Road Trip!

Well, it's official. We're bad parents. Now don't go looking all shocked, I'm sure some of you expected that to come out eventually. Here's the deal-- we were going a little stir crazy. One thing we have always liked to do is go shopping (any variety...clothes, groceries, window...) as a couple. It's nice to get out intot he world and see new thins and have interesting discussions while driving somewhere.

Cue Aidan. Babies aren't really supposed to go anywhere for a few months, as they build thier immune systems. Well, like I mentioned, we were going a little nuts. So the other day, we packed him up in his little HAZMAT stroller and trundled him off in the Badparent-mobile to the land of Target. Mind you, it isn't as bad as it sounds-- first of all, it was (for most of the population) the first day after Christmas back to work. Second, we went as early in the morning as we could given store hours to ensure there wouldn't be as many germ-bearing drool-zombies there. And guess what? He loved it. He was very interested in just about everything, which given his current brain size isn't all that surprising. He was asleep in the car coming and going, and while we were out he didn't cry at all.

It was pretty interesting being on the other side of the fence of parenthood-- people who stopped thier humongeous Third World country-sized strollers in the middle of aisles used to piss me off royally. But now...NOW, I'm that guy, and god help you if you say something to me about it because I will tear off your face and have my son spit-up in the open woulnd. Ya dig? Anyway, fun times. I can't wait to do it again when he can gibber incoherently at things....by then, he'll be a REAL chick magnet. Er, forget you read that last bit.

Christmas, baby!

Well, Aidan's first Christmas is over now, and it went really well. He managed to stay in the embarassingly cute reindeer outfit we got him all day, and didn't spit up on it until after everyone left. Grandma and Grandpa S came down teh day before, and had lots of fun books and a few toys for him....he slept through all of it, but were he capable of speech, he'd say he was appreciative. Grandma and Grandpa M came dowm on Christmas, and they too had some books and a couple of toys-- most noteably, his first toy chest, though. Again, he was asleep through most of it, happily squeaking once in awhile while he slept.

We, of course, got him the most stuff (which shocked me, because I know my dad, and I figured he would lose all self restraint and have to a dump truck filled with presents) and I remembered buying about half of it. So ina way, it was a surprise for me too. I can't wait for next year, when he can actually unwrap stuff. And, of course, when I get to stay up all night on Christmas eve putting together huge plastic jungle gyms, etc. etc.

Not-so-silent lucidity

Things are rolling along smoothly on the Aidan Christmas train....Grandma M is bringing down presents today in an effort to pre-stage, since I am told there is an entire other carload coming. This warning was accompanied by another, more ominous warning from Grandpa M--"Hope you have your tools ready, son". Honestly, I can't even begin to imagine what present could be bought for a one month old child which would require extensive assembly..... which is cool, because a) I like suprises, and b) whatever they bought is one thing I don't have to. Sweet.

Lately, Aidan has been showing signs of being of greater co-ordination and intelligence than your average random collection of cells. Now I fully realize that the expectation bar for a one-month old is always set pretty low, but I'm impatient and want him in the Montessori school system by 6 weeks. Last night, he was sitting in his Neglect-o-matic (the vibrating chair he sits in when we both happen to be doing something and neither has a free hand to hold him) gurgling and grunting. Not in an unpleasant way or anything, he was just testing out the ol' vocal cords. On a side note, a prolonged baby grunt is one of the funniest natural sounds you will ever hear, especially if it's accompanied by a nice trumpeting gas release. Anyway, there's a detachable arch that stuff hangs from above his body which goes with the chair; we've previously had it off because it made it difficult to put him in said chair, but since he seemed active and alert I put it on last night.

I think that was his first official interactive play time. He was still flailing his arms wildly, but when he made contact with one of the hangy-toys (all of which make noise when moved) he instantly stopped and focused on it. When the noise stopped, he started again. Lather, rinse, repeat. It was pretty cool to see, and it kept him amused for a good 15 minutes. All the while, he's grunting and making noise.

He also seems to be gaining more control of his facial muscles, another source of endless amusement. Basically, he is a little flesh parrot now. If you hold him and make a face, and he is looking at you when you do so, he more often than not will try to make the same face. Furrowed brows, surprised looks, stuck-out tongues....he has the range of Larry Olivier. The best was the look he gave me when I was showing him the light-up reindeer we have in our front lawn. I held him, told him what it was, and he swiveled his head back to look at me. I got the most unmistakable example of a "what the f#@k?" look I've ever seen. Like a "Why the hell would you put a light-up reindeer in the lawn, you insipid retard?" look. Then he sighed an buried his head in my chest.

I've trained him well.

My son the Loot Ninja

You would think that someone unable to use thier hands at all....not able to grasp anything...would have a hard time hiding objects on thier person. Well, you would be wrong. I swear, I give the child a pacifier, turn aaround, and POOF-- gone. Houdindi, Copperfield, Angel...they're amateurs. Inexplicably, I find it UNDER him. I hope he can teach me how he does this.....

Well now lookie thar, parder! I done returned!

Sorry all, for not having written in a long time. Truth is, Aidan was going through a growth spurt, and thus up constantly both day and night. The last week is all kind of a Lovecraftian haze; some parts of it, well, I'm not sure they really happened. All I know is there were strange smells and screaming and possibly tentacles. Anyway, now that our growth spurt is done, Aidan is sleeping about 5 to 5.5 hours at a time during the night. However, just like a real big person, once he's up in the morning, he's up. Nothing gettin' him back to sleep...except sleeping in our bed.

I don't mind the kid sleeping with us for a few hours, although I'm deathly afraid I'll accidentally roll on him and/or shove a blanket in his face, causing him to suffocate. I'm just happy he's cribbin' it now-- I feel more normal this way. So what's his big achievement in the time I've ben away, you might ask? Well, I'm going to have to say throwing up on me twice in a 5 minute span, and peeing himself when I was looking right at him without giving any indication he was doing so immediatly after I changed him into fresh clothes.

Other than that, things are normal.

I can't allow you to do that, Dad.

Where am I? What's going on? Who? Uhhh....cognitive systems failing... Well, Aidan had a banner day yesterday-- he managed to stay awake most of the day, keeping Mom from doing pretty much anything other than tend to him. When I got home, after fighting the rampaging hordes and marauding miscreants I call "drivers", he was still awake. And he was making it clear in no uncertain terms that he was not to be put down or left unamused for any length of time. So, while Mom ate a much deserved dinner, I wandered around playing "keep the pacifier in baby's mouth" and making up words to lullabyes I never learned properly. "Hush little baby, don't you cry, daddy's gonna buy you a ...uh....steaming pie. And if that steaming pie tastes bad, daddy's gonna...ummmm.....destroy Baghdad." And believe me, it only went downhill from there; let's just say it's a good thing the kid can't talk yet, or I would have some serious explaining to do. After this serenading, Aidan decided that I suck at singing, and started screaming for food. TAG! Mom's it.

While she was feeding him, I took the chance to do something fun. Ok, that's a lie. Actually, I did laundry. That was followed by a rousing round of "storm about and cram food into my face as quickly as possible". Then, more miscellaneous housework until he finally fell asleep. Only had about an hour of time before we trundled him off to bed...and then my enslavement to the baby moniter began anew. People who work in a corporate environment often joke about how they're slaves to thier machines (i.e. computers). Well, all I have to say to that is PISS OFF. You have no idea what being a slave to the machine is until you begin worshiping at the Baby Monitor Altar of Neverending Paranoia. I'm a light sleeper anyway, and although my survival instinct have kicked in somewhat, allowing me to sleep, the monitor still gets me. It's not the noise, really... it's more the light. We have one of the monitors that has three bars of light that come on in sequence depending on the amount of noise being made. This, of course, is utterly useless, because the thing is so sensitive that it's always on only one bar or (more frequently) full-on-Times-Square-on-New-Year's-eve-Village-People-Pink-Floyd-lazer-light-extravaganza. THAT, my friends, I cannot sleep through. The sounds, I cope with. Fluctuations in light levels sends my fight-or-flight instincts screaming into the red. And seriously, Fischer Price, WHY did you have to make the lights the color of Satan's gaping butthole? Why not a nice blue or soothing green? Gah. So everytime the damn lights go off, I am absolutely POSITIVE my little prince is throwing a clot or suffocating himself on some stuffed animal he managed to Jedi mind-trick into the crib with him.

Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love my little buddy, and fully realize that at this age he has zero control over his body and needs-- and I don't begrudge him at all for that. In fact, it's cute. But OH GOD THE LIGHTS.... I think tonight I'm going to slap some electrical tape over the display when Mom isn't looking. Cause for her, it's the noise that rouses....and much as I like driving 2 hours a day to work 10.5 hours at my job, I'm ready to give it up. The job part, I mean. Which of course, I won't, but a guy can dream....

Christmas Musings, Part II

I have definitely climbed to new heights of absurdity. Yesterday we spent like 17 hours wrapping presents for Mr. Aidan. Now mind you, the kid is barely going to be a month old at the time of their "opening", and he can't play with any of them yet. Somehow, I feel cheated by the universe. Isn't "Baby's first Christmas" the money shot for Hallmark writes everywhere? Isn't this like the Fourth of July, the Treaty of Versailles, and buy-one get-one at Dunkin' Donuts all rolled into one (don't ask, I'm hopped up on mocha syrup right now)? Well, how come my kid had to be born so close to it? Screw this, we're movin' this bad boy to like June this year. And hey, bonus-- you get ANOTHER CHRISTMAS a mere six months later. Who's with me? So whatever, he can't play with his stuff. That doesn't mean we don't follow the protocol of Christmas everywhere. First, Mom tried to weasel out of scratching off prices on the presents. Uh-uh, cheater. I made her, despite much rolling of eyes and threats of chastity. Also, I made sure about half the presents were from Santa Clause (mental note to self, don't let Aidan read this until he's about 18) and that there was at least one from the cats. Lastly, when he woke up in the middle of our wrapping Olympics (yeah, laugh...you try wrapping a f#$king plush duck that has various bits of cardboard attached around it) I made sure that his already wrapped presents were out of site, and that the ones yet to be wrapped were safely stowed in their Toys 'R Us bags. I know, I know... hey, you gotta start this stuff while they're young so that they have subconscious expectations of the best Christmas ever that you can never, ever again live up to, and so that there can be lots of tears and crying followed by lots of accusations and drinking. Heh. I mean, uh, holiday cheer and shit. Pass the *hic* Christmas pudding!

Braaaaaaaaaaains........

So on my first day off after returning back to work, I have emerged with a question: what the hell am I supposed to do with a baby who is awake for long periods of time but can't yet really *do* anything? Of course, we read to him, and I show him different things around the house, but...well, I just gotta wonder how much of it gets through to that teensy little brain. I suppose I'm already a horrible parent, but after about 45 minutes of amusing Aidan with songs I make up or stories I read, I'm praying he's ready to pass out.

Occasionally he gets this really good zombie look on, and spaces for five or ten minues. During that time, he won't follow anything with his eyes, he won't really move at all, and he won't look at me. He really looks more like he's stroking out than he is "drinking in the world" (which is how all the flower-smoking hippie childcare gurus describe it). I mean, he's happy to look at a WALL. With nothing on it-- no decorations, one solid color. If only I were amused as easily; think how much more carefree the world would be if your idea of a good time on a Friday night was to drink some milk and stare at a wall.

Speaking of drinking milk, Aidan took his first bottle today-- from moi. He had no problem with it at all, and has breast-fed since, so that's a good sign. What I did have a problem with was the bottle warmer. That thing.....man, that thing just ain't RIGHT. You plug the thing in, pour in a tiny bit of water, insert the bottle, and press a button. About a minute later, the bottle is warm. Me, not really thinking too much about how this would be possible, grabbed the bottle as soon as the light went off (indicating the bottle was ready.) Yeah, it was hot. REALLY hot. Because the way the warmer heats the bottle is by converting the water you put in it into steam, and surrounding the bottle with it. Which means the WHOLE DAMN BOTTLE feels like the surface of the sun when you remove it. Yet, the milk inside the bottle still isn't warm enough. So, wincing, you go through the whole thing again only to find the bottle is now too hot, and it must be cooled.

Super.

I think I'd be better off staring at a wall or something.

Slow Motion Time Warp

Well, it's been almost 3 weeks since Aidan was born, and I can't believe both how much and how little my life has changed. But I've already talked about that in a previous post...today I'm more interested in how much HE has changed. When we first brought him home, he was asleep most of the time and when he was awake he just kind of squinted at everything. He didn't have any control over any of his limbs or bodily functions (well, that latter bit is still true). He was swimming in his cloths and newborn diapers. Today...wow. Today, he's very bright eyed, looking around at everything and making little noises. When he wants to be picked up and no one is paying attention, he makes Ewok noises until someone comes over. When he hears my voice he won't turn his head, but he will look at me, which has got to be one of the coolest things ever. He's almost ready for the next size diaper, and some of his hats are already too small. Hell, some of his CLOTHES are almost too small. He's holding up his own head for ten or fifteen seconds at a time, and is pushing really well with his legs. He's capable of controlling his arms somewhat and has definite sleeping position preferences...and he's already able to roll onto his side. All in 3 weeks! The mind really boggles at the fact that comparing his pictures now to the ones from the hospital makes you think you're looking at a different baby. Unless of course he got switched somehow, in which case you are. But I digress.

Don't tell the doctor, but Mom took him to the grocery store yesterday. I wasn't there, so of course have no juicy details or humorous anecdotes about how he threw a can of black beans at another baby, but my imagination tells me he probably did. It's just astounding that he was not even breathing less than a month ago, and at the same time it feels like he's been in my life for an eternity. Along those lines, I'm 100% positive that there was no way he was ever actually inside my wife. He's way too big! I think someone drugged both of us and they staged the whole thing with animatronics and mirrors (well, that would explain the amount they charged out insurance, anyway).

Come to think of it, the delivering doctor did look a lot like James Avery of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air fame......

Snickiy-snak, Wolvie-berzerker Style

As I stroll along this pleasant road of fatherhood, I am coming to realize certain things about how the universe works in terms of ensuring the survival of the human species. In the book The Happiest Baby On the Block, (by the way, this book is right on for advice, but could have been condensed into a 3 page leaflet) the author mentions that human babies, when viewed against young animals in nature, are not terribly well suited to survival due to thier propensity to scream loudly when scared, hungry, sad, tired, or breathing. While this is true, the author fails to acknoledge that babies in fact posess deadly weapons with which to defend themselves, and that these weapons are always ready to destroy any piece of enemy flesh coming within swinging distance. Thier lack of coordination is not a sign of weakness, but actually a carefully honed set of movements not unlike Durnken Master kung-fu, turning the "hapless" infant into a flailing bringer of death. What are these fearsome weapons, you might wonder? None other than the mighty.....fingernails.

You might tink I'm joking, but I'm not. Beby fingernails can slice through any substance known to man. And unlike other really, really sharp objects I've have cone into contact with (and I've done so plenty of times) it really frickin' hurts when you get sliced by one of these things. Aidan was sleeping on my chest last night, and he grabbed the collar of my shirt. It was like an electric shock straight to my collarbone-- instant burning pain. I'm absolutely amazed that his face isn't a constant bleeding mess from those things... if this keeps up, he's going to be horribly disfigured by the time he's 5.

And you know, I would really love to remedy this situation by cutting his fingernails (which any sane person is probably thinking I should do)...but you know what, Mr. Smug Sane-Person? YOU try to cut'em. It's like trying to snip a single stray thread with an a-bomb. Everyone involved knows there is no way I'd going to avoid taking off something extra, like his finger up to the first knuckle. I'm seriously considering making up fake illnesses so that I can take him to the doctor to be checked out...and while I'm there, I can casually request them to give him a trim, as long as I happen to be in the area. Mom is also struggling with this, and thus far has been unable to bring herself to wield the clippers, instead preferring to very carefully..... rip them off.

How exaclty did the hospital let us leave with him again?

Argh.

Well, today marked my return to the workplace. It really....hmmm. It was....what's the word I'm looking for? It definitly...how do you say...sucked. First of all, even on a good, pre-baby day I don't want to be at work. Ever. Ever, ever, ever, frickin...ever. It's made a thousand times worse by the fact that I want to spend as much time as possible with my little heir apparent. Add to that the fact that he picked last night of all nights to stop sleeping really really well, and you get one miserable wage slave. My only consolation is that upper management pushed the panic button today in anticipation of a snow storm, and is letting us out early. Also, I mosty likely won't be coming in tommorow due to said storm. So I get another day of time with el kiddo... and I'm off Friday, which is good.

Anyway, about the baby... last night he got his first bath. He took it pretty well, honstly. Although I have to admit, the whole time he had a very confused look on his face. He was too shocked to cry or anything, and kinda tired, so I think we got lucky. We also dodged a bullet in another respect-- he didn't befoul the water with anything (which apparently is pretty common for babies to do, owing to the baby tub's womb-like atmosphere).

One other thing to mention-- you read everywhere that you have to be really careful with young babies and baths, because they're slippery. To me, that advice fell under the "No crap" category, and I promptly pushed it to the back of my mind with the other inconsequential drivel I keep on hand for a raindy day. Well folks, they're not kidding...babies, it seems don't actually have skin. Their outter layer is a coating of a near-frictionless uber-teflonlike substance. Modern science has yet to find out it's molecular composition, but this stuff is so slick it even bends light around itself. You want to be scared, try picking up a lubed infant and putting him in a towel. You touch the kid and suddenly you become uttery unable to hold ANYTHING. Also, you get the uncontrolable urge to fall down in order to minimize the impact you will cause by dropping said kid.

And the best part? You get to do it over and over and over. I'm trying to convince Mom that everyone would be better off with hand-sanitizer rubdowns, but so far, no dice.

That Magic Moment

Ah, yes. The magic moment has finally occured. Aidan's cord stump fell off. At about 2 weeks of age, that thing is finally gone. And it's about time-- it was beginning to creep me out-- I mean, seriously, how come the only time the human body can seal itself up like htt all nice and neat is when you're too young ot have any fun with it? I would LOVE to go into a bar, slam downa shot of whiskey, and roar "Check THIS out, ladies" as I stuck my own hand to the bar with a knife...only to have it heal fine a few weeks later. Ok, so maybe that wouldn't be so impressive, with the whole taking weeks thing-- hard to hold a woman's attention that long too, right? Nevermind.

Anyway, it was creepy...it got slowly more hard and black, kinda like a toenail you dropped a large piece of the universe on. Of course, up until a year ago, I didn't know babies came home with part of thier cord attached-- I believed my childhood education which told me that doctors, much like the clowns roving family-themed restraunts across the USA, just grabbed a handful of baby and whippy-cord-thingy and balloon-knotted the hell out of 'er right then and there. Noooooo, no no no no. They cut it, clamp a chunk, and hand you the baby. YOU get the fun job of swabbing the thing with nice, burny alcohol every time you change a diaper. I tried different stuff, but in the end Aidan really preferred a nice Tanqueray rub over the competition-- and he hated the rums.

So now, there's nothing more to take care of. I mean, other than the actual baby, of course. Between this thing falling off and his circumcision healing, diapering time has been cut in half. Which is nice, because between all the extra machinations we had to go through to clean and gauze-up his little peener and soaking his stump in gin...er, alcohol...he had like the baby equivalent of six light-years to drag his feet/socks through his own poo, and even more time to fire-hose us if we weren't paying attention. Plus, now he can have a real bath-- Mom insists, mainly due to his not having had anything more than a sponge bath for two weeks.

You know, just like a real guy.

Let the Holidays Begin

I didn't post yesterday due to a rather busy day-- getting holiday stuff in order (or at least beginning to), visit from a friend, another visit, this time from two friends and their toddler.... busy busy busy. Today, in constrast, has been rather mellow. I finished putting up the lights and we trimmed the tree (a.k.a. the Giant Cat Toy), all at a very slow and leisurely pace. Aidan has spent most of the day asleep after all the exciting people that were here yesterday.

It's kind of strange, preparing for his first Christmas. Logically, I know there's no whay he has a clue what's going on. We bought him presents already, and I'm sure he'll show us how much he loves them by making us one of his own and wrapping it neatly in a diaper. Nevertheless, I'm excited aboiut it. I want it to snow in the worst way, just so he can see it. Again, he won't know (or remember) what it is, but it would still be cool.

Besides, I really need to get some footage of the kid on the camcorder I bought specifically for him yet have barely used, lest I once again be accused of being impulsive by You-Know-Who.

I am a WINNER!

Yeah, that's right. I'm a winner. W-I-N-N-E-R. What did you I win, you might ask? Well, I'll tell you, loyal cyber-friends. I won a $10 giftcard to Best Buy for filling out a Verizon survey. BUT that's not the real prize..... the real prize I won was a still-living son! Yeah, you read that right... he's still alive. So what, you might retort. Well, here's what-- Mom, precious giver of life, love, and milk, went shopping today for the first time. Away from me. Away from the baby. For 2 whole hours. And I didn't kill him. HAH! Suck it, Reaper. To quote Sean Connery, "I am the man, dog." I even managed to get him back to sleep on my own, and while (as you already know, constant reader) I am a swaddle-ninja, I had him uber-blissed out and asleep deeper than Robert Downey Jr. after a bender. In short, I have just hit level 18 at the game of Dad-hood. And just because I just made that game up and have no idea how many levels there really are doesnt mean the victory tastes any less sweeeeeeet.