We had an appointment with the genetics doctor today. Everything with Evelyn is great, said he.
The little shakiness in her legs, due to her being born premature, is completely gone. Her acid reflux appears to be at the point we can not test the waters of not giving her the prescribed medicine and see how well she sleeps.
In a year, we are scheduled to go back. Interesting story there...
The lady at the counter says, after we walked out, "So I guess we'll see you in a year. We'll schedule it for September [such and such]." My wife asks, "Is that a Friday or...?"
"It's a Friday," the woman rudely interrupted, "Would you like it for the morning or the afternoon?"
Okay, so I was kind of stressed about going to this appointment. Mainly because of my knowledge of my own stupid luck. Everything with Evie seems to be spectacular, so of course I just knew this doctor would find something to nit-pick and complain about, and try to make me think my daughter was less-awesome. Then, I kind of thought this lady at the counter was just a little snippy. Now, in defense of the poor woman, I really don't think she meant to sound that way. She'd probably had a stressful day, too.
With all those little kids crying in the waiting room and their grandparents fussing over them while mom and dad read the latest issue of Sports Illustrated for Kids - which, by the way, I did not know they continued publishing after I graduated from the third grade. So, after the fact, I can cut her a little bit of slack. I'm sure my wife did not even feel she was being snippy. Or rude. Or whatever other adjective you'd use to describe someone who just stepped on one of your few remaining nerves.
So she asks whether or not we wanted our appointment in the morning or afternoon.
I shot back, "It's in a year, do you really think we're even going to remember the day?"
She kind of laughed, then looked at me with an "Are you serious?" kind of glare.
Yes, I am serious, because believe it or not, I didn't schedule out my entire year from the point of this conversation.
My wife diplomatically plugged in, "We'll have it in the afternoon."
Here is a list of things that could happen between now and the time of that appointment, preventing us from even making it on that specific day, much less in the afternoon versus the morning:
10. A Zombie Apocalypse. Mostly because I wanted to make this joke and I've seen a few comedy/horror movies in the past few months and it has become a new thing with me.
9. We move far, far away from Indianapolis never to see Miss Snooty Nurse or the doctor who likes to find fault with Evie. Hey, it could happen. Where would we move? Who cares, its just a possibility.
8. We win the lotto and can afford better doctors. Not saying this doctor isn't great, but if you had millions of dollars, would you still take your kid to your HMO?
7. Our "real" doctor, Doctor Bryant says its not needed. Probably the most realistic one on the list, and the one thing that would more than likely keep us from going.
6. Evelyn runs away to join the circus. She can't walk yet, but those diapers belong in a freak show.
5. That doctor dies. Just saying. Not wishing it to happen, but hey, you never know.
4. Dinosaurs make a comeback and destroy Indianapolis. Aliens invade. Indianapolis is caught in the middle of a war between vampires and werewolves. Again, see #10.
3. We discover Evelyn has mutant powers and we go into hiding out of fear of what the government may do to her should they find out. Did I mention X-Men was on t.v. recently?
2. We join one of those churches that doesn't believe in going to the doctor. Uhm... yeah just know that this one isn't going to happen. Not having my kid handle snakes, either.
1. We forget about it. Okay, I take back what I said earlier. This is probably the most likely scenario.
And, that's it for my blog this week!
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
What she's missing out on...
Five years ago today, the Texas Longhorns beat the Ohio State Buckeyes. I remember this because I was sitting on my friend Roger's couch, eating buffalo wings and pizza from the BP gas station in Ellendale, North Dakota. You may laugh, but they served Hot Stuff pizza, and it was the best in town. Granted, the other gas station was the only other place that served pizza and I don't think anybody had buffalo wings except the BP, but to be fair they were all pretty good.
Then, I got a phone call, I can't remember who it was from. Not the first one. I think it was from my dad, but I know I soon got plenty of others. One from my grandma, one from each of my sisters, one from my uncle Michael. The rest of the night goes a little gray.
But I still remember thinking, "Maybe Texas will win."
They did.
I remember all of this because that was the night my mom passed away. The first few calls were telling me she'd been in an accident. Wrecked her motorcycle. Even now, I still think, "Do I tell people my mom died wrecking her motorcycle?" Not out of shame or anything like that, but most people hear that and think I'm joking. Like its another one of Jeff's poor humor jests. It's not.
I got an update saying they couldn't get her to stop bleeding long enough to helicopter her to Evansville, Indiana. Then the bleeding finally stopped and the whole family was driving to Evansville, while I was sitting hopelessly from the sidelines way up in North Dakota. Hearing everything as if I'm still watching that football game, not a participant or even in the crowd, just watching it on the television or hearing it on the radio, just waiting for the next phone call like you'd wait for a poor sportscaster to update you on the score.
I started trying to figure out how we'd fly home. Voices in my head had only questions: Do we have the money? What about class? Will the school be okay with me being gone for a week? What about Jen's class? What about work? Doesn't Northwest give discounts when you have a family member pass away? She's not dead yet, so why are we considering that?
That's when it hit me and I knew, in my heart, she was about to go. Something about the way people talked on the phone; the way they repeated the doctor's words. I'd never get to see my mom again.
But I pushed it all away. I buried it. Because I was in Bible College, and my family was going to need me to be a pastor, be a son, be a brother. Be a man. I couldn't mourn, I couldn't be me. Not for five seconds. That's what I told myself and I got lost.
We went outside and could see the Northern Lights as we loaded the car and headed to Fargo. We'd gotten the news and were making as many last second plans as we could. I learned of my mom's passing and packed for her funeral all in the same hour. The lights were a beautiful thing to see amidst the swirl of emotions. For the next few days, I'd find my mind scattering every which way and think back to them and they'd be my mental anchor. The beautiful northern lights. Texas won. Don't cry. Think about now, deal with that later.
Like I said, so many things are gray. So many things I remember, so few I remember crystal clear. I remember my mother-in-law hugging me at the airport, I remember talking to a lady over the phone about the procedure for securing a discount on tickets, I vaguely remember talking to a coroner about what to do with her organs and telling him to donate what he could. I remember not crying. I remember my uncle Todd in St. Louis hugging me. I can't tell you any other time Todd has wrapped his monstrous arms around anybody, but he cried and said, "She's gone, Jefrey. She's gone."
I remember everyone else crying but me.
I got a little choked up during the funeral, but I only remember crying afterwards. Months afterwards. If I did cry at all that week, I don't remember it at all. I remember fall break, crying half the way home as I drove from Fairfield, Illinois back to our apartment in Ellendale. Half of the way through Iowa I prayed and cried and finally built up the nerve to ask God "Why?" let him know I wasn't happy about the whole situation. In South Dakota I remember feeling a peace in my soul but still feeling like I'd somehow been bamboozled.
And today, I held my daughter until she fell asleep. I had fed her some oatmeal, which in the cutest way possible she splattered all over her face and bib. I laughed as I wiped her face and afterwards we watched t.v. together until she fell asleep on my shoulder and the thought hit me. I hadn't blogged today. I laid her down in her pack and play, and it hit me, today is September 10th.
I looked at Evelyn, completely oblivious to the calendar and well into her nap, beautiful as ever.
And I thought, my mom's really missing out on this.
I cried.
Then, I got a phone call, I can't remember who it was from. Not the first one. I think it was from my dad, but I know I soon got plenty of others. One from my grandma, one from each of my sisters, one from my uncle Michael. The rest of the night goes a little gray.
But I still remember thinking, "Maybe Texas will win."
They did.
I remember all of this because that was the night my mom passed away. The first few calls were telling me she'd been in an accident. Wrecked her motorcycle. Even now, I still think, "Do I tell people my mom died wrecking her motorcycle?" Not out of shame or anything like that, but most people hear that and think I'm joking. Like its another one of Jeff's poor humor jests. It's not.
I got an update saying they couldn't get her to stop bleeding long enough to helicopter her to Evansville, Indiana. Then the bleeding finally stopped and the whole family was driving to Evansville, while I was sitting hopelessly from the sidelines way up in North Dakota. Hearing everything as if I'm still watching that football game, not a participant or even in the crowd, just watching it on the television or hearing it on the radio, just waiting for the next phone call like you'd wait for a poor sportscaster to update you on the score.
I started trying to figure out how we'd fly home. Voices in my head had only questions: Do we have the money? What about class? Will the school be okay with me being gone for a week? What about Jen's class? What about work? Doesn't Northwest give discounts when you have a family member pass away? She's not dead yet, so why are we considering that?
That's when it hit me and I knew, in my heart, she was about to go. Something about the way people talked on the phone; the way they repeated the doctor's words. I'd never get to see my mom again.
But I pushed it all away. I buried it. Because I was in Bible College, and my family was going to need me to be a pastor, be a son, be a brother. Be a man. I couldn't mourn, I couldn't be me. Not for five seconds. That's what I told myself and I got lost.
We went outside and could see the Northern Lights as we loaded the car and headed to Fargo. We'd gotten the news and were making as many last second plans as we could. I learned of my mom's passing and packed for her funeral all in the same hour. The lights were a beautiful thing to see amidst the swirl of emotions. For the next few days, I'd find my mind scattering every which way and think back to them and they'd be my mental anchor. The beautiful northern lights. Texas won. Don't cry. Think about now, deal with that later.
Like I said, so many things are gray. So many things I remember, so few I remember crystal clear. I remember my mother-in-law hugging me at the airport, I remember talking to a lady over the phone about the procedure for securing a discount on tickets, I vaguely remember talking to a coroner about what to do with her organs and telling him to donate what he could. I remember not crying. I remember my uncle Todd in St. Louis hugging me. I can't tell you any other time Todd has wrapped his monstrous arms around anybody, but he cried and said, "She's gone, Jefrey. She's gone."
I remember everyone else crying but me.
I got a little choked up during the funeral, but I only remember crying afterwards. Months afterwards. If I did cry at all that week, I don't remember it at all. I remember fall break, crying half the way home as I drove from Fairfield, Illinois back to our apartment in Ellendale. Half of the way through Iowa I prayed and cried and finally built up the nerve to ask God "Why?" let him know I wasn't happy about the whole situation. In South Dakota I remember feeling a peace in my soul but still feeling like I'd somehow been bamboozled.
And today, I held my daughter until she fell asleep. I had fed her some oatmeal, which in the cutest way possible she splattered all over her face and bib. I laughed as I wiped her face and afterwards we watched t.v. together until she fell asleep on my shoulder and the thought hit me. I hadn't blogged today. I laid her down in her pack and play, and it hit me, today is September 10th.
I looked at Evelyn, completely oblivious to the calendar and well into her nap, beautiful as ever.
And I thought, my mom's really missing out on this.
I cried.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Method to My Insanity
Sometimes, when you're me, you have to do certain things that others may think a little crazy.
I do these things to make myself laugh, often when I don't feel like being happy. I don't always get like this, but I have felt this way so often that I now have developed a habit of being a little crazy for the sake of being a lot crazy.
Today is a great example of this...
I had dressed Evelyn and prepared her for daycare when the following conversation ensued, all from me. Take note that I gave Evelyn's part of the conversation a high pitched British accent - perhaps to make her a somewhat watered down version of Stewie from Family Guy, you know, for comedy's sake.
Me: Well, Daddy needs to get up and make some lunch and get ready to go.
Evelyn: But Daddy, I don't want you to go.
Me: I have to. I gotta go to work and take you to daycare.
Evelyn: I don't to go to daycare, I want to stay home with you and mummy.
Me: Mommy's at work but she'll be by Miss Tyse's to pick you up.
Evelyn: Miss Tyse seems nice when you guys are there but I'm pretty sure she cuts me while I sleep.
Me: Evelyn! That's a very odd accusation. Plus, I've never seen cuts on your arms from this.
Evelyn: Okay, you got me there. Please stay home?
Me: I gotta work, little girl. Sorry. It's how we pay the bills when we're grown ups.
Actual Evelyn: buh huh huh.
Me: I know, I'm weird.
And so ended the wonderful one-sided episode with me and my multiple personalities. Evelyn smiled the whole time, enjoying the odd little exchange.
Little things like this, you'd be surprised, keep your sanity intact. Try it if you don't believe me, but not in public. Never where other people can see you. Never.
This lesson I have learned.
I do these things to make myself laugh, often when I don't feel like being happy. I don't always get like this, but I have felt this way so often that I now have developed a habit of being a little crazy for the sake of being a lot crazy.
Today is a great example of this...
I had dressed Evelyn and prepared her for daycare when the following conversation ensued, all from me. Take note that I gave Evelyn's part of the conversation a high pitched British accent - perhaps to make her a somewhat watered down version of Stewie from Family Guy, you know, for comedy's sake.
Me: Well, Daddy needs to get up and make some lunch and get ready to go.
Evelyn: But Daddy, I don't want you to go.
Me: I have to. I gotta go to work and take you to daycare.
Evelyn: I don't to go to daycare, I want to stay home with you and mummy.
Me: Mommy's at work but she'll be by Miss Tyse's to pick you up.
Evelyn: Miss Tyse seems nice when you guys are there but I'm pretty sure she cuts me while I sleep.
Me: Evelyn! That's a very odd accusation. Plus, I've never seen cuts on your arms from this.
Evelyn: Okay, you got me there. Please stay home?
Me: I gotta work, little girl. Sorry. It's how we pay the bills when we're grown ups.
Actual Evelyn: buh huh huh.
Me: I know, I'm weird.
And so ended the wonderful one-sided episode with me and my multiple personalities. Evelyn smiled the whole time, enjoying the odd little exchange.
Little things like this, you'd be surprised, keep your sanity intact. Try it if you don't believe me, but not in public. Never where other people can see you. Never.
This lesson I have learned.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Beauty and the Beast
Our daughter, we have learned, loves animals. Particularly, dogs. More specifically, our dog.
If you haven't read previous posts, Jack is our dog. A purebred boxer we bought from a pet store - something we'll never do again. Not because we hate the poor dog, but because he shows every sign of abuse that comes from being raised in a puppy mill. When we brought him home, one night I noticed a few scars on his legs. When we had trouble house-training him (He still loves to use our carpet as his toilet), the lady who helped us out in puppy classes told us that it is just something we'll have to continually work with him on, as puppy mill dogs are often never housebroken.
But he is our cowardly lion. I've never seen a dog bark so loudly the sheer brutality in his bark drives the mailman to literally drop packages and run to another house, but then Jack will hide from a cricket. Yes, I said a cricket. I have seen him run from a common housefly, and dance around a "pill-bug" outside in hopes to scare it away before the small monster bite him. I have even been witness to Jack running away from the wrath of the dreaded of a Monarch Butterfly.
So we were apprehensive, to say the least, when bringing our daughter home. In fact, I think to some extent I've blogged about this before. But now that Evelyn is up and paying more attention to the world, rather than discussing how Jack relates to her, I thought I'd mention how she loves to stare at Jack.
Stare. As in watch without blinking.
Then she tries to hug him. Or strangle him, her motives are often unclear.
We're inclined to think she loves him and is trying to give the poor beast a hug. Jack, the fool, often rushes in with that horrible depth-perception of his, popping my infant daughter in the nose with his under-bite, then licking her face as if she were a small, human ice cream cone.
The whole time Evelyn smiles like its the most wonderful joy in the world to have an animal who licks unmentionable parts of his own body use the same tongue to slap your face. My wife laughs and takes pictures because, in her mind, the children are playing together. In my mind, I'm just thinking I could probably find a small saddle that would enable use to have a "Jack Rodeo" and film it, put it on Youtube and get a ton of hits, elevating my daughter to the world's newest celebrity and open doors for her to go to Harvard completely free of charge.
This has probably been done before and isn't even funny anymore, but the dog is built like a horse and I clearly have an odd sense of humor.
All in all, I have to say, it has been nice to see she's neither allergic nor afraid of the big cowardly lion.
Now, if we could just get him to stop being afraid of crickets, and stop messing up our floors, we may just have something here.
If you haven't read previous posts, Jack is our dog. A purebred boxer we bought from a pet store - something we'll never do again. Not because we hate the poor dog, but because he shows every sign of abuse that comes from being raised in a puppy mill. When we brought him home, one night I noticed a few scars on his legs. When we had trouble house-training him (He still loves to use our carpet as his toilet), the lady who helped us out in puppy classes told us that it is just something we'll have to continually work with him on, as puppy mill dogs are often never housebroken.
But he is our cowardly lion. I've never seen a dog bark so loudly the sheer brutality in his bark drives the mailman to literally drop packages and run to another house, but then Jack will hide from a cricket. Yes, I said a cricket. I have seen him run from a common housefly, and dance around a "pill-bug" outside in hopes to scare it away before the small monster bite him. I have even been witness to Jack running away from the wrath of the dreaded of a Monarch Butterfly.
So we were apprehensive, to say the least, when bringing our daughter home. In fact, I think to some extent I've blogged about this before. But now that Evelyn is up and paying more attention to the world, rather than discussing how Jack relates to her, I thought I'd mention how she loves to stare at Jack.
Stare. As in watch without blinking.
Then she tries to hug him. Or strangle him, her motives are often unclear.
We're inclined to think she loves him and is trying to give the poor beast a hug. Jack, the fool, often rushes in with that horrible depth-perception of his, popping my infant daughter in the nose with his under-bite, then licking her face as if she were a small, human ice cream cone.
The whole time Evelyn smiles like its the most wonderful joy in the world to have an animal who licks unmentionable parts of his own body use the same tongue to slap your face. My wife laughs and takes pictures because, in her mind, the children are playing together. In my mind, I'm just thinking I could probably find a small saddle that would enable use to have a "Jack Rodeo" and film it, put it on Youtube and get a ton of hits, elevating my daughter to the world's newest celebrity and open doors for her to go to Harvard completely free of charge.
This has probably been done before and isn't even funny anymore, but the dog is built like a horse and I clearly have an odd sense of humor.
All in all, I have to say, it has been nice to see she's neither allergic nor afraid of the big cowardly lion.
Now, if we could just get him to stop being afraid of crickets, and stop messing up our floors, we may just have something here.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
The Dad Show Don't Stop.
Since Wednesday night I've felt a little under the weather. That is to say, a lot under the weather. Now, I've felt a little sick, I've had headaches, or just been exhausted since we've had Evie, but this is the first time I was really just not up to par.
The first time I'd really been sick, I guess, since being a dad.
And I quickly learned something - my daughter doesn't give a flying turtle's behind how great I feel.
Here I was, knocking on death's door (a slight over-statement) and my daughter still had the audacity to pee in her diaper, want food, and yes, even the rudeness of wanting to be held after I distinctly laid her down in her pack-and-play to take a nap.
It's just her self-centeredness coming out. I'm sure this is a trait she picked up from me, but I thought I developed it at a much later age. It's actually quite unnerving that she's showing signs of it this early in life.
Either way, the last few days I wasn't just a dad. I was a sick dad limping through my illness while trying to keep a five month old happy. If you've never done this, you have no idea how brutally difficult it is.
So don't judge me for being somewhat irritated.
One thing was made clear about parenthood this week. The "Dad Show" doesn't stop just because of a fever and a runny nose. You're still a dad even when you don't feel like being one.
Well, you know, if you're aiming to be a good dad, I guess.
The first time I'd really been sick, I guess, since being a dad.
And I quickly learned something - my daughter doesn't give a flying turtle's behind how great I feel.
Here I was, knocking on death's door (a slight over-statement) and my daughter still had the audacity to pee in her diaper, want food, and yes, even the rudeness of wanting to be held after I distinctly laid her down in her pack-and-play to take a nap.
It's just her self-centeredness coming out. I'm sure this is a trait she picked up from me, but I thought I developed it at a much later age. It's actually quite unnerving that she's showing signs of it this early in life.
Either way, the last few days I wasn't just a dad. I was a sick dad limping through my illness while trying to keep a five month old happy. If you've never done this, you have no idea how brutally difficult it is.
So don't judge me for being somewhat irritated.
One thing was made clear about parenthood this week. The "Dad Show" doesn't stop just because of a fever and a runny nose. You're still a dad even when you don't feel like being one.
Well, you know, if you're aiming to be a good dad, I guess.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Talking to Feet
Everyone has a cute story about their baby. I learned this quickly because, while some parents will smile while you share a cute story, a poop story, a story where your child says inappropriate things (thank God this hasn't happened, but we know its coming) in front of people, others will often share their own stories. Some parents are not content to simply share a story, either, some must "one-up" your story.
Maybe I'll blog about the different types of parents we've met so far sometime, but then again, what category would I put myself in?
Maybe I won't.
Anyway, today's blog is not about parents. It's a cute story about my daughter I felt the need to share with the entire world due to its powerful cuteness.
That's right. Powerful cuteness.
I work nights, so from the time we both wake up until I take her to our daycare at twelve-thirty, Monday through Wednesday, I am watching, feeding, talking to, or changing my daughter. Notice I said, "from the time we both wake up?" Yeah. Sometimes, it takes me a while to get out of bed. I've not woke up before her yet...
Well, one morning I woke up and fed Evelyn her breakfast. Then, I took her to her crib, and laid her down thinking, "While I am getting ready for work, she can go back to sleep."
Oh the hopes and dreams of dads...
Yet, she was somewhat quiet when I got into and out of the shower. I didn't hear her crying while I brushed my teeth or dressed for my evening's tasks. I even went downstairs to check my email and this is when I thought I heard something.
I walked upstairs and heard her talking.
No, it wasn't some intelligent conversation about the current state of our government. It wasn't a deep theological discussion concerning the actual time frame of Christ's return in relation to the Great Tribulation. It wasn't even a few small words about how Big Bird doesn't look the same now as he did twenty years ago (Did they just clean him up? What is it with that thing?).
It was small "coos," "ahhs," "hewaaahs" and the like. But when I walked in, it was who she was talking to that made me chuckle.
Evie had grabbed her feet, folded herself in half, and had been talking to her toes. Just talking away as if her feet were talking back.
Again, I have no clue as to what she was saying. I'm sure it went something like this, "Okay, here's the plan. I'm going to start teething soon and I need you guys to help me out. When my dad holds me one night to try and get me to be quiet - I don't know Phil [That's probably what she's named her left big toe] these big people do that when I cry - anyway, when he holds me to get quiet, I'm going to kick and squirm and try to get him to drop me. Why? Oh I don't know Darryl [her right big toe], maybe because then I can roll myself over and over and on to freedom? I'm still their captive and have been since the day I escaped..."
But then I walked in on her and interrupted her conversation, by saying in my softest daddy voice, "WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?" and I laughed and smiled, but Evelyn stiffened herself like a board and had this look on her face that screamed, "Nobody. Nothin'. You didn't see anything!"
It was cute. She completely had a guilty look on her face. I swear if she was a Jedi she'd be trying to do the mind trick on me with a wave of her hand and a "You didn't see anything."
I laughed and picked her up, and she just smiled that, "Oh, you got me" smile.
It was a great day.
Maybe I'll blog about the different types of parents we've met so far sometime, but then again, what category would I put myself in?
Maybe I won't.
Anyway, today's blog is not about parents. It's a cute story about my daughter I felt the need to share with the entire world due to its powerful cuteness.
That's right. Powerful cuteness.
I work nights, so from the time we both wake up until I take her to our daycare at twelve-thirty, Monday through Wednesday, I am watching, feeding, talking to, or changing my daughter. Notice I said, "from the time we both wake up?" Yeah. Sometimes, it takes me a while to get out of bed. I've not woke up before her yet...
Well, one morning I woke up and fed Evelyn her breakfast. Then, I took her to her crib, and laid her down thinking, "While I am getting ready for work, she can go back to sleep."
Oh the hopes and dreams of dads...
Yet, she was somewhat quiet when I got into and out of the shower. I didn't hear her crying while I brushed my teeth or dressed for my evening's tasks. I even went downstairs to check my email and this is when I thought I heard something.
I walked upstairs and heard her talking.
No, it wasn't some intelligent conversation about the current state of our government. It wasn't a deep theological discussion concerning the actual time frame of Christ's return in relation to the Great Tribulation. It wasn't even a few small words about how Big Bird doesn't look the same now as he did twenty years ago (Did they just clean him up? What is it with that thing?).
It was small "coos," "ahhs," "hewaaahs" and the like. But when I walked in, it was who she was talking to that made me chuckle.
Evie had grabbed her feet, folded herself in half, and had been talking to her toes. Just talking away as if her feet were talking back.
Again, I have no clue as to what she was saying. I'm sure it went something like this, "Okay, here's the plan. I'm going to start teething soon and I need you guys to help me out. When my dad holds me one night to try and get me to be quiet - I don't know Phil [That's probably what she's named her left big toe] these big people do that when I cry - anyway, when he holds me to get quiet, I'm going to kick and squirm and try to get him to drop me. Why? Oh I don't know Darryl [her right big toe], maybe because then I can roll myself over and over and on to freedom? I'm still their captive and have been since the day I escaped..."
But then I walked in on her and interrupted her conversation, by saying in my softest daddy voice, "WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?" and I laughed and smiled, but Evelyn stiffened herself like a board and had this look on her face that screamed, "Nobody. Nothin'. You didn't see anything!"
It was cute. She completely had a guilty look on her face. I swear if she was a Jedi she'd be trying to do the mind trick on me with a wave of her hand and a "You didn't see anything."
I laughed and picked her up, and she just smiled that, "Oh, you got me" smile.
It was a great day.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
It's been a while
I hope to get back into the habit of blogging regularly. I've taken a little over a month off, mostly due to complete writer's block, internet issues, and lack of time.
Also, a lack of things to write about.
That last part isn't true. I have plenty of things to write about. I just don't know how to write about them or if some of them should be shared with anyone who doesn't exist within the confines of my own skull. No, I'm not schizophrenic, I just don't know if the world is ready for some of the deep parenting thoughts I'd love to share.
For example, inflatable diapers that have "pee strips" you can just pull out and throw away. For poop, just do the same thing but rinse the diaper off or something.
Trust me on this one, it'll catch on.
Or not.
Needless to say, the last month or so has been eventful. So... what to write about?
First of all, we had our first fever last week. I had to take a day off of work and stay home with a fussy, sick baby, and believe me, if you haven't done this then you are in for a treat.
I believe I said, "If any teenager is out there ready to have pre-marital sex, before they do they should listen to the crying and screaming I've had to endure for the past couple of hours." No birth control method save abstinence would suffice for them.
Trust me on that. Honestly. Just trust me. In fact, they may choose to join a monastery or convent.
I have continued with our weekly tradition that Evelyn and I go out for lunch every Friday together, just the two of us. When she is old enough for school that tradition may get tweaked, but in the mean time, its working out beautifully.
Except for yesterday.
For starters, I need to point out that we think she's teething. She's drooling, sticking her fingers in her mouth constantly, has had a fever (as previously mentioned) and a few cases of mild diarrhea, all symptoms - according to a quick Google search - of teething.
So she's been fussy and a very hard dinner companion to sit with on these Friday outings.
Yesterday, we went to El Meson. If you like Mexican food, I can tell you from exhaustive research that this is the best place to go in Indianapolis. When I say exhaustive research, I mean that. My waste-line is a testament to this statement.
It's also somewhat reasonable on the price. Therefore, my being cheap and wanting to be a good dad worked together for us to dine in this fine establishment Friday, August 19, 2010.
Now, earlier in the day, I had bought something on-line and had taken out my wallet to get the proper card number punched in. The purchase was quick, painless and actually enjoyable, so I thought nothing of it once I clicked all the confirmations. In doing so, forgot that my wallet. It was left on the desk next to our monitor.
When we got to El Meson, Evelyn sat watching me, smiling the entire time I stuffed that beautiful Mexican cuisine into my face. Little did I know, she was smiling because I was about to get doubly embarrassed, and while I am convinced she is an incredibly intelligent baby, some would say "mastermind," I don't think she had this all planned from the beginning. But...
As I was finishing up my lunch, about to gulp down my second Cherry Coke (Which, by the way, I really enjoy with my Taco Salad), I am brought the check by our courteous waiter. Also at this time, Evelyn begins to fuss and squirm. If you have ever been in a nice restaurant with an infant, you know people seem to look at you, waiting for your kid to scream and ruin their dinner. You also know, that when your child does begin to cry, their glares actually pierce your skin like a thousand needles thrust at you from their hollow, soulless (non-parenting) eyes.
So, taking Evelyn's hint that she no longer wished to watch the Spanish t.v. music videos and the waiter's, I drink quickly, grab my daughter and my things, and head to pay for my meal, all the while ignorant of my wallet still sitting at home collecting dust.
When I nervously begin to look for any sign of my leather money container, I notice that in my panic, my daughter is no longer fussing. She's gone quiet. As if... she knew the trap had been sprung. Seriously. She just sat there like some criminal whose plot has worked to perfection. She watched as I franticly searched my bag, my pockets, and her carseat for any sign of my wallet. She seemed to be enjoying this show...
I explainws to the man behind the cash register that I had left my wallet at home, but that I would leave my cell phone as collateral. "It's a two hundred dollar phone," I explained, "I promise I'll be back for it."
With a glare that all but called me a liar and a burglar, he insisted I not leave my phone but in good trust he would ask that I return as soon as possible to pay my bill.
So I grabbed Evie, ran to the truck, buckled her in, flew home, ran inside, grabbed the wallet, drove quickly back to the restaurant and paid. The man behind the counter was a different guy (no doubt the other original waiter had gone to call the cops because I obviously looked like a thief in my cut-up jeans and Captain America T-shirt).
I stated to the new man, who for story's sake I will now call Bill, that while I understand there are people who skip out on their bills, the other guy, who for story's sake I will not give a name other than "the other guy," seemed to look at me as though he did not expect to see me again.
Bill explained that a couple of weeks ago, another person came in, wracked up a 70 dollar bill with her huge entourage of people, and then left her i.d. as collateral. He then proceeded to pull this woman's driver's license out of the cash register and said, "As you can see, she never paid."
I always intended to pay, just for the record. Now, I'm human and there was a small part of me that said, "Just don't go back, the whole ordeal has been humiliating enough as it is. Are they really going to miss ten dollars?" Then, I realized I was wearing a Captain America shirt. Cap wouldn't do that. I remembered that I'm a Christian. Jesus wouldn't do that, either. And I looked down at my daughter who had gone so quiet as if she were watching every move I made and studying what I would do.
And I realized the man I want her to respect, whom she will hold as the standard for every man she meets for the rest of her life, he wouldn't do that either.
But mostly it was the Captain America t-shirt.
So that's the updated blog for today. I hope you enjoyed it!
Also, a lack of things to write about.
That last part isn't true. I have plenty of things to write about. I just don't know how to write about them or if some of them should be shared with anyone who doesn't exist within the confines of my own skull. No, I'm not schizophrenic, I just don't know if the world is ready for some of the deep parenting thoughts I'd love to share.
For example, inflatable diapers that have "pee strips" you can just pull out and throw away. For poop, just do the same thing but rinse the diaper off or something.
Trust me on this one, it'll catch on.
Or not.
Needless to say, the last month or so has been eventful. So... what to write about?
First of all, we had our first fever last week. I had to take a day off of work and stay home with a fussy, sick baby, and believe me, if you haven't done this then you are in for a treat.
I believe I said, "If any teenager is out there ready to have pre-marital sex, before they do they should listen to the crying and screaming I've had to endure for the past couple of hours." No birth control method save abstinence would suffice for them.
Trust me on that. Honestly. Just trust me. In fact, they may choose to join a monastery or convent.
I have continued with our weekly tradition that Evelyn and I go out for lunch every Friday together, just the two of us. When she is old enough for school that tradition may get tweaked, but in the mean time, its working out beautifully.
Except for yesterday.
For starters, I need to point out that we think she's teething. She's drooling, sticking her fingers in her mouth constantly, has had a fever (as previously mentioned) and a few cases of mild diarrhea, all symptoms - according to a quick Google search - of teething.
So she's been fussy and a very hard dinner companion to sit with on these Friday outings.
Yesterday, we went to El Meson. If you like Mexican food, I can tell you from exhaustive research that this is the best place to go in Indianapolis. When I say exhaustive research, I mean that. My waste-line is a testament to this statement.
It's also somewhat reasonable on the price. Therefore, my being cheap and wanting to be a good dad worked together for us to dine in this fine establishment Friday, August 19, 2010.
Now, earlier in the day, I had bought something on-line and had taken out my wallet to get the proper card number punched in. The purchase was quick, painless and actually enjoyable, so I thought nothing of it once I clicked all the confirmations. In doing so, forgot that my wallet. It was left on the desk next to our monitor.
When we got to El Meson, Evelyn sat watching me, smiling the entire time I stuffed that beautiful Mexican cuisine into my face. Little did I know, she was smiling because I was about to get doubly embarrassed, and while I am convinced she is an incredibly intelligent baby, some would say "mastermind," I don't think she had this all planned from the beginning. But...
As I was finishing up my lunch, about to gulp down my second Cherry Coke (Which, by the way, I really enjoy with my Taco Salad), I am brought the check by our courteous waiter. Also at this time, Evelyn begins to fuss and squirm. If you have ever been in a nice restaurant with an infant, you know people seem to look at you, waiting for your kid to scream and ruin their dinner. You also know, that when your child does begin to cry, their glares actually pierce your skin like a thousand needles thrust at you from their hollow, soulless (non-parenting) eyes.
So, taking Evelyn's hint that she no longer wished to watch the Spanish t.v. music videos and the waiter's, I drink quickly, grab my daughter and my things, and head to pay for my meal, all the while ignorant of my wallet still sitting at home collecting dust.
When I nervously begin to look for any sign of my leather money container, I notice that in my panic, my daughter is no longer fussing. She's gone quiet. As if... she knew the trap had been sprung. Seriously. She just sat there like some criminal whose plot has worked to perfection. She watched as I franticly searched my bag, my pockets, and her carseat for any sign of my wallet. She seemed to be enjoying this show...
I explainws to the man behind the cash register that I had left my wallet at home, but that I would leave my cell phone as collateral. "It's a two hundred dollar phone," I explained, "I promise I'll be back for it."
With a glare that all but called me a liar and a burglar, he insisted I not leave my phone but in good trust he would ask that I return as soon as possible to pay my bill.
So I grabbed Evie, ran to the truck, buckled her in, flew home, ran inside, grabbed the wallet, drove quickly back to the restaurant and paid. The man behind the counter was a different guy (no doubt the other original waiter had gone to call the cops because I obviously looked like a thief in my cut-up jeans and Captain America T-shirt).
I stated to the new man, who for story's sake I will now call Bill, that while I understand there are people who skip out on their bills, the other guy, who for story's sake I will not give a name other than "the other guy," seemed to look at me as though he did not expect to see me again.
Bill explained that a couple of weeks ago, another person came in, wracked up a 70 dollar bill with her huge entourage of people, and then left her i.d. as collateral. He then proceeded to pull this woman's driver's license out of the cash register and said, "As you can see, she never paid."
I always intended to pay, just for the record. Now, I'm human and there was a small part of me that said, "Just don't go back, the whole ordeal has been humiliating enough as it is. Are they really going to miss ten dollars?" Then, I realized I was wearing a Captain America shirt. Cap wouldn't do that. I remembered that I'm a Christian. Jesus wouldn't do that, either. And I looked down at my daughter who had gone so quiet as if she were watching every move I made and studying what I would do.
And I realized the man I want her to respect, whom she will hold as the standard for every man she meets for the rest of her life, he wouldn't do that either.
But mostly it was the Captain America t-shirt.
So that's the updated blog for today. I hope you enjoyed it!
Friday, July 16, 2010
Time off From Blogging
The last blog made me realize how sometimes I need to take some time away before I go into the twice a week update mode. So, for a while, I think I'll just shoot for once a week. Then maybe, once things get back on track, back to twice a week. Or I'll just update when I feel like it. For those who read this and think, "How hard can it be to keep a journal about your kid?" I suggest you try it sometime. It's both a grueling duty and a rewarding adventure. Sometimes one more than the other, and you need to take a break. I have taken one, and now am refreshed!
With all that out of the way, I thought I'd write today about last Friday. Evelyn went with me as I had some errands to run, and as a very dutiful child she participated with the utmost eagerness.
Our first stop was to Taco Bell, where, since she'd already eaten her lunch, Evelyn sat and watch me enjoy the "chicken club chalupa thing" - though I know that's not the official name, it was delicious.
Maybe it should be the official name...
Anyway, from there we went to the comic shop because, even though I don't buy books like I used to, I still try to be loyal to Captain America and one particular Star Wars comic (I am such a fanboy...). There, I was able to show off my daughter for the first time to fellow geeks and nerds as proof that I had actually had a daughter, and not made it up to sound like an even cooler person among them, and to display evidence I had, in fact, lay with a woman. Both of these things made me the one eyed man in the kingdom of the blind, but you know what? Who cares, it made me feel good inside and sometimes, your kids should do that for you.
Next we hit up Such's Garage, where we had our oil changed. It was here I noticed that Evelyn had somehow, God only knows in what manner, gotten herself as dirty as the men working upon my truck. I was reading an article in one of their outdated magazines, when I glanced down and noticed she had dried milk all over her chin(She had eaten about an hour ago at this point, so that must have been milk that made its way back out into the world from her stomach) and boogers and snot dripping and oozing out of her nose.
I had no idea where my child went! I looked for Evelyn and in her place discovered this small, smiling ragamuffin. I grabbed a paper towel and got some water from their water-cooler and cleaned her up. All the while she giggled and acted as though she had played some great prank.
It made my heart melt.
After this we went to the 1/2 Priced Books store and I picked up a fairly used novel on a friend's recommendation. Evelyn, of course, fell asleep at this point and just kind of sat there as I perused the books on the shelves and walked around like someone in a library you can speak loudly in... because that's basically what these places are.
She woke up by the time we got to the car wash, and even though I tried to tell her we were about to enter into the stomach of a monster, she just stared at me, unafraid. That's what my mom used to tell me when I was really, really little. So, I thought I'd try it out but make it sound scarier and maybe a little more fun. My daughter just stared at me, unafraid and by the time the "monster" pooped us out, she was back to sleep.
It was a fun day with Evie and we headed back home. She woke up in time to eat again before her mom got home, and even though she won't remember it?
It was one of the best days of my life.
And not because of the "Chicken-Bacon-Club-Chalupa-Thing."
With all that out of the way, I thought I'd write today about last Friday. Evelyn went with me as I had some errands to run, and as a very dutiful child she participated with the utmost eagerness.
Our first stop was to Taco Bell, where, since she'd already eaten her lunch, Evelyn sat and watch me enjoy the "chicken club chalupa thing" - though I know that's not the official name, it was delicious.
Maybe it should be the official name...
Anyway, from there we went to the comic shop because, even though I don't buy books like I used to, I still try to be loyal to Captain America and one particular Star Wars comic (I am such a fanboy...). There, I was able to show off my daughter for the first time to fellow geeks and nerds as proof that I had actually had a daughter, and not made it up to sound like an even cooler person among them, and to display evidence I had, in fact, lay with a woman. Both of these things made me the one eyed man in the kingdom of the blind, but you know what? Who cares, it made me feel good inside and sometimes, your kids should do that for you.
Next we hit up Such's Garage, where we had our oil changed. It was here I noticed that Evelyn had somehow, God only knows in what manner, gotten herself as dirty as the men working upon my truck. I was reading an article in one of their outdated magazines, when I glanced down and noticed she had dried milk all over her chin(She had eaten about an hour ago at this point, so that must have been milk that made its way back out into the world from her stomach) and boogers and snot dripping and oozing out of her nose.
I had no idea where my child went! I looked for Evelyn and in her place discovered this small, smiling ragamuffin. I grabbed a paper towel and got some water from their water-cooler and cleaned her up. All the while she giggled and acted as though she had played some great prank.
It made my heart melt.
After this we went to the 1/2 Priced Books store and I picked up a fairly used novel on a friend's recommendation. Evelyn, of course, fell asleep at this point and just kind of sat there as I perused the books on the shelves and walked around like someone in a library you can speak loudly in... because that's basically what these places are.
She woke up by the time we got to the car wash, and even though I tried to tell her we were about to enter into the stomach of a monster, she just stared at me, unafraid. That's what my mom used to tell me when I was really, really little. So, I thought I'd try it out but make it sound scarier and maybe a little more fun. My daughter just stared at me, unafraid and by the time the "monster" pooped us out, she was back to sleep.
It was a fun day with Evie and we headed back home. She woke up in time to eat again before her mom got home, and even though she won't remember it?
It was one of the best days of my life.
And not because of the "Chicken-Bacon-Club-Chalupa-Thing."
Monday, July 5, 2010
What to write?
Somedays, I just don't know what to type here.
I didn't even put in an entry on Friday, since it was a holiday weekend. It took me all of today to even decide what to put in now.
To be honest, I just had some really deep thoughts that I had typed out - an entire blog, actually - then highlighted them and pushed "Delete."
One day I'm going to blink my eyes and my daughter will be old enough to read. I'll close them again, only for a moment, and she'll be eighteen and old enough to understand most of what this blog is about. I'll blink once more and she'll have a family of her own and I'll be printing this off for her to read.
So I'd be lying through my teeth if I said I don't put a lot of thought into these entries. Most of the things I put, I want my children (not just Evelyn, although she's all we have now) to read and say, "Wow, Dad..."
This is not one of those times.
This is one of those, "AH BOOGA BOOGA NONSENSE WORDS" times.
You know... the kind of entries where I just type something funny my daughter did and our silly responses.
For instance, yesterday Evelyn had her first conversation. Jennifer said, "Hi, Evie." Evelyn responded with "Loulla lou loo."
"Really?" my wife asked.
"Aheeha hoo," was the response. Then she just started sticking her tongue out making the "Loulla lou loo" sounds again.
It was adorable.
The dog likes to lick her face. This is gross and personally I don't like that he does it. Evelyn just seems indifferent.
I hope when she reads this she gets angry that her mother lets him do this and calls to chew her out. Just because I can be spiteful sometimes and this is one of those times.
Anyway, this is the end of today's entry. Maybe in a few days I'll have something deep and/or humorous to share.
We'll see.
I didn't even put in an entry on Friday, since it was a holiday weekend. It took me all of today to even decide what to put in now.
To be honest, I just had some really deep thoughts that I had typed out - an entire blog, actually - then highlighted them and pushed "Delete."
One day I'm going to blink my eyes and my daughter will be old enough to read. I'll close them again, only for a moment, and she'll be eighteen and old enough to understand most of what this blog is about. I'll blink once more and she'll have a family of her own and I'll be printing this off for her to read.
So I'd be lying through my teeth if I said I don't put a lot of thought into these entries. Most of the things I put, I want my children (not just Evelyn, although she's all we have now) to read and say, "Wow, Dad..."
This is not one of those times.
This is one of those, "AH BOOGA BOOGA NONSENSE WORDS" times.
You know... the kind of entries where I just type something funny my daughter did and our silly responses.
For instance, yesterday Evelyn had her first conversation. Jennifer said, "Hi, Evie." Evelyn responded with "Loulla lou loo."
"Really?" my wife asked.
"Aheeha hoo," was the response. Then she just started sticking her tongue out making the "Loulla lou loo" sounds again.
It was adorable.
The dog likes to lick her face. This is gross and personally I don't like that he does it. Evelyn just seems indifferent.
I hope when she reads this she gets angry that her mother lets him do this and calls to chew her out. Just because I can be spiteful sometimes and this is one of those times.
Anyway, this is the end of today's entry. Maybe in a few days I'll have something deep and/or humorous to share.
We'll see.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
It is Always Gas
The amount of wisdom you gain from conversations with other parents is often worth its weight in gold. Sure, sometimes you hear ridiculous stuff but you quickly become skilled in "chewing the meat and spitting out the bones."
One such conversation occurred a few days ago, after Evie had spent a solid half hour screaming at the top of her lungs only to suddenly stop, finishing with what we now refer to as an "old man burp."
I was telling a coworker about it and simply said, "So I guess it was just gas."
He replied, "Trust me, it is always gas."
To my complete shock (and horror) this made perfect sense in the context of our discussion, and was laughable out of the context. But a few days later as my wife was worried something was wrong with our daughter as she wailed and screamed, I was much more calm and just burped her.
The belch she released was absolutely disgusting, so much so the men of my college dorm would have been impressed.
"That's my girl," I thought.
So, if your baby is crying and you don't know why? It may just be gas.
Friday, June 25, 2010
The Impatience of Evelyn
One thing I have noticed is, when my daughter wants to eat, she wants to eat now.
Not in fifteen minutes when you're ready to feed her, not even in five minutes when her milk is warmed up. She was hungry two minutes ago which means you are already three minutes behind schedule.
Now, Jennifer has pointed out on more than one occasion recently that Evelyn is such a happy baby. How she often is smiling away, giggling at some unspoken joke, or generally just staring with a bright face that says "I think everything is awesome!" But you deny this child her meal for even a second - don't even stop to grab a can of soda for yourself - she will become the world's single greatest threat so quickly, the National Guard won't have a chance to respond.
You think I'm exaggerating?
Let me tell you what happened yesterday - with time stamps.
4:27 pm: I called Jennifer to see if she's on her way home, and tell her that Evelyn will be hungry soon. Jennifer says she's leaving the office soon and heading to the parking garage.
4:35 pm: Evelyn realizes I snuck in a phone call to call in my ally and sole reinforcements. Begins devising her "Normandy Invasion."
4:42 pm: I have successfully installed a seatbelt and parachute to our big, once comfortable chair. Because when the oncoming storm hits, I want to be prepared for anything.
4:51 pm: Sensing my fear, Evelyn begins to strike. At first it was the bullets of whimpers and outcries raining down from the heavens, but within minutes it is a full-scale sonic attack.
4:58 pm: Jennifer arrives home, no doubt running from the cops who so desperately needed to give someone a speeding ticket but were unable to catch her.
4:59 pm: Jennifer delivers the worst news amidst the hail of screams and bellows, she states, "I have to go to the bathroom, give me a minute."
5:01 pm: Jennifer is ready to feed Evelyn and the child is passed from father to mother.
5:02 pm: The threat has been neutralized with only minor injuries and one death - a small squirrel who happened upon our back porch in search of food.
6:03 pm: A telegraph arrives from London stating that the squirrel nation has declared war, but within thirty seconds, another telegraph arrives stating, "Oh snap, we forgot you guys had Evelyn Williams and her sonic screams. We surrender!"
6:05 pm: A treaty is signed between myself and the squirrel armies of the world.
Okay, you may think that's ridiculous but a) She really screams hard when she's hungry and b) there really is a squirrel nation with its own armies!*
Anyway, the moral of the story is, if you're holding my daughter when meal time is about to roll around, it is best to grab a helmet and pass her off to her mother, or myself if I have a bottle.
*No there's not.
Not in fifteen minutes when you're ready to feed her, not even in five minutes when her milk is warmed up. She was hungry two minutes ago which means you are already three minutes behind schedule.
Now, Jennifer has pointed out on more than one occasion recently that Evelyn is such a happy baby. How she often is smiling away, giggling at some unspoken joke, or generally just staring with a bright face that says "I think everything is awesome!" But you deny this child her meal for even a second - don't even stop to grab a can of soda for yourself - she will become the world's single greatest threat so quickly, the National Guard won't have a chance to respond.
You think I'm exaggerating?
Let me tell you what happened yesterday - with time stamps.
4:27 pm: I called Jennifer to see if she's on her way home, and tell her that Evelyn will be hungry soon. Jennifer says she's leaving the office soon and heading to the parking garage.
4:35 pm: Evelyn realizes I snuck in a phone call to call in my ally and sole reinforcements. Begins devising her "Normandy Invasion."
4:42 pm: I have successfully installed a seatbelt and parachute to our big, once comfortable chair. Because when the oncoming storm hits, I want to be prepared for anything.
4:51 pm: Sensing my fear, Evelyn begins to strike. At first it was the bullets of whimpers and outcries raining down from the heavens, but within minutes it is a full-scale sonic attack.
4:58 pm: Jennifer arrives home, no doubt running from the cops who so desperately needed to give someone a speeding ticket but were unable to catch her.
4:59 pm: Jennifer delivers the worst news amidst the hail of screams and bellows, she states, "I have to go to the bathroom, give me a minute."
5:01 pm: Jennifer is ready to feed Evelyn and the child is passed from father to mother.
5:02 pm: The threat has been neutralized with only minor injuries and one death - a small squirrel who happened upon our back porch in search of food.
6:03 pm: A telegraph arrives from London stating that the squirrel nation has declared war, but within thirty seconds, another telegraph arrives stating, "Oh snap, we forgot you guys had Evelyn Williams and her sonic screams. We surrender!"
6:05 pm: A treaty is signed between myself and the squirrel armies of the world.
Okay, you may think that's ridiculous but a) She really screams hard when she's hungry and b) there really is a squirrel nation with its own armies!*
Anyway, the moral of the story is, if you're holding my daughter when meal time is about to roll around, it is best to grab a helmet and pass her off to her mother, or myself if I have a bottle.
*No there's not.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Fighting Sleep
I think my daughter has incredible nightmares. That must be the reason why she fights going to sleep.
Maybe it is just normal baby behavior, maybe its not, but either way Evelyn does not like to go to sleep. I have a few theories about this, should it not be normal. Before I get to those, though, I should also point out that the sleeping habits of this little girl are both amusing and oddly interesting to me at the same time.
There have been instances where she falls asleep in a manner that makes you think a light-switch has been flicked off (or on, depending on your perspective) and she is out like a light. One minute, smiling, cooing, and making other noises, but within the blink of an eye, she's out like a narcoleptic who just drank cough syrup.
I don't know about that analogy... can narcoleptics drink cough syrup?
Other times she eases into sleep like she's landing a plane. Gradually, slowly nodding off and eventually closing her eyes and fading into a deep rest.
Then there are the times I'm talking about today, where it appears sleep is an army of marauders, invading the battlefield which is her mind. She fusses. She cries. She screams out as if stung by a bee.
Finally the marauders make their next step and victory has become theres, despite the heavy losses they've sustained in yet another successful campaign to get my daughter to sleep.
My two theories for this are as follows:
A) Like I said, she's got nightmares and she's afraid to go to sleep. This is possible, as she has recently gone through one of, if not the, most traumatic experience of her life - being born.
Could you imagine having to relive, every night as you slept, the nightmare of having your brain crushed in a vice as you are being pushed through a small tunnel, only to be suddenly and viciously yanked free from the tunnel into an alien world filled with giants and wires and tubes and some strange man with a reddish colored beard pointing a device at you saying, "I'm your daddy, hold still so I can get a picture?"
Yeah. It is a terrifying thought.
B) She's trying to learn and sleep is getting in the way.
She's new to the world and I think her small mind is trying to grow faster than time will allow. She's taking in new colors, smells, things that feel different, taste different, sound different and so on and so forth.
Everything is fresh and new and she wants to learn and sleep is getting in the way. Like Leonardo da Vinci, sleep is her greatest inconvenience and obstacle.
Of course, there's theory C) which I really don't count and that is simply she just does not like to sleep.
In any case, she likes to fight it, though it is an enemy she has yet to conquer.
Maybe it is just normal baby behavior, maybe its not, but either way Evelyn does not like to go to sleep. I have a few theories about this, should it not be normal. Before I get to those, though, I should also point out that the sleeping habits of this little girl are both amusing and oddly interesting to me at the same time.
There have been instances where she falls asleep in a manner that makes you think a light-switch has been flicked off (or on, depending on your perspective) and she is out like a light. One minute, smiling, cooing, and making other noises, but within the blink of an eye, she's out like a narcoleptic who just drank cough syrup.
I don't know about that analogy... can narcoleptics drink cough syrup?
Other times she eases into sleep like she's landing a plane. Gradually, slowly nodding off and eventually closing her eyes and fading into a deep rest.
Then there are the times I'm talking about today, where it appears sleep is an army of marauders, invading the battlefield which is her mind. She fusses. She cries. She screams out as if stung by a bee.
Finally the marauders make their next step and victory has become theres, despite the heavy losses they've sustained in yet another successful campaign to get my daughter to sleep.
My two theories for this are as follows:
A) Like I said, she's got nightmares and she's afraid to go to sleep. This is possible, as she has recently gone through one of, if not the, most traumatic experience of her life - being born.
Could you imagine having to relive, every night as you slept, the nightmare of having your brain crushed in a vice as you are being pushed through a small tunnel, only to be suddenly and viciously yanked free from the tunnel into an alien world filled with giants and wires and tubes and some strange man with a reddish colored beard pointing a device at you saying, "I'm your daddy, hold still so I can get a picture?"
Yeah. It is a terrifying thought.
B) She's trying to learn and sleep is getting in the way.
She's new to the world and I think her small mind is trying to grow faster than time will allow. She's taking in new colors, smells, things that feel different, taste different, sound different and so on and so forth.
Everything is fresh and new and she wants to learn and sleep is getting in the way. Like Leonardo da Vinci, sleep is her greatest inconvenience and obstacle.
Of course, there's theory C) which I really don't count and that is simply she just does not like to sleep.
In any case, she likes to fight it, though it is an enemy she has yet to conquer.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Being a Dad
I never saw myself as being a dad. Chalk that up to my relationship with my own parents, their divorce, or my own self-loathing that said I’d never be any better at being a dad than any other deadbeat who got a girl pregnant.
My own mom and dad did their best. In retrospect, I often think that maybe they weren’t fair to themselves. They got married soon after learning my mom was pregnant. She had me when she was nineteen and my dad was twenty-two. Both were, in many respects, children trying to raise a child. Five years later, my sister, Keshia, came along, and our youngest sister, Avery, was born fifteen months after that.
Never really getting a chance to grow up themselves, I’m sure my mom must have felt trapped in parenthood and in a marriage with many doubts. Who wouldn’t ask themselves if their husband only married them because of the kid she popped out? After all, it’s only natural.
My mom did the best she knew how. Years of practically raising her own sister and brothers gave her good practice. In her life, I know my mom made a plethora of mistakes, but in looking back, I have to say this: As a mother, she didn’t fail.
She and my dad were divorced not long after I graduated High School. I’ll never forget the day she told me she was leaving him, nor will I forget the day my dad returned home to find she had gone.
In some aspects, it was humorous. He had been out of town at a kids camp for future hunters, trappers, fishermen or some other “woodsmen” type of thing, taking one of the boys from the church who was anxious to learn about all sorts of ways to kill random wildlife. Something I had grown out of years before.
My mother met him in the church parking lot. My sisters were with her, she had informed him and that she had left him.
And that I had stayed.
At some point, she must have also told him that she took just about everything they owned with her, because I remember hearing my dad arrive in our gravel driveway and after walking out of the house to meet him, I heard him yell from our shed, “She took my f*ing tiller!”
You may laugh, but my dad loved that garden tiller. It was bad enough she’d taken his daughters away from him, but that woman he had loved so much, had stolen his favorite piece of gardening equipment.
Now, before I go on there are a couple of things you should know about my dad.
One is that if he likes you, then you have friend for life. He’s loyal to a fault. A trait my wife has often pointed out I inherited. Another is, as I have already made clear, he didn’t have a lot of life experiences going into his marriage and it was his first time ever being a husband, quickly followed by his first experience ever being a dad. Many things he did in those two arenas – husbandry and fatherhood – he had to learn on the fly. Things he didn’t know, he had to improvise and deal with the consequences later.
On Father’s Day, 2000, “later” had arrived.
That was the day she had left him. The day he found out he was no longer in possession of his two daughters, nor his favorite piece of machinery he had used so often in his garden.
And he was without his wife.
Someone rejected his loyalty, and for the first time in his life, I believe my dad felt he had nowhere and nothing. His best friend had metaphorically stabbed him in the back in the most brutal way someone could to a person like him. They abandoned him.
Dad had always equated provision with love. He’d worked countless overtime hours at the factory to make sure we were provided for. Because of this, my mother, sisters, and I never felt the pain of hunger or the humiliation of having no clothes. Sure, we’d be picky about what food was on the table or how ugly the clothing we were bought looked, but we at least had the choice to do without. Some are not so fortunate.
However, in the immaturity of childhood, we often saw his working non-stop as more avoidance than love. Often times, I look back and think about those days and wonder if I’d been happy to miss a few meals so he could play me some Horse on the basketball goal out in our back yard. Or if my sisters would be okay not having some new school clothes if it meant dad was able to stay home for dinner a few nights a week rather than working all hours of the day. Would my mom had been okay with him being home or taking her out on a date now and then, rather than spending a Friday night re-wiring a house for someone he barely knew and Saturday mornings at the factory. I honestly don’t know, and it is probably a thought that will haunt me for years to come.
To be clear, I don’t blame my dad for my parents’ divorce. Nor do I blame my mom. A marriage is, at its core, two people who have become one. The marriage failed. That doesn’t have to mean either of them did.
As this father’s day approaches, I hold my own daughter in my arms and words my dad once said to me, back when I was in my early teens echo on. “Do you know why I’m your dad and not just your father?”
“Not really,” I hear myself reply. We’re in his blue Dodge Ram and heading down Rosewood Lane for the fifty billionth time.
“Because I love you. I’m here for you. I do the best I can to be a dad. I know I make mistakes, but I try. Anybody can be a father, but just the fact that I’m trying, that’s what makes me a dad.”
I remember rolling my eyes, and sarcastically repeating the commercialized slogan, “Anybody can be a father, it takes a real man to be a dad.”
My dad, having not watched as much T.V., simply said, “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I never put much thought into that. What dad is perfect? Show me one who has never made a single mistake as a dad, and unless you’re introducing God, Himself, the man you’re hoisting upon that pedestal has either deceived you or you’re lying to yourself.
My dad has his faults. His failures are many, but he’s still my dad. And he’d rather die trying to be a dad, than live for one day as just a father.
I think of the saying, “Like father, like son.” I see my daughter, a little over two months old, and I think of my dad’s mistakes and resign myself to not repeat them. I think of his successes, and make it my goal to exceed them.
Because anybody can father a child, but it takes a lot more to be a dad.
My own mom and dad did their best. In retrospect, I often think that maybe they weren’t fair to themselves. They got married soon after learning my mom was pregnant. She had me when she was nineteen and my dad was twenty-two. Both were, in many respects, children trying to raise a child. Five years later, my sister, Keshia, came along, and our youngest sister, Avery, was born fifteen months after that.
Never really getting a chance to grow up themselves, I’m sure my mom must have felt trapped in parenthood and in a marriage with many doubts. Who wouldn’t ask themselves if their husband only married them because of the kid she popped out? After all, it’s only natural.
My mom did the best she knew how. Years of practically raising her own sister and brothers gave her good practice. In her life, I know my mom made a plethora of mistakes, but in looking back, I have to say this: As a mother, she didn’t fail.
She and my dad were divorced not long after I graduated High School. I’ll never forget the day she told me she was leaving him, nor will I forget the day my dad returned home to find she had gone.
In some aspects, it was humorous. He had been out of town at a kids camp for future hunters, trappers, fishermen or some other “woodsmen” type of thing, taking one of the boys from the church who was anxious to learn about all sorts of ways to kill random wildlife. Something I had grown out of years before.
My mother met him in the church parking lot. My sisters were with her, she had informed him and that she had left him.
And that I had stayed.
At some point, she must have also told him that she took just about everything they owned with her, because I remember hearing my dad arrive in our gravel driveway and after walking out of the house to meet him, I heard him yell from our shed, “She took my f*ing tiller!”
You may laugh, but my dad loved that garden tiller. It was bad enough she’d taken his daughters away from him, but that woman he had loved so much, had stolen his favorite piece of gardening equipment.
Now, before I go on there are a couple of things you should know about my dad.
One is that if he likes you, then you have friend for life. He’s loyal to a fault. A trait my wife has often pointed out I inherited. Another is, as I have already made clear, he didn’t have a lot of life experiences going into his marriage and it was his first time ever being a husband, quickly followed by his first experience ever being a dad. Many things he did in those two arenas – husbandry and fatherhood – he had to learn on the fly. Things he didn’t know, he had to improvise and deal with the consequences later.
On Father’s Day, 2000, “later” had arrived.
That was the day she had left him. The day he found out he was no longer in possession of his two daughters, nor his favorite piece of machinery he had used so often in his garden.
And he was without his wife.
Someone rejected his loyalty, and for the first time in his life, I believe my dad felt he had nowhere and nothing. His best friend had metaphorically stabbed him in the back in the most brutal way someone could to a person like him. They abandoned him.
Dad had always equated provision with love. He’d worked countless overtime hours at the factory to make sure we were provided for. Because of this, my mother, sisters, and I never felt the pain of hunger or the humiliation of having no clothes. Sure, we’d be picky about what food was on the table or how ugly the clothing we were bought looked, but we at least had the choice to do without. Some are not so fortunate.
However, in the immaturity of childhood, we often saw his working non-stop as more avoidance than love. Often times, I look back and think about those days and wonder if I’d been happy to miss a few meals so he could play me some Horse on the basketball goal out in our back yard. Or if my sisters would be okay not having some new school clothes if it meant dad was able to stay home for dinner a few nights a week rather than working all hours of the day. Would my mom had been okay with him being home or taking her out on a date now and then, rather than spending a Friday night re-wiring a house for someone he barely knew and Saturday mornings at the factory. I honestly don’t know, and it is probably a thought that will haunt me for years to come.
To be clear, I don’t blame my dad for my parents’ divorce. Nor do I blame my mom. A marriage is, at its core, two people who have become one. The marriage failed. That doesn’t have to mean either of them did.
As this father’s day approaches, I hold my own daughter in my arms and words my dad once said to me, back when I was in my early teens echo on. “Do you know why I’m your dad and not just your father?”
“Not really,” I hear myself reply. We’re in his blue Dodge Ram and heading down Rosewood Lane for the fifty billionth time.
“Because I love you. I’m here for you. I do the best I can to be a dad. I know I make mistakes, but I try. Anybody can be a father, but just the fact that I’m trying, that’s what makes me a dad.”
I remember rolling my eyes, and sarcastically repeating the commercialized slogan, “Anybody can be a father, it takes a real man to be a dad.”
My dad, having not watched as much T.V., simply said, “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I never put much thought into that. What dad is perfect? Show me one who has never made a single mistake as a dad, and unless you’re introducing God, Himself, the man you’re hoisting upon that pedestal has either deceived you or you’re lying to yourself.
My dad has his faults. His failures are many, but he’s still my dad. And he’d rather die trying to be a dad, than live for one day as just a father.
I think of the saying, “Like father, like son.” I see my daughter, a little over two months old, and I think of my dad’s mistakes and resign myself to not repeat them. I think of his successes, and make it my goal to exceed them.
Because anybody can father a child, but it takes a lot more to be a dad.
Our First Sickness
The fifteen year old in me really wanted to make the title, "Diarrhea-cha-cha-cha," but some people wouldn't get the reference and others would think I'm just being gross.
Oh well.
All that being said, Evelyn has missed her last two days of daycare with diarrhea. Sick.
It has been our first real experience of having a sick baby in the home. I have to say, it is much different.
She was filling diapers as fast as I could change them on Tuesday, but by the time Jen got home, everything had passed. Right as I was getting ready to take her to daycare on Wednesday, she exploded another diaper and I stayed home from work with her.
I know its only the "runs," but it is very frustrating to know your kid isn't feeling well (She was more fussy than normal, most likely due to her stomach being upset) and there's really nothing you can do about it.
I called the doctor's office and was told not to panic, but to just wait and see if she gets worse then bring her in.
That's not fair, Nurse Somebody, because you really can't put a definition with worse. She pooped once so far, if she does it twice more is that worse? If the next one stinks more than this one did, is that worse? If this one was orange and the next one is yellow, is that worse?
Seriously, what am I supposed to do with that information?
So we sat down and watched cartoons, the two of us, and I believe it passed. She's still a little fussy, but things are looking up.
That makes the score us 1, disease 0.
Oh well.
All that being said, Evelyn has missed her last two days of daycare with diarrhea. Sick.
It has been our first real experience of having a sick baby in the home. I have to say, it is much different.
She was filling diapers as fast as I could change them on Tuesday, but by the time Jen got home, everything had passed. Right as I was getting ready to take her to daycare on Wednesday, she exploded another diaper and I stayed home from work with her.
I know its only the "runs," but it is very frustrating to know your kid isn't feeling well (She was more fussy than normal, most likely due to her stomach being upset) and there's really nothing you can do about it.
I called the doctor's office and was told not to panic, but to just wait and see if she gets worse then bring her in.
That's not fair, Nurse Somebody, because you really can't put a definition with worse. She pooped once so far, if she does it twice more is that worse? If the next one stinks more than this one did, is that worse? If this one was orange and the next one is yellow, is that worse?
Seriously, what am I supposed to do with that information?
So we sat down and watched cartoons, the two of us, and I believe it passed. She's still a little fussy, but things are looking up.
That makes the score us 1, disease 0.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Getting into the Swing of Things
Now that we're basically getting into a good schedule, a rhythm some might say, I am noticing things becoming easier than they were when we started out.
Changing a diaper - I haven't timed myself but I am pretty sure I can do it, and do it well, in under a minute.
Feeding - I can tolerate her screaming long enough to warm up the milk and shove that bottle in her face.
Her naps - making the best of them, and have noticed that the pacifier can sometimes act as a snooze button for me.
Her time awake just looking around - talk to her, stick her in her swing so I can do stuff around the house, or just sit and listen to her make farting sounds while she sits there.
Overall, things are getting quicker, easier to manage, and I'll even admit, more fun.
I sometimes think parenting shouldn't feel like work. Don't get me wrong, it is very hard work, but should it always feel like it?
I mean, playing a video game can feel like work if it is monotonous enough, but people will still swear its fun. Playing football hurts (I know from experience) but even though a lot of work goes into it, people play it every day because its still fun. Marriage is hard work and anybody who tells you differently probably has never been married, or stayed married for long, but you can still take joy in being around each other.
I think of a quote I once heard from the movie, "The Princess Bride" (I admit it, it's my favorite all-time movie) and hear the words of the dread pirate Roberts once again, "Life is pain, highness. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something."
It's true. Life is hard. Parenting, marriage, work, all of it. Yet, if we take the time to be a dad or mom, a husband or wife, we should try our best to take enjoyment out of it.
Not the kind of sick enjoyment that laughs when an old person falls down, either. The kind of enjoyment that just gets its fulfillment, contentment, and so forth from being who you are with the other person.
At least, that's my point of view. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bottle of milk to warm up...
Yeah, she's crying. Time to go!
Changing a diaper - I haven't timed myself but I am pretty sure I can do it, and do it well, in under a minute.
Feeding - I can tolerate her screaming long enough to warm up the milk and shove that bottle in her face.
Her naps - making the best of them, and have noticed that the pacifier can sometimes act as a snooze button for me.
Her time awake just looking around - talk to her, stick her in her swing so I can do stuff around the house, or just sit and listen to her make farting sounds while she sits there.
Overall, things are getting quicker, easier to manage, and I'll even admit, more fun.
I sometimes think parenting shouldn't feel like work. Don't get me wrong, it is very hard work, but should it always feel like it?
I mean, playing a video game can feel like work if it is monotonous enough, but people will still swear its fun. Playing football hurts (I know from experience) but even though a lot of work goes into it, people play it every day because its still fun. Marriage is hard work and anybody who tells you differently probably has never been married, or stayed married for long, but you can still take joy in being around each other.
I think of a quote I once heard from the movie, "The Princess Bride" (I admit it, it's my favorite all-time movie) and hear the words of the dread pirate Roberts once again, "Life is pain, highness. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something."
It's true. Life is hard. Parenting, marriage, work, all of it. Yet, if we take the time to be a dad or mom, a husband or wife, we should try our best to take enjoyment out of it.
Not the kind of sick enjoyment that laughs when an old person falls down, either. The kind of enjoyment that just gets its fulfillment, contentment, and so forth from being who you are with the other person.
At least, that's my point of view. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bottle of milk to warm up...
Yeah, she's crying. Time to go!
Friday, June 11, 2010
The First Week of Daycare and Me as Mr. Mom
I tried to upload a blog on Tuesday from my phone, but somehow it got deleted and never made it. So today, you get a double sized blog.
The First Week of Daycare
Monday was Evie's first day at daycare. You no doubt guessed from the title, that there would be details chronicling a daycare adventure, and now you know that your assumption was right.
Did I cry the first day I dropped her off? Apparently, one is supposed to bawl their eyes out upon driving away from their child after entrusting him or her to a partial stranger the first time. Every person I have spoke to about leaving her with our daycare provider has asked, "Did you cry?"
I did not.
Nor did I wave goodbye and shout, "So long, suckers!"
We had arrived at Tysee's about half past noon, which is the scheduled nap time for all the older children. Evelyn was asleep, as she often dozes off in a car. I'll admit, as a courtesy to Tysee, I took my time getting there.
We talked, and of course she asked if I was going to cry. I sighed, and said no, already tired from the morning's workout of being Mr. Mom while my wife was back at work (more on this to follow).
I sat my daughter down, still in her carseat and sleeping peacefully, thanked Tysee and walked back to my truck. As I closed the door I laughed a little at the thought of crying now that I had some time for myself.
I certainly didn't cry.
But I will admit, the cab of my small pickup seemed a little more empty without Evie sitting beside me. When I got home, the house seemed more quiet.
Things seemed more dull.
Yet, I did not cry. I actually thought, for a moment, that it must be the destiny of every dad to give his little girl away at least once in his life. But don't get any ideas, she's not getting married until she's in her fifties!
Well, okay. But it will be some time from now and I'm going to enjoy the hectic life of being a dad for a long, long time.
Me as Mr. Mom
This past week, before taking Evelyn to the daycare, and on my days off (Thursdays and Fridays), I have been able to spend the whole day at home with my daughter.
At first, it was all a buzz of getting bottles ready, changing diapers, picking out an outfit that looked halfway cute and then focusing on my own shower and preparation to start the day. By Wednesday, I was settled into the routine and have grown rather fond of the time I get at home with her.
I wake up around eight in the morning, not long after my wife has left for work and start the day. Before this, I was able to sleep in until ten or eleven, so... welcome to parenthood!
The first thing I get to do is check on the baby, who is wide awake and smiling at me. Often wiggling her way around and never at the same angle we put her to bed in. She's not quite rolling over yet, but she does twist and turn an awful lot.
Then, I prepare her breakfast, get her medicine ready (for her acid reflux) and head back upstairs to change her diaper and feed her. Once she's eaten, burped, and puked on me at least once I get her clothes together for the day. I have decided, though, after this week she is not going to be forced to wear socks. She often kicks them off and I'm afraid we'll just lose them.
I started to think otherwise when a very redneck sounding voice in my head simply says, "'Sides, them socks is for fancy things like funerals and weddin's." Which makes me wonder how Jeff Foxworthy worked his way into my psyche...
After she is fully clothed, Evelyn usually falls back to sleep long enough for me to shower, check my email, the news and other various things I do to start my day. By the time I have my dinner for the evening's work prepared, she's awake again and ready to eat. So we have lunch together - me with my quick sandwich or baked jalapeño poppers - and her with another bottle of milk.
Once we're done, its about time for daycare and so we load up and I drop her off with Tysee.
Thursdays and Fridays are about the same, except we get to spend the afternoons watching Doctor Who, Sports Center, and other various t.v. shows I've had recorded on the DVR for the past month. She seems to enjoy Doctor Who, though.
I think its the theme music.
Jen asked me last night when she got home how it felt being Mr. Mom. Coincidentally, I had the song by Lonestar stuck in my head all day as I changed diapers, picked out a cute little outfit and even brushed her hair (which never stays put the way I want it). The whole day just reminded me of that song, and I laughed and told her it was good.
It was.
The First Week of Daycare
Monday was Evie's first day at daycare. You no doubt guessed from the title, that there would be details chronicling a daycare adventure, and now you know that your assumption was right.
Did I cry the first day I dropped her off? Apparently, one is supposed to bawl their eyes out upon driving away from their child after entrusting him or her to a partial stranger the first time. Every person I have spoke to about leaving her with our daycare provider has asked, "Did you cry?"
I did not.
Nor did I wave goodbye and shout, "So long, suckers!"
We had arrived at Tysee's about half past noon, which is the scheduled nap time for all the older children. Evelyn was asleep, as she often dozes off in a car. I'll admit, as a courtesy to Tysee, I took my time getting there.
We talked, and of course she asked if I was going to cry. I sighed, and said no, already tired from the morning's workout of being Mr. Mom while my wife was back at work (more on this to follow).
I sat my daughter down, still in her carseat and sleeping peacefully, thanked Tysee and walked back to my truck. As I closed the door I laughed a little at the thought of crying now that I had some time for myself.
I certainly didn't cry.
But I will admit, the cab of my small pickup seemed a little more empty without Evie sitting beside me. When I got home, the house seemed more quiet.
Things seemed more dull.
Yet, I did not cry. I actually thought, for a moment, that it must be the destiny of every dad to give his little girl away at least once in his life. But don't get any ideas, she's not getting married until she's in her fifties!
Well, okay. But it will be some time from now and I'm going to enjoy the hectic life of being a dad for a long, long time.
Me as Mr. Mom
This past week, before taking Evelyn to the daycare, and on my days off (Thursdays and Fridays), I have been able to spend the whole day at home with my daughter.
At first, it was all a buzz of getting bottles ready, changing diapers, picking out an outfit that looked halfway cute and then focusing on my own shower and preparation to start the day. By Wednesday, I was settled into the routine and have grown rather fond of the time I get at home with her.
I wake up around eight in the morning, not long after my wife has left for work and start the day. Before this, I was able to sleep in until ten or eleven, so... welcome to parenthood!
The first thing I get to do is check on the baby, who is wide awake and smiling at me. Often wiggling her way around and never at the same angle we put her to bed in. She's not quite rolling over yet, but she does twist and turn an awful lot.
Then, I prepare her breakfast, get her medicine ready (for her acid reflux) and head back upstairs to change her diaper and feed her. Once she's eaten, burped, and puked on me at least once I get her clothes together for the day. I have decided, though, after this week she is not going to be forced to wear socks. She often kicks them off and I'm afraid we'll just lose them.
I started to think otherwise when a very redneck sounding voice in my head simply says, "'Sides, them socks is for fancy things like funerals and weddin's." Which makes me wonder how Jeff Foxworthy worked his way into my psyche...
After she is fully clothed, Evelyn usually falls back to sleep long enough for me to shower, check my email, the news and other various things I do to start my day. By the time I have my dinner for the evening's work prepared, she's awake again and ready to eat. So we have lunch together - me with my quick sandwich or baked jalapeño poppers - and her with another bottle of milk.
Once we're done, its about time for daycare and so we load up and I drop her off with Tysee.
Thursdays and Fridays are about the same, except we get to spend the afternoons watching Doctor Who, Sports Center, and other various t.v. shows I've had recorded on the DVR for the past month. She seems to enjoy Doctor Who, though.
I think its the theme music.
Jen asked me last night when she got home how it felt being Mr. Mom. Coincidentally, I had the song by Lonestar stuck in my head all day as I changed diapers, picked out a cute little outfit and even brushed her hair (which never stays put the way I want it). The whole day just reminded me of that song, and I laughed and told her it was good.
It was.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Shots Heard 'Round the Hospital
I just want to start out by saying that you may be offended by the end of this entry.
I do not apologize.
You were warned.
We took Evie to the doctor's office yesterday where they gave her the first set of immunizations since leaving the hospital the week after her birth.
And this is how it went down... really.
Our doctor, who is an incredibly intelligent woman, played to our ignorance and said, "Oh when babies get their shots, most don't even act like they feel it. They just go, 'wah,' and it's over before they know it."
Evelyn is not most babies.
My daughter got that first little prick of a needle in her thigh and ... BOOM.
A scream went up the likes the horror movie industry has never began to understand, comprehend, and absolutely would not dare to replicate.
The second shot.
SONIC BOOM!
My daughter bellowed so loudly an avalanche occurred in the Alps, destroying a small village.
They're still searching for survivors.
Two more shots followed, and Pluto was cracked into two separate parts. NASA is already calling them Asteroid Bean and Planet 422228B.
Luckily, the very first immunization was given orally.
She did not stop crying and screaming until we got home and she literally passed out from exhaustion - or pain, the jury is still out.
Now, I can't remember my first shots, but I like to think I didn't split planets with my siren-like screams. Obviously, I was not there when my wife received her first shots, either. So, we don't know where she got that from.
Or... maybe those shots just hurt?
Still, she was sore the rest of the day but today she's acted just as normal as can be.
Now, there has been some debate as to whether we are doing the right thing by immunizing our child.
To that I say, my daughter is not going to die of Scarlet Fever. If she gets autism, it won't change how much we love her. I'd rather she live with a manageable thing like that and see her grandchildren, rather than die of polio before the age of fourteen. So if you are of the camp believing that immunizing your children is wrong, so what?
She's my kid. Raise your own.
And to quote Forrest Gump, "That's all I have to say about that."
I do not apologize.
You were warned.
We took Evie to the doctor's office yesterday where they gave her the first set of immunizations since leaving the hospital the week after her birth.
And this is how it went down... really.
Our doctor, who is an incredibly intelligent woman, played to our ignorance and said, "Oh when babies get their shots, most don't even act like they feel it. They just go, 'wah,' and it's over before they know it."
Evelyn is not most babies.
My daughter got that first little prick of a needle in her thigh and ... BOOM.
A scream went up the likes the horror movie industry has never began to understand, comprehend, and absolutely would not dare to replicate.
The second shot.
SONIC BOOM!
My daughter bellowed so loudly an avalanche occurred in the Alps, destroying a small village.
They're still searching for survivors.
Two more shots followed, and Pluto was cracked into two separate parts. NASA is already calling them Asteroid Bean and Planet 422228B.
Luckily, the very first immunization was given orally.
She did not stop crying and screaming until we got home and she literally passed out from exhaustion - or pain, the jury is still out.
Now, I can't remember my first shots, but I like to think I didn't split planets with my siren-like screams. Obviously, I was not there when my wife received her first shots, either. So, we don't know where she got that from.
Or... maybe those shots just hurt?
Still, she was sore the rest of the day but today she's acted just as normal as can be.
Now, there has been some debate as to whether we are doing the right thing by immunizing our child.
To that I say, my daughter is not going to die of Scarlet Fever. If she gets autism, it won't change how much we love her. I'd rather she live with a manageable thing like that and see her grandchildren, rather than die of polio before the age of fourteen. So if you are of the camp believing that immunizing your children is wrong, so what?
She's my kid. Raise your own.
And to quote Forrest Gump, "That's all I have to say about that."
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
The One Thing To Remember
A friend and I had a conversation recently about being a parent, the nervousness that comes with it, and dealing with it. I told him, in my somewhat new experience, the one thing you have to remember is simple.
Remember that even though you're now a parent, you're still a husband.
Or in some people's case, you're still a wife. Either way, its applicable if you're married and now have a child.
Jennifer and I have noticed that since the baby has come, we do argue a little bit more and are stressed much more often. We chalk it up to the stress of having a small, crying, diaper-filling baby in the house and we're wound pretty tight due to the stress that comes with that. Things that normally wouldn't bother us, we let get under our skin. So we have learned that we still have to focus on our marriage and make time for it.
Some people don't get this. They think, "I'm a dad now, that's my number one priority!" (again, if you're a woman and reading this, you can change "Dad" to "Mom" and nobody will know the difference but you). But this isn't true. At least, not in my opinion. Before you were a parent, you were a spouse. Unless, of course, you're trying to be a single parent, and in that case I commend you because its hard enough doing this with two people, and you've got a lot of guts to brave through this alone.
But, this is more for those who are married and have a baby now. There are really two ways, we've found, to make sure your marriage doesn't crumble down as your child grows up. After all, you don't want to ship your last kid off to college in 20 years and take a look at your spouse and say, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
The first thing is probably the most difficult. Make time for each other. We do this by waiting until the baby is fast asleep and then watch television together. Sometimes snuggled up on our chair or couch, sometimes sitting across the room. Other times, its just as simple as having someone baby sit while you go out to a movie. Or just enjoying conversation with one another in the front seat while the baby rides in the backseat of your car on a trip to Wal-Mart.
As long as you're making time to still communicate and relate to one another at some point, you're doing good.
Secondly, enjoy the little things. Notice in the things about the first thing, we're not going out to a restaurant that charges two hundred dollars a plate? We're not taking a couple's cruise to Cancun? We're just watching t.v. and going grocery shopping. The point is, even if the baby is there, we're together, focusing on us for a few moments. It's the little things. Being able to laugh at small things that are said or done, like you did before the baby came along.
For instance, here's an exchange from when Jennifer and I were first married that made me laugh. I'll probably never forget it. I was in the bathroom of our first apartment back in Ellendale, North Dakota when I suddenly remember that Barry Bonds (of whom I was a fan growing up collecting baseball cards) had broken Babe Ruth's all-time home run mark. I shared this with my wife and the exchange went like this:
"Hey, Barry Bonds passed Babe Ruth! Did I tell you that?" - Me
"Okay." - Her
"No, I mean he passed Babe Ruth!" - Me
"What? On the highway?" - Her
I laughed.
Now take this exchange that happened just last night. I had changed the baby's diaper and thrown it away. Here's how that went down:
"I just changed her diaper." - Me
"Did you throw it away?" - Her
"No, Jen, I'm eating it right now." - Me
We both laughed.
So, that is a new parent's pointers on still trying to maintain your marriage while having kids.
I guess that'd be the third to add. Just try.
That alone could keep you from being strangers when you're in your sixties.
Remember that even though you're now a parent, you're still a husband.
Or in some people's case, you're still a wife. Either way, its applicable if you're married and now have a child.
Jennifer and I have noticed that since the baby has come, we do argue a little bit more and are stressed much more often. We chalk it up to the stress of having a small, crying, diaper-filling baby in the house and we're wound pretty tight due to the stress that comes with that. Things that normally wouldn't bother us, we let get under our skin. So we have learned that we still have to focus on our marriage and make time for it.
Some people don't get this. They think, "I'm a dad now, that's my number one priority!" (again, if you're a woman and reading this, you can change "Dad" to "Mom" and nobody will know the difference but you). But this isn't true. At least, not in my opinion. Before you were a parent, you were a spouse. Unless, of course, you're trying to be a single parent, and in that case I commend you because its hard enough doing this with two people, and you've got a lot of guts to brave through this alone.
But, this is more for those who are married and have a baby now. There are really two ways, we've found, to make sure your marriage doesn't crumble down as your child grows up. After all, you don't want to ship your last kid off to college in 20 years and take a look at your spouse and say, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
The first thing is probably the most difficult. Make time for each other. We do this by waiting until the baby is fast asleep and then watch television together. Sometimes snuggled up on our chair or couch, sometimes sitting across the room. Other times, its just as simple as having someone baby sit while you go out to a movie. Or just enjoying conversation with one another in the front seat while the baby rides in the backseat of your car on a trip to Wal-Mart.
As long as you're making time to still communicate and relate to one another at some point, you're doing good.
Secondly, enjoy the little things. Notice in the things about the first thing, we're not going out to a restaurant that charges two hundred dollars a plate? We're not taking a couple's cruise to Cancun? We're just watching t.v. and going grocery shopping. The point is, even if the baby is there, we're together, focusing on us for a few moments. It's the little things. Being able to laugh at small things that are said or done, like you did before the baby came along.
For instance, here's an exchange from when Jennifer and I were first married that made me laugh. I'll probably never forget it. I was in the bathroom of our first apartment back in Ellendale, North Dakota when I suddenly remember that Barry Bonds (of whom I was a fan growing up collecting baseball cards) had broken Babe Ruth's all-time home run mark. I shared this with my wife and the exchange went like this:
"Hey, Barry Bonds passed Babe Ruth! Did I tell you that?" - Me
"Okay." - Her
"No, I mean he passed Babe Ruth!" - Me
"What? On the highway?" - Her
I laughed.
Now take this exchange that happened just last night. I had changed the baby's diaper and thrown it away. Here's how that went down:
"I just changed her diaper." - Me
"Did you throw it away?" - Her
"No, Jen, I'm eating it right now." - Me
We both laughed.
So, that is a new parent's pointers on still trying to maintain your marriage while having kids.
I guess that'd be the third to add. Just try.
That alone could keep you from being strangers when you're in your sixties.
Friday, May 28, 2010
A Family Outing
Early yesterday morning we headed to Mt. Vernon, Illinois for a couple of meals with my family. Family gatherings like this are few and far between, so for many who came, it was the first time they got to meet my daughter.
Actually, for almost everybody it was the first chance to get to see her, and for all of them it was the first chance to get to hold her. The last time my sister and dad got to see her was the day she was born and nobody got to hold her or touch her. Not even us.
So yesterday was a good experience for us, probably more so than for anybody else.
The plan was to meet at McDonald's for lunch around noon, eat and talk for a little while, then go waste some time until we met up with my dad at Chili's for dinner. But, as everything often goes with my family, plans get thrown out the window the second we make them (The very first, original plan was to have everybody meet at Applebee's for lunch - this lasted about 3 days before being changed).
We ended up spending a lot of time at McDonald's, so much so we only had time to feed Evelyn her dinner before crossing the street and going to Chili's. We had hoped that after lunch we could go check out a movie or a mall - both of which seemed less appealing upon further investigation, once we got to Mt. Vernon.
Anyway, more to the point. We got to see my Grandma Williams, who obviously fell in love with Evelyn the second she laid eyes on her. My aunts, Leota and Sherry. Leota and I talked while Sherry took pictures. Grandma had a great time, as she always does when being around her grandchildren.
My youngest sister, Avery, came afterwards with her daughter, Katie. Katie seemed to be a little shy at first, but warmed up to her cousin after a couple of hours. Avery got to hold her youngest niece and we sit and talked for about three hours before she had to go to work.
My Grandma and Grandpa Withrow came after Avery and for a moment there I thought she was going to strangle Evie. I don't think I've seen anybody hold a baby so tight and so close. See, my grandma loves babies, so she clung to Evelyn like velcro. Grandpa got to hold her, too, and the first time I tried to take a picture, I noticed Evelyn was "flipping off" the camera. This wouldn't do, so I told my grandfather why I was taking a second picture, only to see, for the first time in my life, him raise his middle finger to the sky. I guess he just didn't want Evelyn to feel left out in the picture.
I wish my camera trigger was faster to have this on film...
Then we went and fed Evelyn in a parking lot because when Jen had tried breastfeeding in the McDonald's, some very impolite people - not affiliated with my family, might I add - could not stop staring in our direction. When I would catch their glance with a "What do you think you're looking at" look their french fries would become the most interesting thing in the world.
Stupids.
So we went to dinner at Chili's. Grandma and Grandpa Withrow came along, my aunt Leota had to get to work so my Grandma Williams and aunt Sherry headed back to Fairfield (or F-town, as the kids say).
Now, I have to talk for a second about my dad. Apparently, without seeing him but hearing me talk about him has lead my friend James to believe he looks like Bruce Willis in "Die Hard." He does not, in fact, look anything like Bruce Willis in any movie he's ever done, whatsoever.
My dad is an electrician, and in all truth, probably the best Wayne County, Illinois has. No... no probably. He is the best in the county, and maybe the best in the southern half of the state. That's not just me talking, I've heard people talk about his work as though admiring an undiscovered painting of Michaelangelo or da Vinci. I've been on jobs with him that took some men days to complete, and we finished within a couple of hours because of his understanding of the wiring process.
I don't take this moment to advertise his talents for no reason. I say this because my dad just got off work and looked like it. Now, he's an electrician, remember? Not a plumber, but sometimes their work clothes tend to look about the same. My dad showed up wearing a t-shirt that, I have no doubt, started out that morning as being white, but now was a khaki color that matched his brown pair of Dickie's pants.
And, as usual, my dad unashamedly walks into Chili's and asks for a seat.
It was good to see my dad.
We got sat down and ordered our drinks and food, and Keshia (my oldest, younger sister) and her husband, Michael showed up with my youngest niece, Kassidy. To see them sit beside each other, you'd think Kassidy and Evie had known each other for years. Kassidy just saw her and smiled... and then head butted her. Evie just looked around like, "Did you see that crap?" But didn't cry and a good time was had by all.
Then the meal started and poor Evelyn got passed around like a Frisbee on a college yard.
Afterwards we spent some time at the local mall with Keshia and Mike, and then took the long trip home. But of course, there were plenty of pictures taken and when all was said and done, Evelyn slept the whole way home and well into the night.
Overall, it was a good trip.
Actually, for almost everybody it was the first chance to get to see her, and for all of them it was the first chance to get to hold her. The last time my sister and dad got to see her was the day she was born and nobody got to hold her or touch her. Not even us.
So yesterday was a good experience for us, probably more so than for anybody else.
The plan was to meet at McDonald's for lunch around noon, eat and talk for a little while, then go waste some time until we met up with my dad at Chili's for dinner. But, as everything often goes with my family, plans get thrown out the window the second we make them (The very first, original plan was to have everybody meet at Applebee's for lunch - this lasted about 3 days before being changed).
We ended up spending a lot of time at McDonald's, so much so we only had time to feed Evelyn her dinner before crossing the street and going to Chili's. We had hoped that after lunch we could go check out a movie or a mall - both of which seemed less appealing upon further investigation, once we got to Mt. Vernon.
Anyway, more to the point. We got to see my Grandma Williams, who obviously fell in love with Evelyn the second she laid eyes on her. My aunts, Leota and Sherry. Leota and I talked while Sherry took pictures. Grandma had a great time, as she always does when being around her grandchildren.
My youngest sister, Avery, came afterwards with her daughter, Katie. Katie seemed to be a little shy at first, but warmed up to her cousin after a couple of hours. Avery got to hold her youngest niece and we sit and talked for about three hours before she had to go to work.
My Grandma and Grandpa Withrow came after Avery and for a moment there I thought she was going to strangle Evie. I don't think I've seen anybody hold a baby so tight and so close. See, my grandma loves babies, so she clung to Evelyn like velcro. Grandpa got to hold her, too, and the first time I tried to take a picture, I noticed Evelyn was "flipping off" the camera. This wouldn't do, so I told my grandfather why I was taking a second picture, only to see, for the first time in my life, him raise his middle finger to the sky. I guess he just didn't want Evelyn to feel left out in the picture.
I wish my camera trigger was faster to have this on film...
Then we went and fed Evelyn in a parking lot because when Jen had tried breastfeeding in the McDonald's, some very impolite people - not affiliated with my family, might I add - could not stop staring in our direction. When I would catch their glance with a "What do you think you're looking at" look their french fries would become the most interesting thing in the world.
Stupids.
So we went to dinner at Chili's. Grandma and Grandpa Withrow came along, my aunt Leota had to get to work so my Grandma Williams and aunt Sherry headed back to Fairfield (or F-town, as the kids say).
Now, I have to talk for a second about my dad. Apparently, without seeing him but hearing me talk about him has lead my friend James to believe he looks like Bruce Willis in "Die Hard." He does not, in fact, look anything like Bruce Willis in any movie he's ever done, whatsoever.
My dad is an electrician, and in all truth, probably the best Wayne County, Illinois has. No... no probably. He is the best in the county, and maybe the best in the southern half of the state. That's not just me talking, I've heard people talk about his work as though admiring an undiscovered painting of Michaelangelo or da Vinci. I've been on jobs with him that took some men days to complete, and we finished within a couple of hours because of his understanding of the wiring process.
I don't take this moment to advertise his talents for no reason. I say this because my dad just got off work and looked like it. Now, he's an electrician, remember? Not a plumber, but sometimes their work clothes tend to look about the same. My dad showed up wearing a t-shirt that, I have no doubt, started out that morning as being white, but now was a khaki color that matched his brown pair of Dickie's pants.
And, as usual, my dad unashamedly walks into Chili's and asks for a seat.
It was good to see my dad.
We got sat down and ordered our drinks and food, and Keshia (my oldest, younger sister) and her husband, Michael showed up with my youngest niece, Kassidy. To see them sit beside each other, you'd think Kassidy and Evie had known each other for years. Kassidy just saw her and smiled... and then head butted her. Evie just looked around like, "Did you see that crap?" But didn't cry and a good time was had by all.
Then the meal started and poor Evelyn got passed around like a Frisbee on a college yard.
Afterwards we spent some time at the local mall with Keshia and Mike, and then took the long trip home. But of course, there were plenty of pictures taken and when all was said and done, Evelyn slept the whole way home and well into the night.
Overall, it was a good trip.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
The Joys of Tummy-Time
I don't know if you've ever heard of it. I know I hadn't until a few months before Evelyn was born. I don't know who named it, where it came from, or when it started.
Tummy-Time.
Is there even supposed to be a hyphen in that word? I don't know.
Regardless, it is my daughter's least favorite fifteen minutes of the day.
Wait. No.
This fifteen minutes ruins her day. Completely.
What happens is, during tummy-time, you take the infant and lay them down on their stomach. The benefits are numerous, and I'm not sure anybody really knows why we're supposed to do it. The reason being one of my coworkers insists that it is so a baby's head doesn't have a Frankenstein like flatness to the back of their skull from constantly laying on their back, and from the physical therapist it is to strengthen their necks so they can look up and develop their muscles in their neck and back, and from at least one doctor it serves to help their motor skills in looking up and build arm muscles.
I think its safe to rule out the Frankenskull theory, but the other two? Well, they better get their stories strait.
Even so, Evelyn despises these moments when she is forced to do something every member of my side of hates with an unnameable fury - exercise.
Well, it's not so much we hate it... we just seem to not do enough of it. So... there's that.
Still, she hates it. She cries and screams and makes these noises I am sure planet earth has not been subjected to since the age of dinosaurs. Jennifer insinuated today that she shrieks like a pterodactyl. My question is, "How does she know what a pterodactyl sounds like?"
Evelyn hates it, but she does seem to enjoy being coached. The more we cheer her on, it appears, the more she works without the banshee screams. I used to picture myself standing on the sidelines of the Rose Bowl, cheering on my players and instructing them with mind-blowing offensive plays. Today, that dream lives on in tummy time with great strategies like, "Just look up, Evie! You can do it," "Good girl! Now push yourself up a little higher," and "Slot right, 32 Blast on 4, ROLL!"
She's still not rolling, but we'll get there with more practice. Maybe some two-a-days.
Anyway, that's my fun blog on tummy-time. It will get easier, and she's not doing bad at all.
So that's the joys of Tummy-Time.
Tummy-Time.
Is there even supposed to be a hyphen in that word? I don't know.
Regardless, it is my daughter's least favorite fifteen minutes of the day.
Wait. No.
This fifteen minutes ruins her day. Completely.
What happens is, during tummy-time, you take the infant and lay them down on their stomach. The benefits are numerous, and I'm not sure anybody really knows why we're supposed to do it. The reason being one of my coworkers insists that it is so a baby's head doesn't have a Frankenstein like flatness to the back of their skull from constantly laying on their back, and from the physical therapist it is to strengthen their necks so they can look up and develop their muscles in their neck and back, and from at least one doctor it serves to help their motor skills in looking up and build arm muscles.
I think its safe to rule out the Frankenskull theory, but the other two? Well, they better get their stories strait.
Even so, Evelyn despises these moments when she is forced to do something every member of my side of hates with an unnameable fury - exercise.
Well, it's not so much we hate it... we just seem to not do enough of it. So... there's that.
Still, she hates it. She cries and screams and makes these noises I am sure planet earth has not been subjected to since the age of dinosaurs. Jennifer insinuated today that she shrieks like a pterodactyl. My question is, "How does she know what a pterodactyl sounds like?"
Evelyn hates it, but she does seem to enjoy being coached. The more we cheer her on, it appears, the more she works without the banshee screams. I used to picture myself standing on the sidelines of the Rose Bowl, cheering on my players and instructing them with mind-blowing offensive plays. Today, that dream lives on in tummy time with great strategies like, "Just look up, Evie! You can do it," "Good girl! Now push yourself up a little higher," and "Slot right, 32 Blast on 4, ROLL!"
She's still not rolling, but we'll get there with more practice. Maybe some two-a-days.
Anyway, that's my fun blog on tummy-time. It will get easier, and she's not doing bad at all.
So that's the joys of Tummy-Time.
Friday, May 21, 2010
The Daycare Lady
So, long story short, we met with a daycare lady and it went well.
I'm actually supposed to call her today to make sure she reserves us a spot, and confirm that she's going to remain our daycare provider until forever. But I think I've lost her number.
The problem with daycares is that you are letting a complete stranger watch over your helpless child while you go about your daily business. These people have your kid for 8 hours a day (ours will only be for 5 hours a day, 3 days a week thanks to my work schedule) and you have to make sure you trust them not to mess stuff up.
For instance - you want your child to learn physics and they teach them basic math. What are they thinking? Like she couldn't handle it at the ripe old age of 7 weeks...
Perhaps you want your child to speak clearly and enunciate well, but they have a problem with their R's and L's making them both sound like W's. Doesn't mean that's wrong or they're bad people, but kids pick up on that stuff.
Or if you're a real stickler for the English Language Proper, and they go around saying stuff like, "Ain't nothang yer kin du 'bout ih, Mah," when what they should say is, "Mother, I do not foresee a solution to your dilemma."
Maybe you want your child to eat with silverware and plates instead of off the ground, but the daycare lady just throws bits of Kibble on the floor and lets the children fight over it.
We've heard stories. It's all I'm saying.
So when we met with Tysee (I really hope I spelled that right because I have to write the woman a check sometime soon) met with us last night, it was comforting to see the environment Evelyn will be staying in and good to know her and her daycare are not only safe but met our standards - which were set pretty high after the last daycare we interviewed at.
Speaking of that experience - the other daycare we checked out - if you happen to run a daycare, do not do the following:
A) Hire a lunchlady who has spent so many years smoking she has a perpetual fog hanging out of her mouth when she breaths and a voice that would terrorize even the most war-hardened marine.
B) Leave an infant just sitting in a bouncer, completely unattended on the opposite side of the room, alienated from the rest of the kids. Especially when that infant is big enough to get out, walk around, and burn the place down.
Or
C) Point out the various places of mold hanging from the ceiling to a potential customer. Neither did we want to see that, nor will we bring our daughter to be a part of your services.
Because of this place, we decided that we'd be pretty picky. We checked out dozens of websites and most of them even dropped the ball. But a friend of Jennifer's at work recommended her daycare lady who, at the time, didn't have an opening.
I called her and we talked about it, and once she had an opening we scheduled an interview. Easy as eating cake and ice cream.
So we get there and look around and things worked out.
Plus she laughed at all my jokes, so she's good people.
I'm actually supposed to call her today to make sure she reserves us a spot, and confirm that she's going to remain our daycare provider until forever. But I think I've lost her number.
The problem with daycares is that you are letting a complete stranger watch over your helpless child while you go about your daily business. These people have your kid for 8 hours a day (ours will only be for 5 hours a day, 3 days a week thanks to my work schedule) and you have to make sure you trust them not to mess stuff up.
For instance - you want your child to learn physics and they teach them basic math. What are they thinking? Like she couldn't handle it at the ripe old age of 7 weeks...
Perhaps you want your child to speak clearly and enunciate well, but they have a problem with their R's and L's making them both sound like W's. Doesn't mean that's wrong or they're bad people, but kids pick up on that stuff.
Or if you're a real stickler for the English Language Proper, and they go around saying stuff like, "Ain't nothang yer kin du 'bout ih, Mah," when what they should say is, "Mother, I do not foresee a solution to your dilemma."
Maybe you want your child to eat with silverware and plates instead of off the ground, but the daycare lady just throws bits of Kibble on the floor and lets the children fight over it.
We've heard stories. It's all I'm saying.
So when we met with Tysee (I really hope I spelled that right because I have to write the woman a check sometime soon) met with us last night, it was comforting to see the environment Evelyn will be staying in and good to know her and her daycare are not only safe but met our standards - which were set pretty high after the last daycare we interviewed at.
Speaking of that experience - the other daycare we checked out - if you happen to run a daycare, do not do the following:
A) Hire a lunchlady who has spent so many years smoking she has a perpetual fog hanging out of her mouth when she breaths and a voice that would terrorize even the most war-hardened marine.
B) Leave an infant just sitting in a bouncer, completely unattended on the opposite side of the room, alienated from the rest of the kids. Especially when that infant is big enough to get out, walk around, and burn the place down.
Or
C) Point out the various places of mold hanging from the ceiling to a potential customer. Neither did we want to see that, nor will we bring our daughter to be a part of your services.
Because of this place, we decided that we'd be pretty picky. We checked out dozens of websites and most of them even dropped the ball. But a friend of Jennifer's at work recommended her daycare lady who, at the time, didn't have an opening.
I called her and we talked about it, and once she had an opening we scheduled an interview. Easy as eating cake and ice cream.
So we get there and look around and things worked out.
Plus she laughed at all my jokes, so she's good people.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Mark the Date
Last night Evelyn slept for a full five and a half hours.
Since learning about her slight reflux problem, we've been trying to keep her propped up until her medicine kicks in. We've been letting her sleep this way, too.
It works.
So right now go and write the date down on your calendars, if for no other reason than to have a good excuse to celebrate. My daughter slept through - pretty much - the whole night.
Now, onto a different topic.
I truly do not mean what is to follow as some sexist commentary, or some keen way to insult, put down, or make a derogatory statement about the difference between husbands and wives, or men and women in general. This is simply an observation about my wife and I and how we differ in our parenting techniques.
So, in the true nature of this blog, I made a top ten difference between me and my wife in our parenting tactics list.
Why not, right?
So here we go.
10. She - The baby cries, she somehow tunes her out until she's ready to deal with it. He - Curls up into the fetal position and plugs his ears, hoping the crying stops soon and will give the baby a car when she turns 16 if it gets her quiet now.
9. She - Takes tons and tons of pictures of EXACTLY THE SAME THING. He - Takes a picture when the baby does something funny, only to realize that right when the photo was snapped, the baby did something different and less interesting.
8. She - Feeds the baby milk from her own body. He - will never, ever attempt to taste this fluid despite what anybody else says (Insert: "You've got to try it at least once" dialog from weird co-workers here).
7. She - Gives commentary on every diaper change to the baby who probably has no clue what she's talking about, despite how cute she tries to make her voice sound. He - Gives commentary to anybody who is listening about how gross this looks.
6. She - Drops stuff all the time, but has never once even came close to dropping the baby. He - Has never fumbled a football in any type of football game he's played in (To be fair, I was a lineman in High School and nobody goes for a fumble in "two-hand touch), but has almost dropped the baby at least twice, which now causes him to be incredibly scared he's going to drop her every time he picks her up.
5. She - Can wake up 15 times in one night for random feedings, diaper changes, just to rock her to sleep and can function normally the following day. He - Wakes up one time to change a diaper and falls asleep at his desk at the minimum of one time the next day.
4. She - Has discovered new applications for her phone to keep the feeding times regulated. He - Just uninstalled the Star Wars Lightsaber application for the fifth time.
3. She - Can feed the baby, wash the dishes and talk on the phone while watching television all at the same time. He - Can feed the baby and wish he had more hands.
2. She - Has lost all her weight gained from the pregnancy. He - Found it.
1. She - Is starting to dread going back to work and knows she'll miss the baby while she's gone. He - Is looking forward to her going back to work so he can start secretly teaching the baby about Doctor Who, video games, and comic books in an effort to make her a nerd like her dad without the baby's mom knowing.
And there you have it. I hope you laughed. I haven't really ever dropped Evie, but at times I think I have almost dropped her. Hence, I pay very close attention when I hold her. When Jen holds her, I should also point out, that though she may be asleep, nobody can loosen her grip on the baby.
So... weird.
Since learning about her slight reflux problem, we've been trying to keep her propped up until her medicine kicks in. We've been letting her sleep this way, too.
It works.
So right now go and write the date down on your calendars, if for no other reason than to have a good excuse to celebrate. My daughter slept through - pretty much - the whole night.
Now, onto a different topic.
I truly do not mean what is to follow as some sexist commentary, or some keen way to insult, put down, or make a derogatory statement about the difference between husbands and wives, or men and women in general. This is simply an observation about my wife and I and how we differ in our parenting techniques.
So, in the true nature of this blog, I made a top ten difference between me and my wife in our parenting tactics list.
Why not, right?
So here we go.
10. She - The baby cries, she somehow tunes her out until she's ready to deal with it. He - Curls up into the fetal position and plugs his ears, hoping the crying stops soon and will give the baby a car when she turns 16 if it gets her quiet now.
9. She - Takes tons and tons of pictures of EXACTLY THE SAME THING. He - Takes a picture when the baby does something funny, only to realize that right when the photo was snapped, the baby did something different and less interesting.
8. She - Feeds the baby milk from her own body. He - will never, ever attempt to taste this fluid despite what anybody else says (Insert: "You've got to try it at least once" dialog from weird co-workers here).
7. She - Gives commentary on every diaper change to the baby who probably has no clue what she's talking about, despite how cute she tries to make her voice sound. He - Gives commentary to anybody who is listening about how gross this looks.
6. She - Drops stuff all the time, but has never once even came close to dropping the baby. He - Has never fumbled a football in any type of football game he's played in (To be fair, I was a lineman in High School and nobody goes for a fumble in "two-hand touch), but has almost dropped the baby at least twice, which now causes him to be incredibly scared he's going to drop her every time he picks her up.
5. She - Can wake up 15 times in one night for random feedings, diaper changes, just to rock her to sleep and can function normally the following day. He - Wakes up one time to change a diaper and falls asleep at his desk at the minimum of one time the next day.
4. She - Has discovered new applications for her phone to keep the feeding times regulated. He - Just uninstalled the Star Wars Lightsaber application for the fifth time.
3. She - Can feed the baby, wash the dishes and talk on the phone while watching television all at the same time. He - Can feed the baby and wish he had more hands.
2. She - Has lost all her weight gained from the pregnancy. He - Found it.
1. She - Is starting to dread going back to work and knows she'll miss the baby while she's gone. He - Is looking forward to her going back to work so he can start secretly teaching the baby about Doctor Who, video games, and comic books in an effort to make her a nerd like her dad without the baby's mom knowing.
And there you have it. I hope you laughed. I haven't really ever dropped Evie, but at times I think I have almost dropped her. Hence, I pay very close attention when I hold her. When Jen holds her, I should also point out, that though she may be asleep, nobody can loosen her grip on the baby.
So... weird.
Friday, May 14, 2010
The Genetics Doctor
Today we had an early appointment with a genetics doctor and a physical therapist for Evelyn.
I had flashbacks to her birth. I didn't realize it before, but I have developed a keen dislike for trips to the hospital. The reason being is that no matter how much good news, they always seem to have that curveball of bad news they like to throw at you.
With that said, there were no curveballs lobbed at us today - not really.
For starters, Evie has gained over three pounds since her birth and grew two inches taller. Hopefully, when she's old enough to read and understand this, she won't begrudge me for broadcasting her weight gains like her mother would do, were I to do the same thing for her.
All of her motor skills and the like were actually above average - no surprise there as any child of mine is no doubt born above average. Seriously, she tested great. That's not coming just from a proud dad, the physical therapist said so, too.
The genetics guy gave us our only disappointing news and that was that he believed Evelyn to have been born slightly premature. He said he could tell because when he tapped her foot a certain way, she shook her leg a little. He's the shaman, I'm just repeating what he said the chicken bones said to him.
Either way, he assured us by the age of four months, she will be fine and all the shaking will cease. No big deal there.
We did, however, learn why Evie likes to eat every two hours and only seems to get a good night of sleep in her bouncer. She has heartburn. Reflux. Whatever. It's fixable with some medicine and she'll be fine in under a week. So good news there, too.
Overall, I'd say it was a good visit to the witch-docotor's office.
Just kidding, I only say that because I feel like making a joke. He was very professional and even complimented my beard. So he must be good, right?
Right.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Evie's First Movie
Sunday night, Jennifer enjoyed her first Mother's day. Not to be outdone, Evelyn enjoyed her first movie.
We went to watch Iron Man 2.
Before you say anything, we didn't have to. Jennifer wanted to see it. Not just me. Evelyn didn't have much say in the matter but she must have loved it because we've watched movies from Netflix, DVD's on the Xbox and just tried to sit through one, thirty minute episode of The Office and Evelyn is usually escorted out of the room for an average of ten minutes whilst the t.v. is put on pause (Thank God for DVR) so she can ... calm her excitement, shall we say?
But through Iron Man 2, with all its explosions, yells and gunfire, she sleeps strait through it.
Robert Downey Jr. 1. Steve Carell 0.
The most humorous part of the evening though, Hollywood could not have written.
Right as we bought our tickets, the woman behind us - whose family and friends were noticeably absent - asked, "The Backup Plan for one?"
Without skipping a beat, my wife goes, "Awww..."
I knew what she was thinking, and later she'd spell it out for me anyway. "That poor woman was going to see a movie by herself. That's no way to spend Mother's Day."
And later still, she'd try to be optimistic, "Well maybe she was meeting someone."
I couldn't resist. "Who? The only other lonely woman from her office?"
Well we laughed even if you aren't giggling about it. I'm the first to say that we're human and sometimes prone to think or say mean things. It's not like she reads this blog and now knows we're laughing about the experience.*
We got sat down towards the back of the theater and Jen fed Evelyn. This was my first experience of being with her while she did this with nothing but a thin sheet over her. Wait, have I said that we're breastfeeding before? Pretty sure I have, but if you're reading this and wondering what the sheet is for, now you know.
I have to be a little too honest. If I saw one guy trying to sneak a peak over, under or through that sheet, there would be war.
War Machine! He was in the movie. It was such a great movie...
Sorry... ahem.... yeah.
It is just a weird feeling seeing my wife practically exposing herself in front of strangers, even if she's doing it to feed my daughter. That's all.
When it was all over we had dinner at Grindstone Charley's. If you've never eaten there (you're not missing anything in my opinion) it's a nice little place to eat. Especially if you're my wife and you want to eat there on Mother's Day. It is completely okay, I mean, if you are my wife and want to eat there but only on Mother's Day.
All in all, our first trip with a baby to the theater was a success.
We loved it and so did she.
Happy Mother's Day!
*If this was you, we are very sorry to laugh at your expense.
We went to watch Iron Man 2.
Before you say anything, we didn't have to. Jennifer wanted to see it. Not just me. Evelyn didn't have much say in the matter but she must have loved it because we've watched movies from Netflix, DVD's on the Xbox and just tried to sit through one, thirty minute episode of The Office and Evelyn is usually escorted out of the room for an average of ten minutes whilst the t.v. is put on pause (Thank God for DVR) so she can ... calm her excitement, shall we say?
But through Iron Man 2, with all its explosions, yells and gunfire, she sleeps strait through it.
Robert Downey Jr. 1. Steve Carell 0.
The most humorous part of the evening though, Hollywood could not have written.
Right as we bought our tickets, the woman behind us - whose family and friends were noticeably absent - asked, "The Backup Plan for one?"
Without skipping a beat, my wife goes, "Awww..."
I knew what she was thinking, and later she'd spell it out for me anyway. "That poor woman was going to see a movie by herself. That's no way to spend Mother's Day."
And later still, she'd try to be optimistic, "Well maybe she was meeting someone."
I couldn't resist. "Who? The only other lonely woman from her office?"
Well we laughed even if you aren't giggling about it. I'm the first to say that we're human and sometimes prone to think or say mean things. It's not like she reads this blog and now knows we're laughing about the experience.*
We got sat down towards the back of the theater and Jen fed Evelyn. This was my first experience of being with her while she did this with nothing but a thin sheet over her. Wait, have I said that we're breastfeeding before? Pretty sure I have, but if you're reading this and wondering what the sheet is for, now you know.
I have to be a little too honest. If I saw one guy trying to sneak a peak over, under or through that sheet, there would be war.
War Machine! He was in the movie. It was such a great movie...
Sorry... ahem.... yeah.
It is just a weird feeling seeing my wife practically exposing herself in front of strangers, even if she's doing it to feed my daughter. That's all.
When it was all over we had dinner at Grindstone Charley's. If you've never eaten there (you're not missing anything in my opinion) it's a nice little place to eat. Especially if you're my wife and you want to eat there on Mother's Day. It is completely okay, I mean, if you are my wife and want to eat there but only on Mother's Day.
All in all, our first trip with a baby to the theater was a success.
We loved it and so did she.
Happy Mother's Day!
*If this was you, we are very sorry to laugh at your expense.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Running on Fumes
I know I have talked about our lack of sleep quite a bit lately, but the past few nights have been ridiculous.
I know, you're reading this wanting to say, "I told you so," but you can stop right there.
Evelyn hasn't been eating in her normal schedule, and her sleep schedule has mutated into a series of short naps. If I had an old uncle named Manfred, his behavior would probably be similar to this. You know, sleep here and there, eat whenever, and poop his pants ever few hours? That's what its like.
And when she cries, it is like a deafening banshee blast to my ears. Somehow, Jen is able to tune it out, but (God help me!) I'm going deaf.
This is transpiring every night now. For hours at a time.
Did you know that sleep deprivation is a type of torture banned by the Geneva Convention because it is so inhumane?*
The lack of sleep is not only affecting our sanity, its affecting our sanity!
Small joke.
But it seriously is wearing us out and we are both running on fumes. I almost fell asleep three times at work today, realised I hadn't updated this blog as scheduled yesterday, and actually did black out once on the toilet.
And don't make that face like you've never done it.
Long story short: I apologize for the late update and hope to get a nap in sometime soon.
*This may or may not be true. Chances are it is not.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
She's so tiny!
Everybody says that Evelyn is small. "She's so tiny" is something everyone who sees her declares. So tiny and so cute.
We get it.
Jen gets annoyed with it. I don't blame her. We had Evelyn a week early and she was small. To my wife its the equivalent of hearing every person say, "Oh your daughter has a handicap," "Oh wow, look at the size of the mole on her face!" or "Your child is not normal."
We know it comes with the territory. She's small, but she's grown almost a pound a week since coming home and now actually looks like every other baby her age. At least, I think so.
But this has made me realize that try as every parent may to believe their child is perfect, the next Einstein, or something incredibly special, everyone else is oblivious to this fact.
Sometimes I want to cut the person off rudely and say, "We get it. She's small. But guess what, your kid is nonathletic, horrible at math, and should probably get used to wearing shirts with a small plastic tag that has his name lettered on. Oh, and why were his first words, 'Would you like to try a Big Mac?'"
That's the angry dad in me. He stays restrained with giant chains in a dungeon locked away in the recesses of my mind. He will be unleashed when a bully threatens my children, when a parent-teacher conference begins with "I just don't like Evelyn," and when the Ice Cream man decides to short-change her for Popsicle.
I know people don't mean it wickedly or even are attempting to point out flaws. I would venture to say that 100% of the time they are meaning, "Oh she's so cute and new." New. Not Small.
But we've gotten used to it.
Really.
We get it.
Jen gets annoyed with it. I don't blame her. We had Evelyn a week early and she was small. To my wife its the equivalent of hearing every person say, "Oh your daughter has a handicap," "Oh wow, look at the size of the mole on her face!" or "Your child is not normal."
We know it comes with the territory. She's small, but she's grown almost a pound a week since coming home and now actually looks like every other baby her age. At least, I think so.
But this has made me realize that try as every parent may to believe their child is perfect, the next Einstein, or something incredibly special, everyone else is oblivious to this fact.
Sometimes I want to cut the person off rudely and say, "We get it. She's small. But guess what, your kid is nonathletic, horrible at math, and should probably get used to wearing shirts with a small plastic tag that has his name lettered on. Oh, and why were his first words, 'Would you like to try a Big Mac?'"
That's the angry dad in me. He stays restrained with giant chains in a dungeon locked away in the recesses of my mind. He will be unleashed when a bully threatens my children, when a parent-teacher conference begins with "I just don't like Evelyn," and when the Ice Cream man decides to short-change her for Popsicle.
I know people don't mean it wickedly or even are attempting to point out flaws. I would venture to say that 100% of the time they are meaning, "Oh she's so cute and new." New. Not Small.
But we've gotten used to it.
Really.
Friday, April 30, 2010
And the Angels Were Silent
I robbed the title from a Max Lucado book. I hope he doesn't mind.
If you've been reading the blog for the past few weeks you know the greatest struggle we've had as parents is getting some sleep while the sun is down. Since Neil and Kaye (Jen's parents) have been in town, they've helped out wonderfully and it has allowed whoever has the "night shift" - guess who that lucky guy is - the opportunity to sleep until noon.
A few nights ago I was able to get her to sleep by rocking her in our new chair, but every time she'd fall asleep she'd wake up just as soon as I made my escape into my own bed. After several futile attempts, I threw her 20 feet to make sure the sleep stuck. When she didn't wake up after crashing to the ground, I knew my job was done.
Okay, I didn't throw her. I did talk loud enough to try and wake her up, though, and even whispered, "We're not buying you your first car," to try and shock her from her slumber. Nothing phased her and I was able to put her to bed for the evening.
And this has been a typical evening.
Until last night. She slept for a full six hours. Now getting her on a good schedule so she's not starting that six hours at seven o'clock and ending at one am is going to be tricky.
But the fact remains: She slept a full six hours in a row.
And even the Angels were silent.
If you've been reading the blog for the past few weeks you know the greatest struggle we've had as parents is getting some sleep while the sun is down. Since Neil and Kaye (Jen's parents) have been in town, they've helped out wonderfully and it has allowed whoever has the "night shift" - guess who that lucky guy is - the opportunity to sleep until noon.
A few nights ago I was able to get her to sleep by rocking her in our new chair, but every time she'd fall asleep she'd wake up just as soon as I made my escape into my own bed. After several futile attempts, I threw her 20 feet to make sure the sleep stuck. When she didn't wake up after crashing to the ground, I knew my job was done.
Okay, I didn't throw her. I did talk loud enough to try and wake her up, though, and even whispered, "We're not buying you your first car," to try and shock her from her slumber. Nothing phased her and I was able to put her to bed for the evening.
And this has been a typical evening.
Until last night. She slept for a full six hours. Now getting her on a good schedule so she's not starting that six hours at seven o'clock and ending at one am is going to be tricky.
But the fact remains: She slept a full six hours in a row.
And even the Angels were silent.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
iGoop
This past week we had to call a doctor. Evelyn's right eye had become swollen and had some goop, gunk, junk, eye-boogers, whatever you choose to call it, she had a bunch of it in there. Not just your typical "sleep sand" eye goop, either. This was some serious yuck.
Plus she's been extra fussy the past few days, so we thought maybe she was getting sick. I called our doctor's office and when I finally got through a few machines (I am really, really not a fan of automated answering services by the way - big pet peeve) I got to talk to a very insensitive man who stated that the doctors and nurses were on their lunch break and that unless it was an emergency, I'd have to call back later.
If it was an emergency, I was to stop pestering him and dial 911.
I know it may sound horrible of me, but I kind of - in that moment and not since - hoped that I walked up on that guy after he got hit by a train so I could tell him, "Well, do you think this is an emergency? You do? Okay, I'm going to let you be so you can call 911."
Anyway, we had been cleaning Evie's eye with a wet cotton ball to keep the gunk out, and this turned out to be a great idea (I believe it was my mother-in-law's suggestion, but I'm not sure so we'll just give her credit) because this is what the doctor's office said we should do - after they got done with their trip to Wendy's for lunch. They also said its probably allergies and not to worry.
No, I don't know for sure they went to Wendy's, but I like to assume that doctors enjoy a Wendy's double cheeseburger as much as I do. Thus, in my mind, making those burgers seem healthier because, hey, doctors eat them so they can't be all that bad, right?
The next day her swelling went down and now she has hardly any eye goop (like the title?).
It's not like we were panicking about it, but the eyes are pretty important to people and wanted to make sure our daughter hadn't gotten some infection that will leave her blind.
"Oh, really? Eyes are important? I didn't know that."
Well, okay, smarty-pants. But you've got to keep in mind I write this blog on a handful of hours of sleep at best some days so give me a break when I say something obvious like that.
On a side note, my father-in-law, Neil, flew back to North Dakota on Saturday. It sounds like our friends and family there have been asking a lot of questions and wanting to see pictures. He seems to have really enjoyed his time here in Indianapolis, so that's good, too.
Kaye, my mother-in-law, will be here until Saturday. So we still have some backup when the baby crying gets so much we want to throw ourselves out a window.
Yep. Been a busy week.
Now, just to be clear, I probably wouldn't act that way if I saw that man hit by a train.
Probably.
... maybe.
Plus she's been extra fussy the past few days, so we thought maybe she was getting sick. I called our doctor's office and when I finally got through a few machines (I am really, really not a fan of automated answering services by the way - big pet peeve) I got to talk to a very insensitive man who stated that the doctors and nurses were on their lunch break and that unless it was an emergency, I'd have to call back later.
If it was an emergency, I was to stop pestering him and dial 911.
I know it may sound horrible of me, but I kind of - in that moment and not since - hoped that I walked up on that guy after he got hit by a train so I could tell him, "Well, do you think this is an emergency? You do? Okay, I'm going to let you be so you can call 911."
Anyway, we had been cleaning Evie's eye with a wet cotton ball to keep the gunk out, and this turned out to be a great idea (I believe it was my mother-in-law's suggestion, but I'm not sure so we'll just give her credit) because this is what the doctor's office said we should do - after they got done with their trip to Wendy's for lunch. They also said its probably allergies and not to worry.
No, I don't know for sure they went to Wendy's, but I like to assume that doctors enjoy a Wendy's double cheeseburger as much as I do. Thus, in my mind, making those burgers seem healthier because, hey, doctors eat them so they can't be all that bad, right?
The next day her swelling went down and now she has hardly any eye goop (like the title?).
It's not like we were panicking about it, but the eyes are pretty important to people and wanted to make sure our daughter hadn't gotten some infection that will leave her blind.
"Oh, really? Eyes are important? I didn't know that."
Well, okay, smarty-pants. But you've got to keep in mind I write this blog on a handful of hours of sleep at best some days so give me a break when I say something obvious like that.
On a side note, my father-in-law, Neil, flew back to North Dakota on Saturday. It sounds like our friends and family there have been asking a lot of questions and wanting to see pictures. He seems to have really enjoyed his time here in Indianapolis, so that's good, too.
Kaye, my mother-in-law, will be here until Saturday. So we still have some backup when the baby crying gets so much we want to throw ourselves out a window.
Yep. Been a busy week.
Now, just to be clear, I probably wouldn't act that way if I saw that man hit by a train.
Probably.
... maybe.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Meema Kaye and Papa Neil Came to Visit
This past week my mother- and father-in-law have been visiting and helping out with Evelyn. To say they've helped "a lot" or "plenty" would be an understatement. It's like things are running like a well oiled - albeit still squawking at 3:30 in the morning - machine.
It's also just been nice having them here. If nothing else, the insanity of having guests has broken up the insanity of just being the two of us and the baby.
Kaye, my mother-in-law, has helped Jennifer with things around the house and Neil, my father-in-law, has taken my place as the only male in the home to change diapers. Which, I've got to tell you, has felt like a glorious vacation.
It seems like I've had more poop on my hands the past few weeks than in the entirety of the last 28 years of my life combined.
Okay, that may be a lie, but the fact remains that I somehow end up with "Evie droppings" on a finger while folding up a diaper. Either her poop is secretly alive and trying to eat me, or her diapers are messier than they look.
I swear, if it's trying to eat me I will not stand for it.
Also, one thing we have discovered is that a quick way to get our daughter to sleep is sticking her in the car and going for a short drive. We went out to eat with Kaye and Neil yesterday and while in the car, Evelyn slept well with very little fussing.
Maybe from now on at 3 am we can just stick her in the car and go to a Denny's. I don't know if it'd work, but if I'm hungry for a Grand Slam sometime in the wee hours of the night, I'll let you know how it goes.
Yesterday, Neil and I watched Evie while Jen and Kaye went to do laundry. Had Jack never been neutered, we could have made the "3 Men and a Baby" joke, but there's no way I'm "Tom Selleck" enough to pull that off. And Jack's a dog. So that joke was dumb.
Anyway, the past week has been fun. Evelyn has really seemed to enjoy being passed around from parent to grandparent and back again. Even if she hasn't, I know we certainly have had a good time.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I think there's a poop-monster somewhere in dire need of a talking to.
It's also just been nice having them here. If nothing else, the insanity of having guests has broken up the insanity of just being the two of us and the baby.
Kaye, my mother-in-law, has helped Jennifer with things around the house and Neil, my father-in-law, has taken my place as the only male in the home to change diapers. Which, I've got to tell you, has felt like a glorious vacation.
It seems like I've had more poop on my hands the past few weeks than in the entirety of the last 28 years of my life combined.
Okay, that may be a lie, but the fact remains that I somehow end up with "Evie droppings" on a finger while folding up a diaper. Either her poop is secretly alive and trying to eat me, or her diapers are messier than they look.
I swear, if it's trying to eat me I will not stand for it.
Also, one thing we have discovered is that a quick way to get our daughter to sleep is sticking her in the car and going for a short drive. We went out to eat with Kaye and Neil yesterday and while in the car, Evelyn slept well with very little fussing.
Maybe from now on at 3 am we can just stick her in the car and go to a Denny's. I don't know if it'd work, but if I'm hungry for a Grand Slam sometime in the wee hours of the night, I'll let you know how it goes.
Yesterday, Neil and I watched Evie while Jen and Kaye went to do laundry. Had Jack never been neutered, we could have made the "3 Men and a Baby" joke, but there's no way I'm "Tom Selleck" enough to pull that off. And Jack's a dog. So that joke was dumb.
Anyway, the past week has been fun. Evelyn has really seemed to enjoy being passed around from parent to grandparent and back again. Even if she hasn't, I know we certainly have had a good time.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I think there's a poop-monster somewhere in dire need of a talking to.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Top 10 Reasons Sleep Is Overrated
The beauty of this blog is that not only can other people laugh at our experiences, in a couple years when we are planning a second child, we can look back and go, "Do we really want to do this?"
So in that spirit of thought, I thought I'd throw together a little list of things I've learned about the benefits of not sleeping while you have a newborn. Sleep? Who needs it?
10. Without sleep, you don't have to worry about those pesky dreams about building sandcastles on a beautiful beach with Darth Vader and Ronald Reagan.
9. When you haven't slept in the past three days, you make a more believable zombie when you go to impersonate one at work the next day. Hopefully your coworkers won't shoot you in the head! (Insert nervous laughter)
8. Without much sleep you may put the baby's diaper on backwards. This will appear funnier to both you and your wife than it really is.*
7. When you aren't sleeping, you get to listen to a baby crying or the cute sounds the baby makes as he/she slurps down milk. Who would want to hear complete silence in the dead of night?
6. Late at night, while trying to get your baby to eat and thus avoiding sleep yourself, you get to see some great movies on Syfy Channel that are sure to involve at least one giant foam-rubber worm. Who would want to miss that???
5. The lack of sleep grants you some very fashionable bags under your eyes. Boy, your coworkers, family and friends are going to be jealous of those!
4. If you are avoiding sleep alongside your wife, who is currently trying to feed the baby, you may be able to catch one of those rare moments where she does the "falling asleep head-bob" on camera. Then show her friends later.
3. Your wife will not think number 4 is funny.
2. At some point, you will be so tired that you will stick an entire finger into poop and either a) Not notice or b) not care enough to be grossed out. You hopefully will notice this at some point before you decide to eat again, and will wash accordingly.
1. Your baby will wake you up once more in the dead of night in about 20 to 30 years just to say thank you for staying up with him/her while they were babies. They will do this because they are delusional without sleep from their own newborn. Neither of you will remember this conversation in the morning.
Overall, it's worth it, but I thought of a few of these things and found them funny.
If you're reading this going, "Wow, that's not funny at all. In fact, that's kind of pathetic," I would like to you reference number 8. I think its funny because I haven't had much sleep. So, if you want the full experience, stay up for a couple nights, come back and read this.
You'll laugh your head off.
*It isn't really funny at all.
So in that spirit of thought, I thought I'd throw together a little list of things I've learned about the benefits of not sleeping while you have a newborn. Sleep? Who needs it?
10. Without sleep, you don't have to worry about those pesky dreams about building sandcastles on a beautiful beach with Darth Vader and Ronald Reagan.
9. When you haven't slept in the past three days, you make a more believable zombie when you go to impersonate one at work the next day. Hopefully your coworkers won't shoot you in the head! (Insert nervous laughter)
8. Without much sleep you may put the baby's diaper on backwards. This will appear funnier to both you and your wife than it really is.*
7. When you aren't sleeping, you get to listen to a baby crying or the cute sounds the baby makes as he/she slurps down milk. Who would want to hear complete silence in the dead of night?
6. Late at night, while trying to get your baby to eat and thus avoiding sleep yourself, you get to see some great movies on Syfy Channel that are sure to involve at least one giant foam-rubber worm. Who would want to miss that???
5. The lack of sleep grants you some very fashionable bags under your eyes. Boy, your coworkers, family and friends are going to be jealous of those!
4. If you are avoiding sleep alongside your wife, who is currently trying to feed the baby, you may be able to catch one of those rare moments where she does the "falling asleep head-bob" on camera. Then show her friends later.
3. Your wife will not think number 4 is funny.
2. At some point, you will be so tired that you will stick an entire finger into poop and either a) Not notice or b) not care enough to be grossed out. You hopefully will notice this at some point before you decide to eat again, and will wash accordingly.
1. Your baby will wake you up once more in the dead of night in about 20 to 30 years just to say thank you for staying up with him/her while they were babies. They will do this because they are delusional without sleep from their own newborn. Neither of you will remember this conversation in the morning.
Overall, it's worth it, but I thought of a few of these things and found them funny.
If you're reading this going, "Wow, that's not funny at all. In fact, that's kind of pathetic," I would like to you reference number 8. I think its funny because I haven't had much sleep. So, if you want the full experience, stay up for a couple nights, come back and read this.
You'll laugh your head off.
*It isn't really funny at all.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Parenting Advice
One thing I have noticed about being a parent is that now other people who have kids really like to tell me how to raise mine. Yes, I know my daughter cries loudly when she's hungry, yes I know her diaper needs to be changed when wet, you don't have to tell me to be ready to care for both of these needs at 3 am when I've been up since 4. By the way, ma'am, your four year old just grabbed a Twix off the candy shelf here in Wal-Mart and while I'm new to the whole parenting thing, crime is something I am familiar with.
(that didn't really happen)
People love to give advice. I know that I'm probably one of the first to give out unwelcomed pointers when it comes to tons of things - I think it just comes with how I was raised. Ask my dad how to change a light-bulb and he'll not only tell you how to change your fuse box over to a breaker box, but he'll recommend the type, size, brand and even color of wiring to use.
The problem is that now that I am in a position that is completely unfamiliar, people tend to tell me how to handle it. There's nothing wrong with that, I think every parent who has "been there and wiped that" not only has the need to share their advice and experience, I believe they have a right to.
If your son, at the age of 8 months, decided to crawl up to a piece of furniture, climb it, and then jump off and bump his head, you not only have a future stunt-man in your family, the parent who has held him until he stopped crying and put a band-aid on his (probably cracked) skull now has the right to tell a new parent to watch out for this event happening to them. Not only because they are looking out for the new parent's child, but it's almost as if they are older members of a fraternity sharing something with the new pledge.
The problem is, there is so much to tell new parents. I just wish you could just have 3 simple rules of parenting. Like, "Keep them away from water. They hate bright light. The most important rule. No matter how much they cry, no matter how much they beg, never, never feed them after midnight." See? That stuff I could remember.
Or have my daughter turn into a gremlin...
Some advice is good, some advice is weird, and some advice is just not useable in our situation. For instance, someone told my wife that our daughter will have distinctive cries for things. In truth, we have noticed Evelyn has a distinct cry for every situation that she feels is important. It's something like, "Waaah" means "I'm hungry," and "Waaah" means "I need to eat soon."
Yeah, she pretty much only cries when she's hungry.
Even if she needs her diaper changed, Evie usually just grunts or whines a little. Which leads me to think that rather than having a cold wet-wipe on her bottom, she'd rather just sit in her fecal matter. Which is not only disgusting, but almost understandable. I mean, have you ever had a cold, damp cloth ran up the crack of your behind while you were trying to sleep? Me neither, but I bet it isn't fun.
Staying on point, I have noticed that several readers of this blog like to share personal stories. Some are funny, some ... a little too much information. Either way, it is nice to belong to the fraternity of parenthood.
What does seem to puzzle me is that there are some parents who do not relish the opportunity to learn from the failures, mistakes, and successes of other parents. These are the same people who will read an athlete's life story just to learn how to throw a fastball or watch a politician's interview just to learn to communicate better, but roll their eyes and hit the ignore button when someone says, "Don't let your kid eat that."
As if these people actually expected "Raising Kids for Dummies" to fall out of a placenta.
I'll admit, that book would be nice, but really? I'd like to take what advice I am given and chew the meat and spit out the bones. I also would rather get to know my daughter and raise her the best way I can, implementing the advice when I feel the need to. Like the time I told Professor Millen that my mom used to give my sisters and me Dimetapp to get us drowsy enough for nap time. Unethical? Probably.
But a few weeks later the professor shared with me that one night he and his wife had trouble getting his kids to bed. When the kids were finally asleep, the couple sat down and he said to her, "You know, Jeff said his parents used to give him Dimetapp..."
(true story!)
I guess my biggest goal as a parent is that in twenty to thirty years, Evelyn can look back and say, "Hey, my mom and dad did the best they could with what they had and maybe they didn't do everything right, but they did it all because they loved me and wanted me to be great."
I can be happy about that, and if something some other parent does or says helps me get to that point, I can listen.
(that didn't really happen)
People love to give advice. I know that I'm probably one of the first to give out unwelcomed pointers when it comes to tons of things - I think it just comes with how I was raised. Ask my dad how to change a light-bulb and he'll not only tell you how to change your fuse box over to a breaker box, but he'll recommend the type, size, brand and even color of wiring to use.
The problem is that now that I am in a position that is completely unfamiliar, people tend to tell me how to handle it. There's nothing wrong with that, I think every parent who has "been there and wiped that" not only has the need to share their advice and experience, I believe they have a right to.
If your son, at the age of 8 months, decided to crawl up to a piece of furniture, climb it, and then jump off and bump his head, you not only have a future stunt-man in your family, the parent who has held him until he stopped crying and put a band-aid on his (probably cracked) skull now has the right to tell a new parent to watch out for this event happening to them. Not only because they are looking out for the new parent's child, but it's almost as if they are older members of a fraternity sharing something with the new pledge.
The problem is, there is so much to tell new parents. I just wish you could just have 3 simple rules of parenting. Like, "Keep them away from water. They hate bright light. The most important rule. No matter how much they cry, no matter how much they beg, never, never feed them after midnight." See? That stuff I could remember.
Or have my daughter turn into a gremlin...
Some advice is good, some advice is weird, and some advice is just not useable in our situation. For instance, someone told my wife that our daughter will have distinctive cries for things. In truth, we have noticed Evelyn has a distinct cry for every situation that she feels is important. It's something like, "Waaah" means "I'm hungry," and "Waaah" means "I need to eat soon."
Yeah, she pretty much only cries when she's hungry.
Even if she needs her diaper changed, Evie usually just grunts or whines a little. Which leads me to think that rather than having a cold wet-wipe on her bottom, she'd rather just sit in her fecal matter. Which is not only disgusting, but almost understandable. I mean, have you ever had a cold, damp cloth ran up the crack of your behind while you were trying to sleep? Me neither, but I bet it isn't fun.
Staying on point, I have noticed that several readers of this blog like to share personal stories. Some are funny, some ... a little too much information. Either way, it is nice to belong to the fraternity of parenthood.
What does seem to puzzle me is that there are some parents who do not relish the opportunity to learn from the failures, mistakes, and successes of other parents. These are the same people who will read an athlete's life story just to learn how to throw a fastball or watch a politician's interview just to learn to communicate better, but roll their eyes and hit the ignore button when someone says, "Don't let your kid eat that."
As if these people actually expected "Raising Kids for Dummies" to fall out of a placenta.
I'll admit, that book would be nice, but really? I'd like to take what advice I am given and chew the meat and spit out the bones. I also would rather get to know my daughter and raise her the best way I can, implementing the advice when I feel the need to. Like the time I told Professor Millen that my mom used to give my sisters and me Dimetapp to get us drowsy enough for nap time. Unethical? Probably.
But a few weeks later the professor shared with me that one night he and his wife had trouble getting his kids to bed. When the kids were finally asleep, the couple sat down and he said to her, "You know, Jeff said his parents used to give him Dimetapp..."
(true story!)
I guess my biggest goal as a parent is that in twenty to thirty years, Evelyn can look back and say, "Hey, my mom and dad did the best they could with what they had and maybe they didn't do everything right, but they did it all because they loved me and wanted me to be great."
I can be happy about that, and if something some other parent does or says helps me get to that point, I can listen.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Yes, I am being dramatic. It's meant to be humorous.
The "Baby Crazies" continue, but I think I'm starting to make the most of them. After last week's post (the very night of the post, actually) Evelyn decided to show that she is not just a baby, she is a force of nature. A force to be reckoned with. Not just a baby, a villain. A horrible villain the likes of which Cobra Commander, Lex Luthor, and Skeletor have never seen.
And she did it with a smile.
That's how the sick, twisted minds of babies work. I realize that now. Babies, as I am now discovering, know that their parents are naive. They know we are gullible morons who believe they only want some milk and a diaper changed now and then.
I now that we are! We are those gullible morons. You may be reading this and saying to yourself, "I wasn't a gullible moron with my kids," but you're only believing that because they want you to believe it.
You must understand their cries are not the whimpers of infants. They are the battle shouts of a warriors in a never ending coup d'état on parenthood.
This is the past few nights have gone:
On Friday night, Evie (now known as "Evelyn the Skull Crusher" by her biker gang) decided to feign sleep from 10:30 pm to 12:30 am. No doubt using this time to plot her next great scheme. Without warning, just like an earthquake, she awoke with a fury so deep and bitter it was almost beautiful in all its glory.
My wife, who had sustained many injuries throughout the day from this tiny barbarian was too weak to continue in the struggle. So I grabbed my weapons and entered the fray. I remember looking her in the eyes, after at least two attempts to feed her from a bottle and muttering something to the effect of, "You may win this battle, but I shalt not die in vain!" An evil smirk twisted across Evelyn the Skull Crusher's face as she filled her diaper with a foul mustard colored stench.
I'll never forget the horror I experience upon opening that diaper. Never.
Every time I close my eyes I still see it's disgusting composition looking back at me as though it, too, were alive. It has been burned into my mind forever.
At the time, I tried my best to use it to strengthen my resolve.
I grabbed the formula I had already tried to feed her twice and with the resistance of a spy who was determined not to succumb to a truth serum, Evie fought back as she guzzled it down. To distract her, I had turned on the television to watch an episode of Smallville I had recorded earlier in the night.
Before the theme song and opening credits rolled, Evelyn, the great villain, the bane of parents within our home had fallen asleep.
I was victorious.
Yes, I realize I am being dramatic. It's all meant to be humorous. Because if there's one thing I have learned about being elbow deep in poopy diapers and sleep deprived, its that if you cant laugh about it you will go crazy.
But I have enjoyed it all, even more than I enjoyed turning that little adventure into some sort of fantasy story.
What really happened was Jen went to bed because she was tired and I volunteered to stay up with Evie. She cooed and "talked" for almost an hour before I finally got her to take her bottle.
I wasn't going to dare to wake up Jen, because a) I want to prove to the world and myself that I can do this fatherhood thing and do it well and b) because my poor wife has been sleep deprived since we got home from the hospital.
Finally Evelyn drank her bottle and yes, I was just starting to enjoy Smallville (which is almost an oxymoron at this point, that show is really dragging on....) and I took her to her bassinet and she slept for a solid 3 or 4 hours. Which was nice.
See? The dramatic version is so much more exciting.
I wouldn't trade the real experience for all the gold in Middle-Earth and Narnia combined.
And she did it with a smile.
That's how the sick, twisted minds of babies work. I realize that now. Babies, as I am now discovering, know that their parents are naive. They know we are gullible morons who believe they only want some milk and a diaper changed now and then.
I now that we are! We are those gullible morons. You may be reading this and saying to yourself, "I wasn't a gullible moron with my kids," but you're only believing that because they want you to believe it.
You must understand their cries are not the whimpers of infants. They are the battle shouts of a warriors in a never ending coup d'état on parenthood.
This is the past few nights have gone:
On Friday night, Evie (now known as "Evelyn the Skull Crusher" by her biker gang) decided to feign sleep from 10:30 pm to 12:30 am. No doubt using this time to plot her next great scheme. Without warning, just like an earthquake, she awoke with a fury so deep and bitter it was almost beautiful in all its glory.
My wife, who had sustained many injuries throughout the day from this tiny barbarian was too weak to continue in the struggle. So I grabbed my weapons and entered the fray. I remember looking her in the eyes, after at least two attempts to feed her from a bottle and muttering something to the effect of, "You may win this battle, but I shalt not die in vain!" An evil smirk twisted across Evelyn the Skull Crusher's face as she filled her diaper with a foul mustard colored stench.
I'll never forget the horror I experience upon opening that diaper. Never.
Every time I close my eyes I still see it's disgusting composition looking back at me as though it, too, were alive. It has been burned into my mind forever.
At the time, I tried my best to use it to strengthen my resolve.
I grabbed the formula I had already tried to feed her twice and with the resistance of a spy who was determined not to succumb to a truth serum, Evie fought back as she guzzled it down. To distract her, I had turned on the television to watch an episode of Smallville I had recorded earlier in the night.
Before the theme song and opening credits rolled, Evelyn, the great villain, the bane of parents within our home had fallen asleep.
I was victorious.
Yes, I realize I am being dramatic. It's all meant to be humorous. Because if there's one thing I have learned about being elbow deep in poopy diapers and sleep deprived, its that if you cant laugh about it you will go crazy.
But I have enjoyed it all, even more than I enjoyed turning that little adventure into some sort of fantasy story.
What really happened was Jen went to bed because she was tired and I volunteered to stay up with Evie. She cooed and "talked" for almost an hour before I finally got her to take her bottle.
I wasn't going to dare to wake up Jen, because a) I want to prove to the world and myself that I can do this fatherhood thing and do it well and b) because my poor wife has been sleep deprived since we got home from the hospital.
Finally Evelyn drank her bottle and yes, I was just starting to enjoy Smallville (which is almost an oxymoron at this point, that show is really dragging on....) and I took her to her bassinet and she slept for a solid 3 or 4 hours. Which was nice.
See? The dramatic version is so much more exciting.
I wouldn't trade the real experience for all the gold in Middle-Earth and Narnia combined.
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