEVER (insert action here)"

Let me tell you... as a teacher there are few things that cause more eye-rolling at parent conferences (when the parent isn't watching, of course) than the blind insistence of a parent that their child is simply INCAPABLE of such a deed! While I still have no sympathy for the blindness that this attitude represents, I'm starting to see its roots. Looking at my lil' Lucas-dude, it's tough to imagine him doing anything wrong. At this point, obviously, everything he does is blameless. Babies don't even have a morality, nevermind one they can be judged on. As they grow into toddlers, they probably only get the weakest sense of right and wrong, and only if you work hard at it. "Don't hit, don't take" and so on - and I suspect compliance here is more a case of "avoidance of punishment" than any higher view. (That most of the world never gets past this level of morality is a point I could discuss at length, but that's for another time.)

It's easy to imagine that a parent's perception of a child never changes - people don't like to examine their own thinking processes, as a rule - and so that "Johnny never does wrong" mentality sticks....and sticks....and suddenly Johnny is in the 8th grade, and that mentality - which was understandable and correct when Johnny was a toddler - is now allowing Johnny to use his parents as enablers for all kinds of hideous actions. (Not to mention the fact that Johnny has learned that lying to his parents works and therefore is okay.)

Eh. I rant. That was not my intention. My intention was simply this: while I do not encourage that point of view and I sincerely hope I never fall victim to it, some small part of me acknowledges that people who think their kids are perfect may not be entirely insane in how they got there.

Parents Who Let Their Kids Sleep In the Same Bed With Them

This is another one I never really bought into. For the record, I still don't: to my way of thinking, it ruins the kid's ability to develop self-reliance and self-confidence, and only encourages a repetition of the problem. Frankly, once the kid's asleep, you've got one of the few occasions in the day where parents can pursue their own social agendas, and I mean hey, those opportunities are few and far between, or so I hear - so why you gonna let a little nose-dripper soil your sheets instead of sticking to their own? I've seen enough of my own kid sleeping to know he's a friggin kung-fu expert in his sleep. Fellas, seriously: can you imagine a little kid dealing you out a jimmykick WHILE YOU ARE ASLEEP? With that small, deadly-sharp foot?

Enough to give you nightmares for a year.

Having said that, watching the little dude sleep in his little crib and then walking across the house to my own bed, I'll admit that a time or two I've wished he were a bit closer, just to wake up and look upon in the wee hours of the night. Obviously at his current size, it would be a lot more dangerous for HIM than for ME to sleep in bed with mom and dad. Lemme tell you, his mom's got some flying elbows as it is in her sleep, and dad ain't exactly known for waking up at the sound of one hand clapping. Probably squish the little dude into a pancake and never know it if mom didn't muay-thai him into the next life on her own.

The urge to have him nearby and protect him, though, is a strong one. Sometimes when I go to bed, I wonder if I could get to Lucas's room fast enough if someone broke in - it would require going through the center of the house, and that means attracting unwanted attention in case of a burgalar or what not. Doesn't make me terribly happy. So I can pretty easily see a sick kid, or a kid with a nightmare who came running to mom and dad, getting comforted. And I can see - just from the relatively mild manner in which Lucas can express distress right now - a very strong urge to do anything, absolutely ANYTHING, to console, comfort, and protect your child. After having seen Lucas screaming in genuine terror and dismay (he had a nightmare once that was a real doozy, woke up screaming bloody murder) I totally get why parents dive into burning buildings/lift cars off kids/etc/etc. The urge to protect children before you have them - when they're in genuine distress and not being annoying - is mildly strong. We've all felt it. The urge to protect children AFTER you've had one borders on unbreakable hypnotic compulsion. I can only imagine Amy must feel it twenty times stronger with her direct hormonal and personal connection.

So, eh. I dunno. At the moment, I'm still very much against kids-in-the-bed. But I used to be completely against epidurals, too.

"You Just Make Do With Less Sleep"

"HA!" Said I. "Purest unadulterated bulshevik!" said I. Many things I can claim to be, but one-who-goes-without-sleep is assuredly not on the list. I needs my eight hours - I can skip a few once in awhile, but I NEEDS MY EIGHT HOURS.

...or at least, I did. It's not that you're less tired. By no means - having a kid around does not magically give you endurance you lacked before. Quite the opposite. Kids are friggin tiring. It's not that you need less; you probably need more. It's that you CARE less. At least three times a day I wish for more sleep (okay, I lie. I nap. I get almost what I need. Amy, though, probably does not. I used to not, though, and I write from that perspective and from the assumption that not everyone has a super-amazing wife.) but when I don't get the sleep and I feel myself starting to stress, I go look at the little dude. Seriously. I remind myself why it is I'm tired - and that he's worth it. He grins at me and bunches his hands up from the excitement of smiling, or he "OOHs" at me and clearly wants to be picked up. (Clearly. Really. I can tell and it's not just what I want, honest.)

I have no doubt that as he gets older and - let's face it - more annoying, there may be times that playing with my kid/being around my kid is NOT an instant pick-me-up. In fact, he may be a genuine downer-and-a-half. For now, though, it's not that I'm less tired - I just care less about BEING tired. It's like, well, spending a night in exceptionally fine and engaging company and going to work the next day particularly fatigued but not caring about it, if you'll excuse the comparison. It's not that you're NOT tired - it's that the tired simply isn't the highest thing on your mind.

(Caveat: after the fourth or fifth day, you start caring again. Heh.)

So I can't say that I'm sympathetic to the troubles of the world now, or anything daft like that. It is possible, though, that - as I listen to my son cooing and burping (how the hell does a body that small MAKE a NOISE like THAT?!) in the other room, that I won't be quite so cold towards a parent who can't imagine HOW their son cheated on a test.

World understanding through child-rearing? Stranger things have happened.

-MT out.

Religion, Revisited

I'm not a particularly open man when it comes to my religious views. I tend to give very abbreviated explanations of my feelings on the subject, both because - perhaps arrogantly - I find most people's views on the subject to be extremely dogmatic and ill-considered (often in the face of commonly, bluntly accepted general fact) and because such discussions tend very often to result in one or more parties becoming offended by my religious-but-not-like-yours views. I also think it's a bit arrogant of people in general to presume knowledge of something they really can't know anything about beyond what they believe, and worse, to force their beliefs (however strong they may be) on someone else's unconfirmed, strongly held beliefs. It's just a bad scene.

Semi-rant over: Starting this morning and extending through tomorrow night, I've been through and am going to experience two religious events. And as is the nature of this blog for expectant fathers, gentlemen, I shall attempt to prepare you for events to come.

The first experience has redefined for me the concept of Hell. Different movies have portrayed the subject in different and interesting fashions - What Dreams May Come has a particularly unusual and fascinating version, for example. There's almost always lots of fire and brimstone, dead bodies thrashing around, maybe some moaning and grasping hands. I'll take that any day (if I must, mind you) over what I got today. Kiddo went in for his first round of immunization shots. Now fellas, if you're like me, you probably ran into some rusty metal once or twice growing up, and probably got to experience a Tetanus booster shot. You may recall that aforementioned shot didn't feel particularly good, but the stiff and sore muscle was worse.

Yeah. Kiddo got FIVE shots today - three in one leg, two in the other. And I can tell you from experience when he accidentally headbutts ol' dad, my pain tolerance is a tanker-load greater than his. Mind you, I didn't actually see this event. Wife thought it best I not attend, and given how I handled the silver nitrate in his eyes moments after his birth, I went along with her thinking. So I missed out on round one, and the baby aspirin that dulled the pain thereafter. Kiddo came home, both wife and kiddo were sleepy, wife grabbed some shuteye. Kiddo grabbed shuteye and generally mellowed, as kiddo is likely to do.

Then kiddo's pain meds wore off, and dad didn't quite realize what was going on - or that more pain meds were an option. It took me thirty minutes of trying everything I could think of to calm kiddo down - and during that time, as the meds wore more and more off and his pain increased, the screaming just got worse...and worse...and worse. Red-faced wailing is a pretty fair description, and this from a baby whose idea of fussing tends to be a pouty lip and a louder-than-average whimper. Being new to the dad thing and not knowing many dads, I don't know how unusual I am in this regard, but it's safe to say I'd rather get dental surgery done with a crowbar and hammer than listen to my kid in pain. There are few sounds as debilitating and emasculating as that of your child, who it is your job to guard and protect. (YOUR job, bubba, she feeds it, you protect it - might well be in this modern era we share both jobs, but the ten-thousand-year-old-hardwiring doesn't give a damn.) Yes, I *know* the shots are good for him longterm. Yes, I *know* he won't remember any of it. I'm fully aware that nearly every baby in every first world country gets these shots. Guys, I'm telling you, when you're holding kiddo, who's looking at you with wide eyes, twisted face, and "WHY CANT YOU HELP ME" written all over his features... you don't give a sweet shit about anything other than making the pain stop. It's more than a little internally twisting. Make sure you get a VERY good night's sleep the night before the shots - because kiddo is going to be hard on you that day.

So finally, giving in and waking Amy - something I had to do, because her sleep is more precious than gold - she grabbed the meds and solved the problem. Minutes later, kid's calm and googling and grinning again. Simple fix, over and done. Score another point in the "Dad is a Cro-Magnon primitive jackass" column for not thinking to ask about that option before she went to bed. (Hey, stuff works eight hours or twelve hours at a time for me. That's the best excuse I got.) Make sure you know how to give the kid the meds and when it's okay to do so - don't learn my lesson the hard way.

And speaking of Cro-Magnon primitive jackass, Amy's birthday is tomorrow. (Here comes religious event number two!)

Or at least, I'm hoping another religious event occurs - because I'll need divine intercession to avoid being in deep and severe doggy doo for my complete lack of birthday preparation tomorrow. Historically, I've done one bang-up job with birthdays. Surprise party one year, specially delivered breakfast-birthday-surprise another year... I don't do too bad at this thing. I usually think over what I'm going to do, then about a week beforehand, I get things rolling. Problem is that this year, the week beforehand, I was on vacation in New Mexico with the wife and kid. (Which, by the by, did not suck. NM in the summer actually has some appeal to it, and I tend to prefer snowy climates.) That tended to disrupt my usual habits - and then coming back, kiddo here tends to do the same. I find myself with one present, and a lame plan: take the wife to dinner. She insists aforementioned plan is fine, but this does absolutely nothing to assuage my guilt at failing to live up to my own standard. Morale of the story: whatever your usual standard of "Do stuff for the wife on her birthday" is, make sure you get started on it a lot sooner than usual.

(And if you don't do anything, get off your hind end, you schmuck, that woman is/will be/just carried yer friggin kid around, for crying out loud.)

Not the easiest week. Not the most enjoyable blog to write. Really not looking forward to day two in "how to suck at being a dad/husband." I'm sure the wife will refute both things, but we guys know different about the standards we hold ourselves to when no one's watching. Meh. To end on a good note:

Lucas now is quite expressive a lot of the time - his vocabulary of random and varied sounds is extending rapidly. While none of the sounds resemble speech yet, certain sounds occur repeatedly and often on the same kinds of occasions: he's attempting to communicate via sound. In a way, you might even say he's succeeding. It's fascinating to watch his cognitive skills develop. I find myself wondering what his first words will be. As long as they're not "Cro-Magnon dumbass" I'll call it a win.

-MT out.

Father's Day, Family Reunions, and Other F'in Things....

So Father's Day was this last Sunday (duh.) It was an interesting experience; never having been rewarded on a holiday for anything not related to my birth, a religion, or an educational feat. Just kinda "Hey, you're a dad now, so woot, here you go."

"Uh...sure."

And that's that. Presents were odd, too. I don't mean odd in the "Hey look, you got a singing fish for your wall" odd, just a category of present I've never gotten before. I got largely functionally useless, highly sentimental stuff. And like many other things relating to Dad-dom, no one ever explained this phenomenon to me, so I was caught by surprise. You, however, poor schlub-of-a-guy, get the skinny. Most dudes always mock the dad on Father's day. He gets socks, lame pictures of bubble-headed people, maybe a tie. Poor bastard, that's your reward for diapers and driving lessons? Better you than me, lameass.

Here's the thing: Yesterday, I got a mug with Lucas's picture on it. BIG-ass mug. Never used a mug that size before in my life. Probably never will. Got a picture of me holding kiddo in a nice frame. Got a little plaque thing of Lucas's birth info and some pictures. Functionally, none of this stuff has any value to a highly functional dude. At that point, I was bemused and pleased. Felt kinda sheepish. Then I unearthed the "grand finale" present, as it were. The humdinger. It was a picture book - pictures of me and kiddo, from the day he was born. Under them, Amy had selected quotes she thought I would like, and I have to admit, she did one first-class job. I'll completely deny showing any emotion about all this - 'cause, y'know, I'm a dude, and I only cry when John Wayne dies, yo - but it was one hell of a gesture. Then I realized what all the dads who blushed and grinned and hemmed and hawwed were really blushing about: not that they'd gotten those "lameass" gifts.

That, well, they really kinda like 'em. Those gifts are a reminder of a sentiment: YOU ARE DAD. And for most guys, that's kind of a "Well..uh...damn. Cool. Check that out" kind of mindset. Here you are with this really cool, hard, demanding, sometimes rewarding job - and Father's Day is basically the ultimate affirmation that you sir, DO NOT SUCK, at this dad thing. No dad will ever admit to their child that they wonder about this question, but every dad, from dad-of-newborn to dad-of-high-school-student, wonders about this question, and wonders about it frequently. "Do I suck at this dad thing?" Father's Day is the big clue-in that you are doing something right. Now I know why moms push the kids to make those cheesy pictures on Father's day. Take the time, make the fuss - Dads need to hear "You don't suck at this" once in awhile. If I'm any indication - and I may or may not be - we don't really know for sure, and it's never a bad thing to hear.

So, relative of Amy's getting married in a few days. Eh, fine, whatever, marriage is good - but it means we're taking the dog and the kid (seven weeks short two days) on a 10 hour roadtrip. Dog's done the trip before - wasn't thrilled, but weathered it well. I do wonder how she'll feel about her movement space cut by a third with the baby seat in the back, but not much to be done about it. Going ten hours with the lil' dude should be interesting, though. More interesting will be the far side of the trip. See, Amy's extended family has never met me. (They should consider themselves lucky, sez me.) I not being the most social critter you'll ever meet has never found this to be a particularly big loss. Amy's excited, though. She wants to show off both the hubby (slumming? You decide) and the kid. I figure I'll use the kid as a personal defense device to avoid conversation and just smile a lot. She's very proud of both. I'm obviously very proud of my kiddo, but it's more of a quiet pride - which for me is a bit odd, I guess. I'm usually quite loud about those things which I feel pride in when the occasion strikes, but my kid just makes me want to smile and keep it to myself. Not really sure why.

The trip itself makes me grumble and scowl, but that's not unusual. The only part that actually worries me a little is that I'll be taking the trip back sans wife and child - they're staying in NM longer than I am. It occurs to me that I've actually never been away from the kiddo for any extended period of time - a standard workday being the longest. Not really terribly keen on that, and I suspect I'm going to start feeling it a bit profoundly by the time they return. Normally I savor the peace and quiet of Amy's trips home; don't get me wrong, I love my wife, but I've still got a pretty antisocial hermit nature that has to be satisfied once or twice a year. Now, I suspect the lack of random sighs, sneezes, coos, gurgles, and fusses will probably make the house seem downright creepy. I still very much do my own things, but I'm used to a certain soundtrack now that might be missing. More of that "parenthood taming the man" kinda thing, I suppose.

Eh. Whatever. I'll still throw a party, scratch myself, and generally stay up too late and too loud while they're gone. If you're local, c'mon down. :P

-MT out

Babies Don't Come With Instructions - or Even Warning Labels

Short entry, but I've been meaning to get around to this one for awhile.

Thing about babies: you can watch television shows. You can see movies. You can even see movies about babies and discover that yes, diapers do indeed suck, and yes, odd-hours-of-the-night do happen. (Neither are nearly so bad as current parents will tell prospective parents, by the way, but that's territory we covered in this blog months ago.) There are, however, a million little things that go on in the world-o'-baby that aren't mentioned, at least to dads, that can seriously weird you out. Here's a short sample:

Your child is NOT inhabited by demons: Babies do a lot of the sleeping thing, obviously. In theory, you ought to know this, even pre-birth. What you don't know is that sleeping babies are a little....weird. It's not uncommon for them to make a wide variety of noises - even small-scale "distress" noises - while completely asleep and resting comfortably. It is also entirely possible the kid's eyes will open, and you'll discover his eyes are completely rolled up. His eyelids will flicker a few times and then close again. Believe it or not, this is NOT, repeat NOT, cause to go seeking holy water and a Catholic priest. This is normal - if a little strange to behold. Slightly less odd, but also noticeable: kiddo, when sleeping, is rather likely to change his breathing patterns a bit - or even a lot - from very slow to very rapid and back again. Also not cause for panic.

(Note that if the child begins speaking in Latin, gets red flashy eyes, or rotates his head 360 degrees, this IS in fact a sign your child is inhabited by demons, and you should immediately seek the services of said priest.)

Yes, you are in range: Girl kids are a little less dangerous, but boy kids are friggin ninjas. All babies have two projectiles at their disposal, and boys have a third. When kiddo has just been fed, and you are doing the burping thing, USE A FRIGGIN BURP RAG. Burping often involves a minor-to-moderate portion of the main course being returned to sender (or burper, if not same) with absolutely no warning. Seriously. No facial expression change, no squeak, no twitch. Just "hi dad, eat this!" and whammo, out the yap it comes. Most of the time, it will go straight down or only slightly forward... but don't make the mistake of peering at your kid face to face while burping or shortly before/after. (Also, bouncy games with kiddo immediately before/after burping, you might as well lay a tarp down, y'know?) Projectile number two is at the opposite end-o-baby: that'd be the fecal dispenser. Baby poop is often of a very watery consistency - which means that, under pressure, like any other liquid, you can get a bit of distance on exit. Keep the changing table pointed ALONG the wall, not TOWARDS the wall. Fecal wall art is not fun to clean. Keeping the old diaper in at least a blocking position until the new diaper is ready is also rather prudent.

Fellas, those with sons also have the dangers of the front-mounted water cannon. And THAT sucker is a high-use weapon, as we know. Just like you, cold air tends to make things cringe, and in junior's case, it tends to make things expel. The water pressure there is actually pretty impressive. Junior's water cannon can't quite match dad's, but two feet up is very doable - and if dad is, say, hanging out right over that area while he's doing the diaper-changing thing... well, hope your mouth is closed, slick. Tip there is to take a wipe or some other absorbent/blocking object and make sure the pee shooter (hah, I actually got to use that correctly, that rocks) is covered and deflected. Also, let's not be squeamish, fellas - do yer kid a favor and make sure that when it's covered/deflected, it's pointing down... or the poor guy's gonna unleash right in his own face, and you can be sure that'll come back in counseling session bills in fifteen years.

Your kid = dirty fighter: and no, this time I'm not talking about diapers. When dealing with angry babies, watch yourself. No joke, man. For one thing, especially in the early stages, they lack the strength to control their head. Unfortunately, just like every other human, when they're angry - say, for diaper, food, or burping - they get stronger. (Babies can stand when angry if you're holding them - just lack the balance to stay that way. Seriously. Mine is amazed by it and calms down briefly, which causes his legs to buckle, and he sits down again, gets annoyed - rinse and repeat. Great way to buy time for mom to get the diaper or bottle.) Anyhow, in this case, the kid - now angry - DOES have the strength to control his head... but he lacks the control. Think of a drunk guy on ice skates surrounded by booze - he'll head in a direction with a lot of vigor and no control. Baby's the same way - kiddo is probably looking for food or relief and that head will whip around with some force... and lemme tell you, baby's forehead plus your collarbone, or cheek, is actually pretty painful. So when kid is upset, mind that - and if the head starts moving, orient your body such that it's hard for the head to get a lot of clearance for whompage, or keep a hand up there. Also, to a lesser extent, watch the limbs. Baby's fingers and hands also flail around a lot early on, and they're more than small enough to go straight into your eye, nose, mouth, whatever. To steal a line from the Blue Oyster Cult and mangle it, don't fear the squeaker - but recognize the squeaker, when annoyed, can take it out on you, and have your guard up. Hehe.

Oh, and one other thing. Dads, BEFORE your kid is born, look up this word. Get pictures, too. Be prepared:

Meconium.

Scar you for life.

-MT out.

"How I Learned to Love Sleep Deprivation"

So Lil' Lucas is approaching the three week mark now, and some things have changed, some have remained the same. He looks around a lot now, and will occasionally carefully regard mom and dad with measured stares, but generally peers around a lot. He still sleeps a lot. Still gets a disproportionate share of my wife's mammalian bits as his personal playground. (An amused, sarcastic part of me finds this mildly jealousy-arousing.)

In some ways, Amy and I are becoming more adept at the parent thing. Quite by accident we stumbled on a talent I appear to have that moves me from "Semi-useless cheerleader" to "one-act freakshow." Seems as though I have a talent for clubbing my kid over the back until he imitates his dad with a great guttural belch. So Dad has a purpose that allows him to assist Mom in a way that isn't sub-par, and therefore lets Mom go do something else. (Fellas, here's the method: when you burp a kid, you're supposed to pat their back, right? Instead of patting their back with the ends of your fingers vertically, aligned with the spine, use them big ham hocks the maker gave ya. Don't pat vertically, pat horizontally and use your whole hand. Cup it slightly to conform to baby's body and there you go. Instead of patting maybe 10% of their back, you're patting about half their abdomen. Don't hammer the kid, but don't need to be too gentle, either - babies are medium sturdyish and they'll squawk if you're doing it too hard, but for some reason it soothes them - kid will curl right up against your shoulder and not peep, you do it right. For real.)

Unfortunately, this also makes for a frustrating situation whenever kiddo is upset and we don't succeed immediately at soothing him. Particularly for Amy, who has hormonal hardwiring that makes her judge her effectiveness as a mother on Lucas's happiness, this hits pretty badly. For me, it's a little less upsetting - I can accept that sometimes kids get annoyed - but I have my own Achilles Heel, as it were: I really dislike the fact that when he's upset because he's hungry,  I'm about as useful as a bumper-mounted airbag. Rationally, I know that on the rare occasions Amy's busy for a minute or five (guys, make sure you jump right up to take kiddo when wife needs to shower, and bitch not at all about how long she showers for - it's probably her longest break of the day) that Lucas will survive just fine if he isn't fed, and that he doesn't hold it against me that I have totally non-functional breastage. Rationally, I can articulate all of that and be just fine.

Emotionally, on the other hand, I do not as well.  Fatherly hardwiring is a bit different than mommy hardwiring. Theirs is to nurture and protect. Ours is to protect as well, but we tend to be more aggressive in seeking solutions. So to sit docilely with your son in your lap, screaming bloody murder, when you can't do a single thing about it - emotionally, that's very hard on a fella. You alternate between wanting to charge into the bathroom and berate your wife for daring to take a three minute shower, bashing your own head into the wall in frustration, or breaking down in tears because you're useless.  Funny thing; I'm a guy who controls his emotions very well for the most part. (Or so I like to think?) Baby-induced fatigue, though, combined with the fact that we DO have some primal reactions - not so much as mom, but some - to our child... brings your emotions RIGHT to the surface. Major way. Can catch a fella off-guard too, if he's unprepared for it. 

Dunno. This baby thing is tough. As I told a coworker today: "babies are hard." Really, the routine hasn't changed much since week one, as we now approach week three. We're trying to get things to the point where Amy can put milk into some bottles so that I can break up her hellish "two hours of sleep, one hour of feeding/burping" routine, but not there yet. We're examining more advanced/varying methods of keeping kid happy and getting his sleep schedule more aligned with ours. (Right now, Lucas's most active time is 11pm-3am...brutal.) Be prepared for the toughness, but supposedly it does get better. At no time have we regretted his presence, though. He's a cool lil' bugger, and seeing him wiggle and coo and snore (yes, babies snore, friggin hilarious) is a treat.

Besides, it does get better after awhile. Supposedly.

-MT out

Lucas Emmett Fletcher, Part Three: Or How a 1lb guy can kick YOUR ass

So Lucas - or I may refer to him by his affectionate nickname, the "Fuss Bus" - has been home for a week now. Despite my higher-than-it-should-be weight, I consider myself a pretty bad dude. Did some MMA in college at the local level for play cash, lifted way too many weights in high school, spent far too much time on blue mats learning the fine art of dealing out a beating. I'm not stupid - I still avoid the darker sides of the street, say "yes sir" to anyone with a weapon, and don't go looking for trouble. Having said that, I feel safe escorting my wife and child somewhere if need be. 

...especially now that I know that kid can whip my ass. Damn.

K fellas, here's another wee bit o' education for you. Kiddo, when he's still doing the scrunchy-in-momma's-belly thing, he's still affected by the laws of gravity. I mention that because if you imagine where he's sitting and all the things momma's doing - especially late pregnancy, with that preggo-waddle thing goin'- the kid effectively spends all day being held tightly and rocked. Translation: Kid gets encouraged to sleep a LOT during the day. Now I've since learned that newborns, even sleeping, are not entirely still, so that may explain why you still notice mom's belly doing the Alien thing during the day.

At night, though, momma's still and all stretched out, so baby's not getting rocked, and he's getting as much space as is available.  This means that kiddo is going to be as active as he's likely to be at night. Besides allowing you to view the Flesh Freakshow before going to bed (seriously - late enough in the pregnancy, you're going to see clear limbs; elbows, occasionally even the impressions of HANDS and FEET...mondo weird) this also means the kid's activity table is actually reversed. He's the ultimate college student from day one: party all night, sleep all day.

Here's the really fun part: that doesn't change after they're born.

Oof.

Remember that partying roommate from college? Yeah - he's back. This time, you can't ignore him, though. For the first few days, it's quite possible to get 8 hours of sleep. Problem is, you don't get them in a row. You get an hour, then 45, then an hour, then two, then another hour... 'cause kiddo's going to wake up pretty often with a nasty diaper or an urge to feed. Funny thing, though. Normally, if someone wakes a fella up that many times in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder, you're looking for a club and a muzzle. When it's your kid, you wake up, roll your eyes, and smile - 'cause it's your kid, right? He's just fussing 'cause he needs something, and then he's more than happy to let everyone go back to sleep.  It's frustrating and annoying, sure, but you can't blame the lil' dude - it's not like he can hop up and get himself a burger, y'know? And how much would you be hollering if your entire lower half were covered in your own fecal matter? Yow. Here's the jaw-dropping part: kid may require diaper swap as much as a dozen times a day, and may require feeding nearly as many.   It's not that any of the times require a lot of effort - feeding is pretty passive, and diaper changes, while active, are actually pretty quick jobs. It's the fact that, well, we're used to sleeping in large blocks. Kid's fine with the pace, but we're very much not used to catnapping as a lifestyle choice. That can and will wear you out, FAST.

So the lil' dude's going to keep you awake a lot. For the first two days or so, the fatigue won't be too bad, but by day four, you're going to notice some pretty dramatic fatigue symptoms. If you're not off work, take advice: car pool for the first two weeks or so.  Fine motor skills are going to get very wobbly. So is coordination - you'll stumble more. I think I've nearly broken most of the toes on my left foot, which is exceedingly damned annoying. The obvious irritability and emotional insanity are going to be there, too. Remember that in all your interactions - especially with the wife. Remember that you don't hate each other, that you are on the same team, and that you both want the same thing: happy healthy kiddo. Silly as it sounds, you may even want to write it down somewhere you'll see it. We're guys - visual reminders help. 

But anyhow, you'll hear this elsewhere, but here it is again: babies only really fuss for three reasons: they're hungry, they've got a messy diaper, and they've got gas. (Let's NOT think about just how much that's like the adult male, shall we?) No real magic or mystery to 'em, fellas. The good news is you can do something about two of the three - all three if the wife isn't breastfeeding. (Not getting to that whole debate; that's out of our realm of ken.)

So anyhow. Here's a bit you can read to the wife, and my own wife agrees heartily with it, and we're doing a pretty damn fine job so far, if I do say so myself:

You should not be getting up with her for the late-night feedings. You, my fine fellow, should be sleeping. There's nothing you can do at those feedings, and she's got to be there anyhow. You are more useful getting what rest you can, so that during the day, you can take care of a lot of little things that normally would be in her purview - dishes, picking up, etc. (Hey dude. That's the trade-off. You don't have someone nom-nom-noming on yer boob at 2am, so don't bitch.) On the other hand, if you're not getting up, she DOES have the right to expect you to help out a little around the house, because she's going to be exhausted, and recovering from childbirth, and a bit dehydrated. Remember to bring the lady a lot of water - somehow that strange device known as the female body converts that to milk. Go figure. (If we could get it to convert water into other things we'd be set, neh?)

The good news is it does get better - and, for someone being beaten down by sleeping in one hour doses, it gets measurably better fairly soon.  The kid's dominant activity periods will, over a week or two, start to shift to daytime, and while they'll still have nighttime needs, they won't be nearly so active as in week one.  Lucas is 1 week 2 days at this point, and he's already showing some shift and we're getting a bit more (not a lot) sleep at night. Mind you, there is a condition called "colic" that makes all of the above completely moot. Short version is that if you're one of these unlucky fellas whose kid has colic, well.  Just remember that it doesn't last forever, and make sure you get a night a week to go and be a guy with your friends. (Colic - this is hearsay, 'cause Lucas doesn't have it - is basically the ultimate in gas pains. Babies need to fart. A LOT. Colic, in simplest terms, is the inability to fart; usually happens to babies. Lots of gas, no ability to cut loose with a wild and warbly one. You'd scream bloody murder, too.)

So anyhow. This blog entry has probably been a bit dull compared to the frank accountings of parts one and two, but eh, it's the Saturday before I go back to work. (Fellas - take a week off when kiddo's born. Seriously. Major brownie points with wife, and when the kid starts actually looking around with intent, and you can see the eyes are clearly watching things... you don't want to miss the one and only first time that happens, y'know?) Newborns are challenging, but your life isn't destroyed, uberdrama doesn't commence, you can still do most of the things you used to do, and one of you at a time can even leave the house and take care of things out and about. Babies are not soul-and-society-shattering beasties. They're just lil' dudes, lil' chicas, just need some attention, some boob,  and a clean place to sleep.

....and that really is an awfully lot like you, ain't it, bub?

Respect your peer - because he/she can kick your ass.

-MT out.

Lucas Emmett Fletcher, part two: "Your life is never the same" and other weird, cryptic phrases

So if most guys are like me, at least part of your mind views such phrases as "you instantly fall in love, the kid immediately becomes something you'd die for, your whole world changes, you're never the same" and other such melodramatic fuzz as unlikely, alarming, strange, or just something not to be thought about at all. Emotional discussions are voodoo, witchcraft, bone-rattles and not to be trusted for most men. Once they have a kid, most guys are uncomfortable trying to understand/explain their emotions, so they just fall back on the tired old cliches and call it a quick day.

Which, sadly, doesn't do a friggin thing to help the next guy in line, eyeing the strange cliches with a sense of distaste and suspicion. So let me attempt to break down into reasonable, non-mystical bits the chain of thoughts and realizations that have been going on in my head for the last ...yeesh, I guess it's been 72 hours, now.

1. Love at first sight is only for moms and men who haven't SEEN yet.

K, look. If you're lucky, when your kid comes out, you've got a pinkish-red Winston Churchill with bluish extremities. If you're unlucky, you've got a greyish-blue creature from the Black Lagoon, covered in nasty, cheesy crap. Yeah - could look that bad. So maybe moms are hardwired for love at first sight, but we're not.

My first reaction (we were lucky, he looked pinkish-red) was to be very curious and generally happy, but happy in that "Friendly dog seeing new people" kinda way - wanted to sniff and poke and touch (didn't want to sniff his butt, and given what's come out since, glad that's true) but "love at first sight" not so much. Lucas seemed like a pretty cool dude, but wasn't ready to sacrifice life and limb quite yet. For me - and I suspect most guys - there has to be a trigger.

Got kiddo cleaned up, wife got first dibs on holding kiddo (and fair enough, given her recent activities) and then kiddo got handed to me. Now, Lucas was very much unkeen on being tossed around - I mentioned that last entry - but sitting on mom, now that was okay. I fully expected that when he got handed to me, the horrible screaming he was doing the moment he was pulled away from mom would continue.

The moment he landed on my chest, his head rammed straight into my neck, little fists grabbing.... and he shut up. Mind you, for an agitated baby, that doesn't mean silence - but the screaming stopped. Glorps, gurgles, chirps continued - but he felt safe here, listening to my voice, holding on to me for as much as his now three-minute-old-life was worth. Then it went through my head:

"This kid knows as clearly as I do that we are family. And he NEEDS me." That's what did it. Babies don't need you like your wife needs you, like your coworkers need you, like your dog needs you. Wife would eventually get over you, coworkers would hire someone new, even your dog can scrounge. Your kid? That kid's one shot at survival is YOU, sucka. Obviously they don't know it in those terms, but I can't imagine the kind of fear/anger that must go through a newborn's undeveloped noggin. Hearing a voice they heard while they were inside, a heartbeat nearby... they need that. Something fierce, and you provide it - and so kiddo calms down.

So yeah. Not so much love at first sight, but pretty quickly something will trigger. Maybe you'll notice something in the kid's face that is unmistakeably you or your wife, or maybe kiddo will hang on to your finger like it's his only tether for the world, or maybe he'll quiet down from a desperate fuss - but something will trigger that your unconscious will react to in some way.

"The moment you see your baby, the whole way you look at the world changes."

Yeah, again fellas - not so much. Maybe women are hardwired, but we take a minute to figure this kinda crap out. And when you do, it really isn't soul-shattering or profound or "knock-you-off-your-feet" type stuff; or at least it wasn't for me.  Attempting to explain: Shortly after your kid is born, there's a federal law or some such that says they have to put these special eyedrops into your kid's eyes. (Had something to do with a rampant STD problem  in the 60's and blindness because it got in the kid's eyes on the way out ...yes...ew.) Now in principle I understand this and I'm fine with it. In reality, when the nurse put the drops into Lucas's eyes he went from "pretty annoyed" with the world to "absolutely furious and in pain." Remember what I said about being afraid that I'd beat the screaming jesus out of the doctor? Yeah, well. As soon as the thought went through my head "that nurse just hurt my son" I had to quietly walk to the other side of the room, behind the curtain, and get my temper back under control. I found myself quite unexpectedly VERY angry - and I've usually got a pretty good sense of what's going to trigger my temper.

I was kinda surprised and I thought on it for a minute. I had never really realized "Lucas is important to me; I love him" or anything like that. It wasn't earth-shattering when I DID realize it. It simply... was. Much in the same sense that if you turn on a light switch, you're not conscious of the photons bouncing to the floor and then to your eyes. You're not aware "the light is turning on." It simply is on - and, if you looked around, you would have no evidence the light was ever NOT on. The light doesn't leave record of when it wasn't that way... it just is on, you accept it, and you move on.

That's basically how it was with Lucas. There was never a heart-rending moment where I realized I'd throw myself into the path of danger for him, or anything like that. It simply... "was." The kid had, quite unaware, become absolutely vital. Nothing weird or insidious - I simply recognized that the light was on. I didn't know quite when it had happened, nor why - but I surely knew it had. Lucas was now protected material in the same way my wife was - and woe betide anything that threatened him.

Your whole world view doesn't change, your life doesn't "begin all over again", your perceptions of reality aren't torn asunder - just, quite without expectation and reasoning, there's a new notch on your "things to care about" ladder. Very high on the ladder, and very permanent.

Oh, right, the last one for today:

"Your life starts all over again," or one of a dozen variations on that theme.

What-ever. Simple as that. I got home, I was very happy to play with my kid, but y'know what? I still likes  my video games. I still talk MMORPG shop with my guy friends. I suspect that if I'm a particularly spiff dad, I'll still get to go out this Wednesday night with the guys for 3-4 hours. I still have hobbies I love, and frankly, now I dream of the day when I can get the kid in on them too. (Fletcher father and son dodgeball team? Bet your ass, bubba.)  Yeah, I spend some time staring at the kiddo sleeping (cause that's about all he does, really, but that's cool) and yeah, I spend some time thinking about the future - but then there's 23 more hours left. Lemme tell ya, you'll be awake for a few more of those than you might be used to, as well.

Here's the thing: If your life "starts all over again" YOU ARE DOING SOMETHING WRONG. Your hobbies need to stay intact. Your stress relievers DEFINITELY need to stay intact. Your relationship with the woman you love absolutely MUST stay intact!! Yes, she's mom now. She's the caretaker of that which is vital - but she's also still that woman you wanted to drag into the closet nine months ago. (And if you're lucky, that's how...er...nevermind.) While the doctor may say "nothing here shall pass" for a month and a half - and yeah, that sucks too - your relationship with your wife shouldn't change. She's still the hottie that gets your attention at any party, the woman who laughs at your jokes and puts up with you farting at her. (Okay, well mine thinks it's funny, sorry if yours doesn't.) Baby is vital and a cool part of your life - but don't stop being the slick dude that you'd want baby to meet, nor the great fella that your wife wanted to marry. Stick with that! Adjust for less spare time, and tweak so you can respond to baby emergencies if they arise.... 

but you're still an excellent dude, and lord of your manor.

Now if you'll excuse me, the lady of this particular manor wants me to do something. So much for being ruler of the castle, eh?

-MT out.