Still thumb sucking.

I'm not sure what we're going to do about Evelyn's addiction. I'm pretty sure taking this away would be equivalent to taking away caffeine from my dad. You take that man's coffee away and you may as well try to enjoy an afternoon locked in a cage with a rabid grizzly. Believe me when I say this is not an exaggeration. Evelyn, it seems, has her own vice.

Thumb sucking.

My aunt is in her forties and still sucks her thumb. My youngest sister is in her mid twenties and also does this. I've heard some people will never outgrow it. There's always someone trying to say, when they see her doing it for the first time, "That'll make your teeth grow crooked." Evelyn, still not grasping the English language in all of its glory, ignores these small slights to her favorite pastime.

I've asked around for a cure. Everything short of the Betty Ford clinic, I fear, will fall short. There's bitter nail polish. There's mittens. Taping her hands together. Some, obviously, seem a bit extreme and others downright cruel. The nail polish never worked on my sister, either. She once told me she'd always sucked her thumb until the flavor ran out on the paint.

Its not that I'm opposed to thumb sucking. There are worse things my daughter could get in to. Tattoos of pink ponies. Become a milk-a-holic. Be one of those kids who likes to wear a diaper backwards. I don't know.

The moral of the story is, I really hope she stops sucking her thumb. If not, if that's the worst thing she ever does, I'll live and so will she.

Happiness is...

The joys of fatherhood are endless. I've learned so much about life just from examining the life of my own daughter. In fact, I've often though, "If I knew being a dad was this much fun, I'd have done it sooner." This of course is a lie, but I tell myself that without even meaning to at times, simply because I am so extraordinarily happy being with my kid.

For so long I focused on the fact that there are things to be bought; car seats, high-chairs, bibs, diapers, and the like. Then, as I would sometime regress as an adult, I would also focus on the negatives about cleaning the high-chairs after a fun filled afternoon of pudding/ketchup throwing I've seen exhibited by two year-olds in my family. Oh, and let us not forget the vile wrath that is a dirty diaper.

Off topic, but good Lord! What did she eat last night? That diaper looked like it had three previous owners and two of them were adults, the third a crocodile. I bet I used twelve wet-wipes cleaning that child...

Sorry. Ahem.

The joys of fatherhood.

The thing is, everyone told us we'd never be ready to be parents, that we should just do it. Those people aren't me, and I despise when others try to tell me how simple it is to make such a large, life-altering decision. We get it, now of course. These people just wanted to see us squirm and writhe in fear at such diapers as described above.

Bring it on.

The first time I held Evie in my arms, I was Superman. Every day since, when she smiles at me, hugs me, or gets mad and cries because I won't let her play with the remote control, I feel even more confident in being a dad. I love it. Sure, its a full-time job, but I love it and the pay isn't a few dollars you can waste at Wal-Mart. Its so much more.

Messy faces, peanut butter in her hair (perhaps I'll blog about this another week), dirty diapers, vomit, bad dreams, fussy days, fussy hair, and everything else, I'd never trade it. Because one heartfelt smile from that little girl makes it all worth it.

I'll end with this:

I'm at a point, currently, where I really dread going to work. I get depressed because this isn't the job I went to college for. I wanted to be a pastor, not a probation officer (though, to be fair, I dealt with more ruthless people in the church at times than I have my current vocation). I work outside in the heat, in government owned cars that sometimes lack air conditioning, or may not even run at all - your tax dollars being stretched as far as they can. You're welcome. I feel out of place where I work because, unlike my coworkers, I really never wanted a job like this.

Then, I come home and that little girl claps her hands and starts chattering away the minute I step through the door.

And my life is complete.

Happiness is your child being happy to be with you.

Thank Jim Henson

If you have ever had the song "Elmo's World" stuck in your head for three days, when you haven't heard it in a week, you may appreciate this.

Evelyn loves Sesame Street, Veggie Tales, and a variety of other kid's shows. Barney and Friends plays in my house like a broken record that just won't stop. This is the private parts of parenting Hades I have become trapped in.

Despite my grandest efforts to get my daughter interested in the most kid-friendly episodes of Batman Beyond, the Superman animated series, the old Star Wars: Droids cartoon, and even some old Justice League episodes, the only thing that truly phases the child is a muppet. If SuperGrover is the thing that can keep her pacified, fine.

She'll stop everything she's doing when Elmo comes on the t.v. If Junior Asparagus sings a song, she wiggles to the tune. If Cookie Monster starts eating, her eyes glaze over and she wishes she could join that blue fuzzball and partake in his chocolate chip gluttony as well. If a man dressed as a bat glides drives across the screen in his souped up car, its back to getting into things she ought not touch.

I would feel ashamed, but personally I just blame the master of muppetry, Jim Henson. If he hadn't done his job so well, maybe she'd be interested in super powered justice. Instead, rather than phoning it in, he made an awesome show I am not afraid to admit that I enjoyed throughout most of my childhood as well - and still secretly enjoy watching with Evie, as well.

But that dinosaur...

I've started watching Barney with her, too. To the point I dissect the episodes. For instance, this one where Baby-Bop (yeah, that's her name) spins around a room and makes a huge mess for the janitor to clean up; potentially making him late for his big break as a concert pianist. The kids get stuck cleaning it up and singing little songs and all pretend Baby-Bop did nothing that bad.

For example: these dinosaurs are the hallucinations of these children. So who really made that mess? The janitor is happy even though his dreams are about to be shattered, and again, he can see these hallucinations, too. This all leads me to think, perhaps, there's something horrible in that school's cafeteria food and the place needs to be shut down. Immediately.

Also, how come the little red headed kid can't do anything right? He's a bad flute player and his science project beans don't grow as fast as the other kids' beans, either. Thanks, PBS. Thank you for sending the message to my daughter that we redheads are born failures.

Again, I blame Henson. Had he not opened the gate with Sesame Street, I'd not even have this blog to write. Thanks Jim. Thanks a whole lot.

Cute is Overrated

My daughter is cute. Beyond cute, she's adorable. Her smile melts your heart and quiets a room. I'm not just saying this because I'm biased, its a fact. She's a cute kid.

Unfortunately, cuteness is overrated. She thinks she can flash her big blue eyes and get away with anything. People always say, "Oh, she's got you wrapped around her little finger."

Wrong.

That stuff doesn't work on me. At. All.

True, I feel horrible if she starts crying and it melts my heart, but it doesn't get her a "get out of jail free" card.

I think I've built up an immunity to it. Maybe its something else. Perhaps anti-cuteness is my superpower. What a lame mutant ability...

The point is, I love my daughter with an unending, furious love, but when she tries to weasel her way into my food with a big blue-eyed stare, or a cute little smile so she can mess with the Playstation controller while I watch a movie, she doesn't get away with much.

Now, when she grows older and gets a whiny voice...

Learning to Walk

As mentioned in my previous post, Evelyn is learning to walk with a physical therapist. Its been fun, its been interesting, but more than anything, it has been terrifying.

This kid is going to be walking around the house soon. She can't even feed herself properly with a fork yet, but she's going to be racing around faster than a speeding bullet. Of course we, the parents, will be forced to chase after her.

She's weekly making progress and showing big improvements. Which is, of course, always good news. The one thing the therapist hasn't covered, however, is how we're supposed to deal with this new prospect of chasing down this child once she's become more mobile. I have a few ideas, inspired by both theoretical science and Saturday morning cartoons.

Mostly the cartoons.

The first idea I had was cruel, I freely admit it. Let's just not teach her to walk. Let's teach her to be the first human blob. As I said, though, its a cruel thought and I quickly dismissed it.

Then came the fun thoughts.

I could just get some springloaded shoes! Dismissing this as it would look incredibly stupid walking into a store wearing them, I thought about putting small rockets on the sides of some old sneakers and trying that out. I realized I'd probably blow my feet off and then I'd become a human blob. Again, idea dismissed.

For a brief second I entertained the possibility of a giant sling-shot, but vaguely remember a certain coyote trying this and flying right past his target and crushing into a wall. Unlike Mr. Coyote, I do not become a walking accordion when I crash into things - I bleed.

I thought about attaching a bungee rope to her, perhaps even snagging her as she paced by. A leash, if you will, around her waste, and when she gets too far, this rope would simply be tugged firmly and bring the child back within my reach. No, I said to myself, doesn't work on the dog so I doubt it'd work on her.

Then came the scientific thoughts.

What if, I began to think, I could take the legs off a cheetah and implant them on my hind quarters? Again, how would I explain this to the guys at the comic shop? "Hey, Jeff, nice cheetah legs!"

"I know. They were half off at JCPenny. Found'em in the "Doctor Moreau" section."

Right, like I'd even know where that section is at JCPenny. I don't even shop there. Ridiculous thoughts, I tell you.

After that, there were some delusions about mixing up some chemicals and hope they gave me some sort of super power... but after I smelled the bleach mixed with all the other house hold chemicals I could find I thought it would taste awful so decided against that, as well.

Where do you even buy radioactive products that give you super speed these days? Or is it merely lightning flashing through a variety of chemicals? Either way, I'd probably end up with the ability to just grow longer fingernails or my hair would all fall out. Some stupid super power like that.

Eventually, I realized Jennifer had bought a gate, and it will be a year or two at least before she figures out how to climb over it, so I figure that'll have to do. After all, if a barbed wire fence can keep in cattle and eliminate the need for ranch hands, then I am sure a plastic fence can keep in Evie and give me a break or two, right?

Wrong. My daughter is freaky smart and I don't just say that because I'm biased. She's figured out how to unlock our phones, for crying out loud. So, I'm sure it won't be long until she realizes if she sticks her fingers through the small holes in the plastic mesh, she can spring that sucker and crawl on through.

So, I've just came to the conclusion I'll have to suck it up and be a dad.

Which I was going to do, anyway.

Progress and Flaws

One of the joys of being a parent is seeing how much of yourself is reflected in your child. I think I've covered this before in a previous blog, but since I take so long to update, I honestly can't remember.

The sad fact is that sometimes you also see some of your flaws. Even the genetic ones that you couldn't help. This is the case with Evelyn's feet.

As a kid, and even now, my feet tend to point out. This caused (and again, still sometimes cause) me to walk in a duck-like manner. A fact cruel classmates in elementary school through college all enjoyed pointing out to me at times. Now my daughter has this issue.

Mine is caused by a hip problem, per my doctors at the Shriner's hospital in St. Louis. Evelyn will grow out of her problem if she continues with her physical therapy, at least that's what our doctor says, and so does Brandy, a therapist from First Steps who helps kids learn to walk, and has been coming to our house weekly for the past few weeks.

In a sense I feel like we dodged a bullet.

One of my greatest fears is that my children will have to time wading through some of the same trash of life I had to as a kid. Kids picking on them for having red hair, constant quacking, stupid things like that were all things I never wanted for my kids. When Evie was born with darker hair, which is now a shade of blonde, I was relieved. But with the therapy I sometimes see her feet kick out, toes pointed away from each other, and her balance wavering. The therapist, Brandy, is awesome and very encouraging. She says that Evelyn will grow out of it.

Very relieved. And on the note of the therapy, Brandy insists Evelyn is her star student. She's made great progress and continues to improve. A few weeks ago when we first started, Evelyn was "army-crawling" through the house and would only stand on her feet for a few minutes at a time when we'd put her up on them.

Now, I'm beginning to miss the days she was immobile. She's coasting sideways along the couch, crawling on her hands and knees, and making life incredibly active. Or miserable, depending on how lazy I'm feeling.

Honestly, though, its amazing to see her progress and learn and adapt and grow. Its rewarding to me, probably more so than it is to her. Just hearing that she's gone two steps farther than the one step expected makes me so proud. In my heart, when something like that happens, I secretly think, "Of course, she's my kid! She's gonna blow your mind with her intelligence, just wait and see!" And of course, I see plenty of her mom in her, too, but as a dad I just want to take all the credit.

That's okay, right? I can do that sometimes?

Well, I'm going to anyway.

Got to Update

I figured it was time to write something.

Even if its only a few paragraphs, I need to get back to documenting the fun we have as parents. Evie is growing and growing, and even though she's having to take physical therapy, she's getting closer to walking every day.

She pulls herself up to her feet, often having to lean against a chair or some other piece of furniture. She's walked/glided along the side of furniture, too. It will only be a few more blinks and soon she'll be running around making me want to pull my hair out by the roots.

Evelyn is awesome. Every Friday we try to have lunch together, and each Friday we sojourn to a restaurant is an adventure on its own. Whether she's eating a quesadilla from Taco Bell or a hamburger from McDonald's, the mess we both make and the strange interactions with other customers make each Friday worth it.

A couple of weeks ago a lady kept staring at us as though someone in our little caravan of two had somehow offended her. Then I realized, my daughter of just about fifteen months was looking at her, squinting and laughing. Evelyn was, in her own way, making fun of this woman. I wanted to stop her but after getting a good look at the lady, I thought, "Well, there's a lot of material for jokes there..." Then I realized where my train of thought had taken me, and re-positioned both myself, and Evelyn so there'd be no more staring.

She's also learned that when mom and dad say "no," we mean it. We mean it bad. Of course, nothing breaks my heart than seeing her pitiful little eyes start to tear up. Fortunately, my wife appears to draw strength from the tears of the infants.

Just kidding... it really shatters her inside, too. Somewhere. Somewhere deep inside the darkest corner of her heart, I'm sure she feels bad.

Somewhere.

Seriously, she laughs.

Ear Infection?

Jennifer took Evelyn to the doctor yesterday. She's had a very high fever for the past four days and after we called the first day, they said to give it a while and if it went higher to bring her in.

So, my wife trekked up to the hospital and did just that.

We were told she's likely got the flu, but its possibly an ear infection.

These are the things, when you're excited to be a dad, you're not really thinking about. Sickness is not something you prepare for.

No, its not life threatening. It's not even a big deal. It is just something, as a dad, I look at and wish I could stop. She whimpers and cries because she's not feeling well. She hardly will eat. All I can do is hold her and wish I could relieve her of the discomfort.

I try to think of myself as a good dad. I try to live up to that. But, at times like this, I am starting to already see that there's going to be plenty of things I'll not be able to fix or change in her life. Will she someday fall off a bicycle and skin her knee? Sure. Will she play a sport and break a bone? Possibly. Will she date a loser boyfriend, make bad friends, and even worse decisions? Maybe. It seems silly that she's not even a year old and I think of these things.

But, its better to be prepared, I suppose, than run and hide when she gets older.

In the mean time, I'll take the flu, or an ear infection over the boyfriend with an I.Q. smaller than his shoe size.

Here I am!

I know I said at one point that keeping up with journals/blogs was something I struggled with. Well, if I didn't say it, then I'm saying it now. But, have no fear, for here I am, blogging once again.

I may not be updating this as often as I would like, but I will shoot for once a week.

Writer's block just destroys my brain and saps my motivation. I will do what I can to keep that from happening again.

Its not that I haven't had something to write about. Evelyn is growing like a weed. And now I get what people mean when they use that tired, old expression.

Evelyn had taken a ride on an airplane four times since my last post. The first ride was quite the adventure, and by adventure I mean "Plug your ears and hide your face, hoping nobody on the plane recognizes you when we land." Yes, we became "THAT" couple, that dares to bring their child on a plane.

We were the most hated people in some people's world for about three hours.

I used to dread those people on a plane, and now I am one. Funny how life does that to you.

Life can be a jerk.

And in a year...

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!