Mom is free!

Well, it happened. Maia has now had her first successful bottle from moi, meaning that once again I have demonstrated my superior ability to love and care for a child and thus assuring me at least a silver in the 2008 Daddylympics. I think my form and hold were really spot on though, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed for gold. It was kind of funny-- she's totally different than Aidan was because he just sort of calmly accepted the whole process. "What's this? Fake nipple? But there's milk, right? Cool, no worries. I'ma go back to watchin' that blob over there that I haven't figured out a name for yet." Maia, on the other hand, looked at the bottle, looked right at me, and raised her eyebrows. Like "Seriously, Father, I know you aren't Mumsy, so knock it off and get her over here." But I assured her it was ok, and dripped some milk on her lips. Then....WHAM-O, off to the races. That kid is a friggin' milk wolverine....you can seriously hear her slurping and gulping across the room, stopping occasionally to belch or grunt, catch her breath, and resume chowing down. I feel REALLY bad for the wife when she gets teeth....does anyone make Kevlar nipple-shields? Maybe I should look into that.

Random observation: I forgot how weird it is to see someone open their mouths and have just gums there...but not like old person gums, because they're all dimply from where the teeth used to be. Baby gums are all primed for eruption, and you can tell there will definitely be teeth there at some point. I dunno, it's early, I'm tired, and it amuses me. And this is my blog, dammit, so deal.

Back to our story-- so Maia is feeding well, which means Mom is free to go back out into the world for more than an hour at a time! Sunday (Sunday? Maybe it was Saturday...I have no idea) she took Aidan out for a McDonald's lunch (where apparently he burst into a rousing round "Ol' MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I...E-I-O." I'm saving you all the extra E-I-E-Is he invariably adds.) Then they went shopping together, and got some good Mommy-son quality time. Which, to be honest, was awesome for me, because as much as I love my son, chasing a two year old all the time is EXHAUSTING. Especially when he's displaying an increasing desire to be pantsless, if not diaperless, as much as possible. But I digress.... anyway, Maia and I chilled at home, and I puttered about while she slept. Eventually, I decided to play her some classical guitar music; apparently, I suck, because it woke her up and we went for round 2 of the bottle. Either that or she just despises the Baroque period in musical history. Once she had her bottle, she fell asleep on my chest and stayed that way until Mom got home. It was a pretty cool day, and I'm really looking forward to taking care of her alone for a few weeks when my wife goes back to work. As long as she doesn't do the 4-hour screaming/crying thing Aidan did, that is.

One last thing-- an update on our budding Pavaratti's musical repertoire. He now knows the classic "Little Bunny Foo-Foo", and sings it with great vigor. This is kinda weird to me, because my best friend Tom and I used to sing that every single day in first grade, much to the chagrin of our poor teacher.... everyday she'd ask what the class wanted to sing, and everyday we'd yell "FOO FOOOOOOOOO" louder and longer than the other kids, and that would in turn make them scream "FOO FOOOOOOO" until the whole class was chanting like a bloodthirsty mob outside the mad schientist's castle. It's just a little surreal that my son loves this song as much as I did...like watching myself back in the day. For whatever reason, he seems to use his dinosaur voice when he sings it, and he stomps around as though he's crushing small woodland creatures with each step. Maybe he's going to be a metal god when he grows up-- I'd kinda like to hear dueling guitars shredding along to a growled version of "Little Bunny Foo-Foo."

I'm sure he'll be huge in Japan.

Quit Deflowering my Childhood!

So far, Maia is pretty much the perfect baby. She rarely cries (other than when we change her diaper and swat at her delicate lady-bits with ice cold wipes), she spits up in small amounts and only infrequently (like when I forget she's just been fed and lay her on her back), and she's allowing us good amounts of sleep between feedings at night. I say "we", but really, as before, it's all on Mom to get that done since, despite my thousands of sincere prayers, I haven't managed to grow boobs yet. My end of that deal is to get up with Aidan everyday, regardless of when that might be, so that she can sleep in.

Which brings me to my point: What the hell is wrong with the advertising people in charge over at Nickelodeon? When we get up at the crack of dawn, I make Aidan breakfast then blearily flick on the TV and see what wondrous show from my childhood Nick is showing-- if it's Roseanne or The Cosby Show, I leave it on. Fresh Prince of Bel-Air? No thanks, never liked it. So the last few days it's been Cosby all the way, baby... I used to watch that show with my parents, on the couch, the perfect picture of American family bliss. So each episode really takes me back to my childhood, and I enjoy the feeling of tradition being passed (although Aidan rarely cares enough to watch-- he's usually playing with his train or his blocks). But the ads they have been running during these 3-4 episodes lately.... it sucks, frankly. I'm not a prude, and I like to think I'm fairly feminized, but is it REALLY necessary to have every single commercial be for some kind of product to make your hoo-hah a) less itchy, b) less...ummm...stinky, or c) less likely to keep you out of school for a week (seriously-- Always has this BS one about how girls in Africa are falling behind because they don't have money for pads and thus can't go to school. Oh Always, whatever did we do before you blessed us with your absorbency?).

What the HELL? It seriously interferes with my ability to enjoy these shows; first, I really bristle at the idea that no man alive is going to be up watching that channel at that time ever. Ever, ever, ever, ever. Second, when did it become socially acceptable to show commercials like this when the PROGRAMMING ITSELF is directed at the kids they KNOW are watching. Is someone out there seriously hoping some 5 yr old will see it and then say "Hey mom, I saw something for you... you know how you're always scratching yourself? Try THIS on for size." Might as well have commercials for "National Bleeding Hooker with AIDS and a Crack Habit Day, sponsored by Hallmark". Again, I acknowledge that these problems exist and am sensitive to them, but I don't want to have to THINK about them when I'm trying to be entertained and relive my childhood. When I was watching these show for the first time, I had no clue what a vagina was, and no idea that what I had in my pants was good for anything other than writing my name in the snow. And the idea that either one of them would at some point smell or itch, or have some kind of "discharge" probably would have sent me screaming to this hills. So please, please, PLEASE stop with the crotch-centric advertising. I'm begging here-- seriously, I don't like seeing Vagasil ads and then having my fertile little mind wonder if perhaps Clare Huxtable ever felt "un-fresh".... it makes me feel so very very dirty. The only upside to this, I suppose, is that there will definitely be yet another generation of boys calling each other douche-bags without fully comprehending what that means.

Seriously Nickelodeon, stop it. Don't make me come over there. I have cute children, and I'm not afraid to parade them in front of you to show you who you're scarring for life.

Babies 401: Advanced Neglect Parenting

The second baby to enter any house is a totally different ballgame, folks. As second time parents, we are much more relaxed about almost everything involved with Maia (except for changing diapers, and that's just me and my anti-poo-jay agenda). With Aidan, whenever he was awake I felt the need to do something with him-- anything at all even remotely resembling education. Maia? Well, last night I plopped her in her baby papa-san chair, put it up on the table, and taught her how I make pizza. I guess that's still educational, but not in the same over-the-top, learn your times tables by age 2 way I had with Aidan. Don't get me wrong; I still cuddle the crap out of this girl, and she gets more kisses than Hershey has ever made, but still.... I suppose a certain amount of self-discovery time is good for babies, to let then take in the world. Or at least the fuzzy, wobbly shapes they can see all around, since their eyesight still sucks at a week old. That being said, at least when I put her down I put a big black and white book in front of her (the first possession of Aidan's she has usurped, come to think of it-- it was a Christmas present from his Grandma) so she can develop insane ideas that the whole world is this way.

Aidan, speaking of education, is making great strides in his development. It's kinda wierd, but sometimes I listen to him, and he's like a really lovable walking science project gone astray-- you know, like when a mad scientist creates the perfect woman, but it turns out she's super intelligent and begins some crazy topless rampage of laser beams and freeze rays? Kinda like that. Because I honestly don't know where he comes up with some of this stuff; obviously, he's learning it at school, but it's the places hiss mind focuses on (or ignores) that are absolutely fascinating. Right now, he can count to 11. Not 10, not 12, but 11. He's a walking sound byte from Spinal Tap; I've tried, and it is physically impossible to get him to say the word "twelve". Just "eleven", and then he goes back (again, for no good reason) to eight. Then there's his alphabet song: "A, B, C, D, F, G, H, J, K, L, M, M, P. Q, R, S, W, X, Y, Z. Now I know my A, B, C, D..." and it repeats on an infinite loop. When I try to fill in the missing letters, he just stops and stares at me like I am seriously mentally deficient and making up letters at random.

Which, to be fair, I do sometimes. Gotta keep him on his toes, you know.

Back in Action

I'm back... with soooo much to write about. Aidan is at daycare so Mom and I can try to reclaim some semblance of sanity; the last 5 or 6 or 7 days...uh, I actually have no idea how many it's been..anyway, they have been kind of surreal. First and foremost, mucho props to all of our parents, who basically came to the rescue and played "distract the toddler" the whole time. My mother-in-law was right-- smart kids are hard, and Aidan falls into that category. As such, he's a handful with all the excitement going on, and I barely have enough energy to devote to remembering not to wet myself...so having everyone here was a HUGE help.

Let me recap: Mom went into labor sometime on the 5th...no one (including her) is really entirely sure when because she was having rumblings of contractions as early as 7:00 that morning. Let me just tell you here-- my wife is seriously badass. She not only went to work, but waited until lunch to casually amble over (seriously-- on foot) to the hospital to get checked out. Anyway, once she was there and in labor, things went fairly smoothly (other than her threatening to destroy everyone and everything unless she got an epidural NOW) until near then end. Then Maia's heart rate started to kinda go wacko, and they puttered and poked until they decided it was ok as long as Mom only laid on her right side. Which, of course, was the least comfortable position for her (by the way, once she was born the cause of this was immediately apparent-- her umbilical cord was really really short and because of it she had to be in a certain position or it would stretch, which slowed or cut off the blood flow. All highly scientifical). A few more hours, and hey pretso-- here comes Maia! I helped deliver her (in that I held one of Mom's legs up to help her push) and as a prize I got tsunami'd by what I'm going to forevermore pretend was nice, warm, sterile, plain old water. I got to cut the cord this time, too.

An aside on umbilical cords: cutting through it was much, much harder than I thought it would be. I mean, yeah, the doc told me "it's tough, squeeze hard." Yeah, right, whatever Ms. Delicate Surgeon Hands. But she was right-- even though they gave me scissors, it was kind of like sawing through a wet innertube with a butterknife. I think it would be better for all concerned if babies could be born with their own knives, or Wolverine claws, or something. And they could even give their own episiotomies that way! Head stuck? Just reach up and SNIGGITY-SNAK! Free. Mental note to self: speak with God about that.

Mom recovered quickly, and they sent us home a mere 36 hours after that. Once home, we had out first "ohmygodshe'snotbreathing" moment (she was, of course), followed by a fairly restless first night. What followed THAT was the 24 hours from hell every child is contractually bound to deliver to thier parents at least once in the first year of life. Why, you may ask? In the afternoon of the next day we had a Dr's appointment, where we were told she looked jaundiced and had to go for bloodwork...and also was losing too much weight. Nevermind that all babies lose weight and then gain it (it's just usually not as noticeable because they aren't weighed for a week following discharge) or that many breastfed babies are borderline jaundiced because they aren't crammed full of formula from the get-go. So we went for bloodwork, Aidan in tow. We got home around 7:00 PM, and soon after got a phone call form the doc telling us to go to the Children's Hospital because she was probably going to require treatment. So off we went, Aidan in tow again. To his credit, he was AWESOME-- he was so well behaved that you would have thought he was a 5 year old, especially since we were there until midnight. End result? Nada. According to the doc the next day, she had gained weight and was not jaundiced.

Lesson: Girls are DRAMA. I'm kidding, of course, but her middle name is becoming increasingly appropriate. After that, things have been smooth-- Aidan is adapting very well, which was one of our biggest worries. He's giving her her own binky when she cries, and tells her softly "It' s ok, baby Maia." He wants to hold her, and he gives her goodnight kisses. Pretty firckin' adorable really, and I wonder if he's really my son after all. I'm fairly certain I wouldn't be this well adjusted....I'd probably be trying to figure out a way to feed her to the cats or something. Then again, we have been praising him and bribing him with gifts, so.... maybe he is my kid after all. Actually, come to think of it, he must be. Last night he was singing one of his songs, but he had changed the words to be about Maia. It went (and I swear to God I'm not making this up):

"Baby Maia had a toot, E-I-E-I-O."

Sweet.

Update-- almost.

Things have been super hectic since we got home; lots going on, nothing serious or anything, just a lot of running for follow-up newborn appointments. But I will put up a large update soon, probably Monday when Aidan goes back to daycare and I have a second to breathe. Quick summary: holy crap, babies are really frickin' small and fragile, andI had totally forgotten that. Also, Maia owes me a new pair of shoes. More soon!

Back in the Saddle

Mom and Maia are home from the hospital, and all is well. Big brother Aidan is doing all kinds of precious things that I'll detail later, but right now I have to grab some Z's while I still can-- after all, since I'm not the one with the milk bar, I'm permanently on toddler detail. And THAT is some serious work.

Holy Crap!

Out of the blue, Maia Juliet was born this morning at 2:18! Everyone is happy and healthy; she was 2 weeks early, but a bouncing 7lbs 10.5 oz, and 20" long! More to follow-- off to get more coffee.