Lemme Blow The Dust Off This Thing... (part 1)

Yeah so. It's been awhile since I wrote here, I suppose. (Hurray understatement.) Variety of reasons. Partially the novelty wore off. Partially, the knowledge that some of my students had discovered the blog made me leery. Partially, the lack of feedback from the readership bugged me a tad. (Hey, if you WRITE, you like to know that people READ, go figure.)

But ultimately, if you're going to claim to be a writer - and I do - and you're going to teach writing and say that writing is important - and I do - and want to take yourself seriously (hmm...I don't, usually) then you've at least got to DO that which you claim to BE and TEACH. Those who say "Those who can't, teach" can kiss my ass. So there. So yeah, I think I'll start this thing up again and we'll see how it goes. If people read it who shouldn't, well, bully for them. Writers write, and I intend to practice my craft.

Fair warning and disclaimer: This entry is going to be a tad long. When I say "tad" I mean "Tad" in the sense of "THAR SHE BLOWS, LADS, THAT'S A MIGHTY BEAST OF A WHALE" so please attend this reading with all due provisions necessary for a marathon. (Or, I dunno, stop reading and come back later.) Last time I wrote, Lucas was three months old. NOW Lucas is ten-and-a-half months old, and the more things change, the more they stay the same. There have definitely been a few events which are noteworthy for new dads, parents in general, and women wishing to understand the diseased, testosterone-poisoned minds of the people they share their beds with. (Side query: Women who share their beds with other women - does one partner have an elevated testosterone level? If so, does that equate to a gender role being handed out whereby normally none need exist? End of side query.)

I took the time to go back and read the last few entries, and it's kind of interesting to see what my point of view was then versus now and what not. (I'd also like to point out that I find myself amusing, but anyone who knows me already knew that.)

So, roughly in order of things going on:

"GACK, HURK, GARGH" and other sounds you never want to hear.
So at some point, kiddo will need more than just the boob or the bottle in his life. (The fact that at some much LATER point, he will return to needing just those things - or thinking he does - is not for discussion here.) You'll start feeding him finger foods. Like so many of his peers, Lucas started with Cheerios. That was a pretty good deal. He liked Cheerios, and his chompers - they came in fast and furious, he's already got like nine or ten, and apparently some babies don't get any until they're over a year old - crunched them up, good deal.

Unfortunately, Amy and I got the biggest scare of our life a few weeks later when we tried boiled, softened, buttery carrots. Lil' dude's got good hands by this point, well practiced with the Cheerios, so he grabs himself a handful (argh) of carrot and munch munch he goes. Now here's the thing - babies are going to cough and choke just a tad on their finger foods just because they're not used to how the chew-chew-swallow process works. This time, though, the sound was a little funny. Didn't seem quite right. I'm across the room and I hear what, at that point, were some of the most horrifying words I've heard to date: "HE'S CHOKING." I don't recall what I was holding at the time, but it hit the floor as I rushed across the room. Lucas's face is beet red, and he does NOT look amused.

Pfft. Right, like I can do anything Amy can't? Lemme tell you, doesn't matter - you move fast. Sure enough though, Amy's got kiddo over her arm, she gives him the ol' one-two-whomp on the back with the flat of her hand, and voila, here are your carrots back, sorry for the uproar. Ironically, as soon as we get the kid back in the high chair, he's grabbing for more of the carrots. (Lucas is a friggin food-eating machine. Gets it from his dad.) Needless to say, "puffies" (baby rice cereal stuffs) and Cheerios were all he got for awhile. I don't think to this day carrots are a back on his menu, even though he's got a half-dozen more teeth than he did back then.

So, here endeth the first event and mini-lesson: Sooner or later your kid is going to choke pretty impressively. Whack 'em on the back, panic not, and don't wait too long to get back on the horse. Traumatic events for you are not necessarily so for el bambino.

Speaking of traumatic events, let's cover a few more, shall we?

Lucas, Day Care, RSV, and Other Things Parenting Magazines Warned You About

Amy and I timed things well. Lucas was born in May, and so she took her maternity leave and it coasted right into summer, giving her three months and change with the dude before she had to return to the workforce. (Side note: In Sweden, parents get 480 days of maternity leave. Yes, you read that right. We get 30? WTF is that about?)

Ultimately, though, Amy and I had to select a place for the kid to reside while we work. The first day we dropped him off was kind of tough. "Day care" has a really foul connotation in this country. It stinks of neglected children, uncaring parents, horrible conditions, and foul, wasting diseases. Amy and I even deliberately avoided calling the place a "day care" for quite some time. In point of fact, it was a day care/Montessori School, and so we referred to it as "Lucas's school" to kind of make ourselves feel better. A rose by any other name may smell as sweet, but a day care by any other name helps you sleep through the night.

All the same, though, you feel really odd about it that first day. As the two of you (dude, shut up and take the time to go with the wife for the first drop-off, OR, alternatively, just take the kid yourself alone and spare the wife the angst if she's amenable. Momma's gonna need the shoulder if she came with you on day one, and truth be told, you may need hers) drive away from the school, you suddenly realize that your child is ABSOLUTELY OUT OF YOUR CONTROL OR SUPERVISION for eight hours, and WILL STAY THAT WAY. Furthermore: YOU DON'T REALLY KNOW THE PEOPLE YOU JUST LEFT THE KID WITH.

Makes the blood run cold. In my case, it resulted in me sneaking back to the school during my lunch break to check on him. (He was sound asleep and quite content on my arrival.) In the midst of all the moaning and teeth-gnashing about daycare, though, may I present a few points of consideration:

"Oh dearie me, the child will be exposed to GERMS!"
Well, yes. That's certainly true. The world has a very ready supply of icky microscopic critters. However, retaining the child in your home in a highly clean environment will not lower the world supply of critters: it will simply delay the kid's introduction to things that make one go "achoo." You can either have the kid get exposed, sick, well, and thereby build immunities when they're too small to have to make up the homework/remember the experience, or you can wait until kindergarten and fetch your kid from Mrs.Happy's class over and over and over.... and watch as your kid falls behind in Fingerpainting, Clapping, and Counting 101.

"Oh me oh my, what if the other children at the daycare aren't NICE to my child?"
Psst. Pro tip: There are a LOT of jerks in the world and they come at all ages. You may even know a few. Yes, there will be a jerk in the daycare which may annoy your child, or possibly even teach them a bad habit. (Gasp.) Learning to accept, adapt to, and overcome the world's jerk population is an important social skill. Staying at home with mommy grants one no social skills whatsoever. Thus your child - while admittedly having to endure the good with the bad about learning to socialize - is at least learning to socialize! Lest you think this isn't important with kids of a certain age, I'd like to disagree: there was a child in that daycare who joined late - around nine or ten months of age - and that one had a NOTICEABLY hard time getting used to things and the other kids really did look at him funny. (Ever seen five babies look at a sixth baby with an expression something like, "Okay, what's freako's problem? It's a remarkable sight, truth.) That's talking about babies under a year old. I can only imagine that a three year old first encountering other kids for the first time is going to be hell on wheels. Play dates aren't quite enough exposure to make up for it. (Aside: "Play date" is the stupidest name possible for "kids hanging out together.")

But some STRANGE person will be taking care of my CHILD.

(Yeah, because YOU aren't a strange person by a lot of people's definition of the word? Whatever you say, sucker.)

Now it's true that not all day cares are created equal, and it's true that not all day care workers are created equal. I'd highly encourage anyone to carefully screen the places they're checking out as potential care centers. The above argument, though, if you take the time, really doesn't hold water. Here's the thing: especially for us first time parents, we've got instincts, and we care about our kids. Those caregivers? They've seen a lot of babies, chances are. And though we may not wish to admit it, they may just know more about how to deal with Tiny Tims and Tinas than we, the parents do. They've probably seen it all before. Do they have the "mystical connection?" Surely not - and that's a disadvantage for them. What they do have, though, is a staggering amount of experience in keeping baby from crying. And well, ultimately, at this age, that's pretty much the name of the game, right?

Further, they're rather likely to encourage kiddo to entertain himself (not a bad thing, as parents at my stage quickly discover) and encourage kiddo to head for physical milestones, since they won't hold kiddo all the time like mom and dad.

Eh. I dunno. I'm not advocating that a parent should do anything other than what they think best. I am, however, trying to balance out the constant negativity associated with the concept of the day care. Ultimately, these people are in business and successful because they make it their job to keep you and the kid happy, and the kid healthy. If they were bad at it, they wouldn't be there. So chin up - kiddo will enter their school days already knowing how to deal with jerks and having an immune system that's sturdy as can be.

RSV - Something to be Genuinely Concerned About

Well, lest I be accused of glossing over the bad parts of day care, it's certainly true that Lucas at his Montessori school did pick up one genuinely nasty part of childhood: RSV. The official name of RSV is respiratory syncytial virus. To break it down into dad terms:

Baby bronchitis.

Now, bronchitis is unpleasant for adults. We cough, we hack, we "HEM HEM" all day long to keep our throats clear and function through the misery. Babies, though, don't understand or know the concept of the intentional cough to keep one's throat clear. What this basically means is that baby's throat, throughout the entirety of this condition, constantly has a large quantity of snot clogging it up. Breathing goes from being frustrating and annoying, as in the adult bronchitis, to an actually challenging, serious effort for survival. Mondo bad juju. Getting enough air, for baby, becomes a serious job. It's tiring. So tiring, in fact, that kiddo wants to sleep a lot - even at the expense of eating. Kiddo doesn't eat, kiddo gets sicker. Kiddo has more trouble breathing, gets more tired, eats less. Kiddo gets even SICKER. After a certain point, kiddo isn't even resting properly, so what sleep he/she DOES get is poor in quality. You can see where this cycle heads, and it isn't good.

So what we thought was just a baby cold quickly turned into baby with rattling lungs and then lethargic baby. (Lethargy is one of the major warning signs, apparently.) Dad, trying to be a champ and keep things easier on mom, volunteered for doctor duty while Mom headed for work. Off the dude and I went, and the doctor diagnosed him with RSV. Doc says that I'll need to give him breathing treatments, and that Lucas may not like them. Okay, thanks for the warning doc. Nurse will come in with the machine, show you how it works, and so on. K, no worries, I can handle this and prove my Dad-ness.

Now, I wrote awhile ago that hell as a father is when your child is in genuine distress and you can't do anything about it. I've since discovered that there are lower, and more intense levels of hell. One of them is when your child is in genuine distress - and you are the cause. It's funny how, when we're growing up, the phrase "This will hurt me more than it hurts you" is crap. Then, as an adult, you can intellectually understand that a parent might feel worse for having to discipline their kid.

It wasn't until I had to actually hold my child immobilized (a challenge requiring leg, arm, and chin) and then hold a mask on his screaming, crying, pathetically thrashing face while he wailed in utter terror that I truly began to understand EXACTLY what "This will hurt me more than it hurts you" really means. The treatments last approximately ten minutes. By minute two, I was pretty sure I had a seat in hell reserved. By minute four, I was quite sure it was deluxe accommodation. By minute eight - Lucas not having lost even the slightest bit of horror in his screaming - I was not only sure that I would be Satan's plaything, but that he would express great personal delight in tormenting me. By the conclusion, I knew I could look forward to the thorned and ridged phallus of Satan's hellhound on a daily basis.

The fact that Lucas actually fell into a restful sleep thereafter made no difference. The fact that he actually breathed relatively clearly made me happy, but I can honestly say that the three treatments I had to give him before his mother got home rank in the more traumatic experiences one goes through as a parent.

I warned Amy about what she was likely to go through - in point of fact, I tried to prevent her from having to deal with it, but she insisted on taking her turn. That's when I learned about how strong the connection between mother and son really is. Lucas was still distinctly unhappy with the process, but Amy singing in his ear calmed him dramatically. Mommy's voice made him a whole new kid. He didn't fight the mask, and with me giving the kiddo a variety of visual distractions (read: Playing cartoony games on the Wii) we actually managed to get through a solid week of three-a-day (or more) treatments without too much more emotional trauma.

So, mini-lesson to be learned: It may be wiser to let Mom take first shot at any distressing experiences, as it may be easier on all involved. Dad is fun and trusted by kiddo, but Mom is the magic "Safe zone" for baby.

K. Enough for one post. For next time:

Mother's Visit and Two Kinds of Grandparents

Lucas, Meet Gravity. Gravity, Meet Lucas.

Milestone Mania - A Malady

...well, at least taking eight months off gave me a lot to write about, right?

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.