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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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."

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.