Oops

Well, I forgot to post yesterday. The first chink in the armor is showing.....actually, I was taking advantage of Aidan's naptimes to get some much needed videogame time in. I find demos of games so much more satisfying now...they fit perfectly between feedings and naptimes. I did almost diaper my Xbox controller. though. Oops.

So what's new? Well, my little guy is getting stronger. We had "tummy time" (the nauseating yet universal decsriptor for the simpl act of laying a baby on his stomach) and he managed to lift his head and turn it the other way. Away from me, of course. Can you blame him? But it was really amusing to watch, because he'd get that huge noggin halfway there, and then gravity would take over and slam it into his playmat. This startled him, so he'd jerk it back up and gravity would slam it down again. Gotta give it to babies.... despite all this, and the fact that he was facedown on the mat for long stretches at a time, he didn't freak out or start crying. He was way too focused to care that it probably hurt like hell to have his little nose smashed over and over. Kind of like I'm too focused on retirement in 40 years to care that it hurts like hell to have my soul ripped out of my body every day I set foot in that prison I call "job". (Sorry, that was off topic and gratuitous. But true.)

I, of course, sat by and watched. I only intervened if I though it looked like he was going to start turning blue or something. Which he didn't, so I think that I have pretty much exceeded everyone's expectations for me as a father.

Doctor, Doctor, Give me the News....

So today was Aidan's first visit to the doctor. He was really not thrilled about getting into his carseat, but in the end cooler heads prevailed and he agreed it really was best. Or he screamed a lot and I crammed him in it anyway. Take your pick. Once we got to the doctor's office, I was surprised to see 2 things: One, there weren't a million snotty little bastions of ick running around, spreading plagues and breathing my precious little guy's air. Two, there weren't many toys at all laying around the office, and the floor was not carpeted. This made the wife and I very happy, because all those things ensure that if your kid wasn't sick when he got to the doctor, he'll emerge with SOMETHING horrible that will likely make you and he miserable for the next 24 to 48 hours. It seems like this practice knows their stuff, and appears the take patients back to wait in exam rooms rather than out front. Also, no toys means no foreign drool-- a big deal, because I hear that foreign drool poses the biggest threat to Canada's sovereignty since the introduction of mullets to their people. Where was I? Oh yeah... and no carpet means no place for dried flecks of toddler vomit for your precious little angel to lick, pick, eat, or otherwise insert into their bodies.

On to the exam. Our doc was really nice, and answered all our questions carefully while examining him; he checked out in perfect health, and gained 10oz in a week. Not too bad. She checked his hips, which was simultaneously frightening and amusing. She was whipping him about, and there were some cracking noises which, to me, sounded suspicioulsy like me biting into chicken bones. Not that I do often, but hey, it happens. It was funny because he looked like a baby Elvis on speed, a regular hunka hunka burnin' diaper. She checked his lungs, ears, eyes, etc. etc., and gave us a clean bill of health. No shots this time, thank god-- I saw the nurse at the hospital give him a shot in the thigh muscle, and the urge to smack her hard enough to create a rip in the space-time continuum was overwhelming. I'm totally not allowed to be in the room when he gets his booster shots.... the father instinct is really, really strong in me.

Or maybe I just like violence.

Anyway, Aidan is fine, we're fine, and no one got hurt. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go read my son a book (and by read I mean make up something that has nothing to do with the actual story so he yells at his mother when she tries to read him the actual book).

What just happened, exactly?

It has been the weekend of the grandparents... yesterday, my wife's mom came down, and today my parents were here. It's funny exactly how exhausting it is to have people over...not like we took them hiking or whit water rafting, but we're both conked out. And Aidan is tired too-- he's been sleeping since about 2, and it's almost 5 now. I feel like I got mugged by the yawn monster. But that's not really what today's post is about-- today's is about the change from fun-lovin' criminal to Parent, and from Parent to the all-mighty GRANDparent. It's funny.... I don't feel all that different as a parent, really. I have realized that there are some things that have changed, of course (for example, my collection of B-horror movies is gonna need to be moved, I probably shouldn't black/pass out from too many Jager bombs on the pool table anymore, and gone are the days of checking out some sassy new nubile and probably oiled-up ladies on the 'net before the wife gets home....er, not that I ever did that. Ever.) but for the most part life remains unchanged. I have more responsibilities, and someone who will probably, through no fault or poor judgement of his own, look up to me but in my mind none of this really changes how I see myself.

What REALLY changes how I see myself is when my own father calls me Dad. That kind of knocks me off guard-- the man I've looked to for advice, comfort, praise, money, and love for 27 years deserves that title. I, who have simply (though diligently) worked on not letting the baby get poop on his socks for a mere week and can be easily distracted by the slightest whiff of barbecuing dead things, most assuredly do not. I'm still busy saving Victoria's Secret catalogs in the downstairs bathroom in case they take us off the mailing list, fer chrissakes. Beyond that, when he refers to himself as Grandpa, it fully freaks my shit out. I only had one grandfather (the other passed away before I was born), and although I loved him dearly and stood in awe of his deeds and skills my entire life.....well, I only really understood what he was saying about half the time, and I can't really recall a conversation lasting more than 3 sentences with him and I alone. He was a fair bit older than my grandmother, and had a hard life, so he was kind of stooped and mumbled a lot. Not crazy- guy mumble, just slurry, quiet talking. Also, I'm not sure how much hair he had. He always had it cut really short, and it was hard to tell if it was thin in the back... he had this strange old-man mirage hair, and for my entire life I never remember seeing what I *thought* was the thin spot get any larger or more noticeable. I simply cannot picture my father like that. In fact, if ANYONE in this relationship should be stooped and mumble alot and have mirage-hair, it's me. As a matter of fact, I think I'll try that out tommorow.

Anyway, I guess that's all part of becoming a father-- realizing that your own parents will never be seen the way you see them by your children, and that someday you'll get to be the mumbling, stooped grandpa who wears the exact same green pants, green shirt, and suspenders every day of his life, and who plasters American flag stickers on everything he owns (including his chainsaw and tractor) yet inexplicalby drives only Saabs.

Man, I cannot WAIT to find my own eccentricities. I'm thinking it may involve cheese.....yeah, cheese and paperclips.......

I'm sensing a trend here...

Looking back on my time keeping this blog (a whopping 8 posts, WOW), it occurs to me that a fair amount of these posts involve poop. Somehow, somewhere, pretty much every one after Aidan was born involves poop. So, in an effort to not be repetative, I will try really, REALLY hard not to mention poop. Again.

Poop.

Dammit. Oh well, screw it. It seems like all new parents can talk about is baby poop. Go find a new parent, and check it out. I think part of that is because in the hospital they instill an understanding of exactly how important it is that you pay attention to your little angels' heavnly bowels (to ensure they're getting enough food in this critical developmental time-- I swear, everytime I see a dirty diaper the Hallelujiah choir has a musical orgasm in my head)....and part of it, well, part of it is just our sick fascination with how bodies work. To new parents, babies are the like the best science experiment ever. You threw some of your genetic material together with some of your mate's, and unlike that time in 7th grade when you put pure sodium in water and were thrown out of school pending an FBI invesigation result, this didn't blow up! In fact, it made a minature you, a tiny rapid-action food processor. Since babies are so much smaller, everything happens faster to them.... they eat, and as if by magic, 2 hours later they're making Hershey's kisses. Plus, during the time they're MAKING the aforementioned Hershey's kisses, they are unabashedly expressive about it. There's no putting on a pleasant face for polite society bull here.. feels good? They smile. This one kinda hurts? Grimace. Working hard to get that last bit out? Furrowed brow, held breath, face turns red. The best though, my absolute FAVORITE, is when they're taken unaware by a stealth poo. The expression of pure surprise is absolutely hilarious. Of course, I probably won't find this nearly so funny when my child is laughing at my exploded Depends while visiting my in the home 40 years from now.

Let's talk about something else then, ok?

I am really, really wussy.

Well, this was GOING to be a post about how really frickin' heavy babies get after you hold them for an hour or so (yeah, call me a wuss but you try cradling 8 squirming pounds that you have to constantly reposition while walking around for an hour) , but I started to write it and was interrupted by the God of Poop, Aidan. Picture this: You change the kid's diaper, and he screams and carries on. But once you're done, and he's wrapped up back in your arms, he looks at you with those angelic eyes, and smiles....and unleashes 7 more Hells into his freash diaper. The worst is you have to wait abut 5 or 10 minutes, because you KNOW there is another volley coming. Man, whatever breastfed babies save you in formula, they cost you again in diapers-- our little fecal pump here is going through like 20 a day. Of course, this only really bothers me when I'm the one who just changed him. I find it the pinacle of humor when Mom's the one getting blasted.
Another note: today he was read his first real book, "Brown Bear" by Eric Carle. I made it through the whole thing while keeping his attention....I think that is deserving of a medal. Or at least a cookie. Mmmmmmmmm, cookies. Where was I? Oh yeah, the book. It was pretty cool, seeing him focus on the pictures, and smiling at the voices. Then later, I realized that he was not smiling at the pictures so much as filling his diaper. I've started calling him "Dooder" because of his propensity for making doo-doo.....and because it's nicer that calling him "Shitbrick". I'm pretty sure that would get me yelled at.

So what have we learned today? Well, in a nutshell-- babies poop. A lot.

In retrospect, it seems an obvious lesson. Sorry to have wasted your time.

Happy Turkey-Chewin' Day!

Ah, the first in a long string of baby's first holidays....Thanksgiving. To be honest, I'm thankful for the obvious (family and friends) and nothing else-- mainly because I can't REMEMBER anything else. I seem to be walking from room to room with no real idea of why I'm there or how I got there. It's not just sleep deprivation, either... we're actually sleeping pretty well. It's more the incredible interruption of a sleep pattern, I think. During the night, it's up an hour, sleep for 2 or 3. During the day, it's pretty non-stop, with the occasional half-hour power nap thrown in. This results in some interesting juxtaposition... for example, today while putting the laundry away I found myself standing in front of the linen closet with two handfuls of underwear. I also brought a towel to the refrigerator. The up-side is that there's always something new for me to discover, just like Aidan. He found his reflection today, which entertained him for a good 15 minutes. He also found out how to pee against the laws of physics.... somehow getting his back wet but not his front. Odd. This alone will twist my tiny little mind into knots for the rest of the day. Ok, I have to run.... I think it's time to wash the soup and make some fried laundry.

Tricksy Babieses.....

So, we got Aidan home from the hospital yesterday, safe and sound. It's funny....as one friend told me, "(my son) was an angel at the hospital, and we thought 'Hey, we can do this!'. Then we got him home and he screamed for 6 weeks." He's right...babies in the hospital lull you into a false sense of security. Then, when you step foot into your happy new family home, they gurgle "Got you now, rookie beyotch."

But the first night is over, and we're all still alive, which is pretty much all I can ask for. Aidan has discovered that sucking on my pinkie is the most calming thing for him, and that kid is STRONG. I feel bad for Mom, he's sucking so hard my fingernail hurts. He has learned two new tricks: the Circle of Goo trick and the Playdough Butt trick. The Circle of Goo begins with him being hungry. That makes him mad, so he cries, which tenses his muscles, which makes him poop. That upsets him further, because now he's hungry AND has warm poop squished all over, so he cries harder and spits up. Which, of course, makes him scream even more because now his stomach is empty when he was already hungry, he's covered in poop, he's also covered in spit-up, and he's hot from crying. Good stuff. The second trick (as told to me by Mom, I was passed out elsewhere), the Playdough Butt, involves him pooping just enough to make us open his diaper. Once said diaper is removed, and while he is being cleaned, BLAM-O....poop extrusion factory. Everywhere. Old diaper, new diaper, clothes....Thank god for Oxy-Clean.

Baby Poo is better than WD40

Ok, yeah, so I have absolutely no scientific evidence to back that up, actually. I'm guessing it's not really great for cleaning things, or for lubricating things, or for any of the 1 million other uses there are for WD40. But it does have some amazing properties... I spent the whole day with mom and Aidan at the hospital today, and got to see 2 poops. First off, it's this really interesting color for the first few days. Like, shimmery-prismatic. Mostly emerald, but with hints of other, sublte tones. Second of all...it doesn't smell much... and what little smell there is is actually pretty pleasant. Of course, I have read (and am, in fact evidence of) that this goes away once they start eating solid foods.

Also, I am now a black-belt swaddle expert.... screw those cowboys who do competitive hog-tying, they have NOTHING on a pissed off newborn. Plus, with a baby you're pretty sure you're always about .2 seconds away from breaking some tiny little bone. That is, until you watch the nursery workers whip your baby around like there's a world championship couples dirty dancing contest going on.

So anyway, everyone should be home tommorow, at which point things will get REALLY interesting as I try to keep the cats from eating a) the yummy smelling new pink thing, and b) the afore-mentioned pleasant smelling poop and relevent diapers.

Holy crap. I was really, really wrong.

Well, no post yesterday because my lovely wife went into labor about 5 minutes after the PSU game ended. Spectacular timing-- unfortunatly, it was slow and we spent the night in the hospital. I'm exhausted owing mainly to my lack of anything other than a small chair to sleep in. She slept well, due to pretty little drugs and a nice bed. Delivery was spectacular, and quick-- and thus, Aidan was born! I'm already ruining his life-- I was holding him and he got hiccups, which I think means Children and Welfare Services is going to make me pass some sort of written test before I can bring him home. I's going to go pass out for about 12 hours...more later when I can think straight.

Hey! Ho! Let's...

....wait. Waiting SUCKS. I am sick of waiting for my son to pop out and say hi... every day is the day before Christmas for me, and I WANT MY PRESENT. Tommorow is the "official" due date....which is really kind of absurd, in the same way lugging out the chains on fourth down is. No one has been paying much attention to where the ball is, at least not down to the inch, so it's insane to think that because the first 1.9 cm of the football is over the line, the team obviously earned every millimeter of it.

Due-date calculations work kinda the same way. "What day did your last period start?" Uhhhhhh....Febtobuary eleventy?

So tonight I think I'm going to make the wife walk with me, in hopes of shaking something loose. Failing that, I'm going to scream insults at her stomach to try to get him p.o.'d enough to jump. Failing THAT, I'm going to drink heavily so that the universe brings him while I'm WAY too smashed to drive. My life kinda works that way, so I'm optimistic.

SSDD

Can you believe that shmuck is going to be responsible for raising a child? Anyway, nothing new to report today...still no baby, and no signs of him having an interest in sliding down the escape chute either. Instead, I thought I would post a hand-dandy little guide to allow you (the males, anyway) to see if you too are ready for fatherhood. This is taken from my upcoming never to be acutally finished or published book I'm Sorry I was a Poop Head and other Conciliatory Phrases. It details my mental state shorty before conception actually occured...about a week before, actually, if memoty serves.

Scene: Sailing along on the S.S. Domestic Bliss, just after dinner on a Thursday night. The love of my life has arrived home from work a few minutes ago, and is checking her e-mail while I play a computer game online. After a few minutes of casual “How was your day” conversation, the phone rings. Since she has just arrived home, I decide to be a shining example of everything a husband should aspire to and get the phone.

Our answering machine, like most manufactured in the last few years, picks up automatically after 4 rings. I have been meaning to see if there is any way to change that setting, but like any good twentysomething Gen X'er, I chose the path more slacked instead and never got to it.

So the phone rings once. I look to my left, to my right, and don't see it. Second ring. Time's passing, but I'm not too worried. I wasn't home the night before, and I know my parents called to talk to my wife. So I assume she put it back on the cradle because, well, she's responsible like that. Into the kitchen I saunter, whistling a happy little tune. I freeze-- the phone's not in the cradle. Third ring, and I'm getting desperate. Time is ticking and I'm no closer to wonderful wireless telecommunication.

Great battles in history are often decided before the first salvo is fired. True, there are critical junctures in most skirmishes that affect the outcome somewhat; however, it is the planning and intelligence exhibited by those in command before the field is taken that pushes one side to glorious victory.

Yeah, well that works both ways.

Since I can't find the phone, my course of action is clear-- ask my wife, nicely, where said phone is. Unfortunately, my teeny little male brain belays that order, and... “Where the hell did you put the phone?!?” I bellow. Damn it. Thaaaaat's not going to go over well. Somewhere, deep inside, I don't care. All I want at this moment in time is to find the damn phone.

“I don't know, I didn't...” she says, a bit surprised. I should probably mention that yelling from room to room is one of my pet peeves... one I'm blatantly ignoring by doing myself.

“Well, you had it last! I can't hear you! AAAAAARRRRGGHHH!!!!!!” Fourth ring. Machine picks up, and my wife comes into the kitchen, looking fairly ticked off. We both freeze to hear who is calling. It's her mom.

At this point, most sane men would apologize for losing it a little, especially if the phone call wasn't even for them. I, however, have never made a claim relating to my sanity, and instead begin throwing accusations. “Well, where is it? Where's the phone?”

She's has clearly taken all she can and/or will take, and returns my volley.

“I don't know, you probably left it somewhere! Did you look in the bedroom?” she spits at me.

“Why would it be in the bedroom? And there's no way... YOU HAD IT LAST! I know you did! You talked to my parents last night! Rawrr rawrr rawrr!!!” Ok, so that last bit I didn't actually say, but that's what it sounded like in my head. I continue bellowing as I stomp up the stairs. She follows, yelling back at me, deflecting accusations and defending my attacks on her good reputation as wonderful wife and all around best friend.

“Look, I KNOW you had the phone last, so where is the $#%#$%ing thing? God, you ALWAYS do this!”

She doesn't.

“I can never find it!”

I can usually find it pretty quickly.

“Why are you being such a poop head?” she yells at me from the bottom of the stairs. That shocks me long enough to stop moving, and I glare down the stairs at her. Slowly, I flip her the bird. And make little kissy noises with my mouth.

I have completely lost my mind.

I just flipped off my wife, the person I love more than anything in the world because I can 't find the phone. Well, thank God I had a good reason for it.

Be sure to join us for tommorow's installment, in which we check to see if you guys can handle the terror an airport riddled with children can bring.

One small step....

Well, here we go. My wife and I are expecting our first child this Saturday...and I can only imagine what my life post-birth will be like. If you're reading this you most likely know me-- so you know the hijinks and hilarity that will most likely ensue. Hopefully, I'll keep up with this once a week or so....probably more frequently as time allows. Hahahahah. Hahahah. Ha. Ha.....whew. Like I'll have time to sit in front of the computer and type....even if I did the wife would most likely do something which would ensure this would be our ONLY child. Barring anything we might purchase later from the black market, of course.

Aaaaanyway, the current situation is this: the kid, as I said, is due Saturday. Our last appointment was Monday, and as of then the little guy was still snug, not descending in to the pelvis or anything (everytime someone mentions "descending into the pelvis" I picture a fetus rappelling off of various bones I'm sure my wife doesn't really have and hitting the pelvis commando-style ready to giver hell). I'm thinking that he's gone be late....I hope not but, and I'm basing this on absolutely no medical background, if he hasn't even descended yet he's probably going to be stubborn and stay there as long as possible.

My child. Stubborn.

Who'd have thunk?