Single Child

Who in their right mind decides that they’re going to have a second child? Is it a decision that comes while lying in bed, thoroughly exhausted and defeated, using the lull in crying time to gather a few breaths of sleep before the next round of wailing begins? Or maybe it happens in the morning, when the eyelids have become sheets of lead due to flashes of sleep that only comes when and hour before it's time to get up?  Is that when people say, you know what, I can’t wait to do this again! 

Please, don’t get me wrong, I love my son more than life itself. I love him without compromise or conditions, and unlike I’ve ever loved anything in this world. 

But he’d better get used to dog fur. Because all of his future siblings will have it.

Since entering the crawling stage a few weeks ago, he’s slept all of 6 hours. Total. It is a sleep he fights tooth and nail. Well, I guess in his case gum and nail. He hates it and refuses to go down without a fight. He demands the boob. Oh how he loves that sweet boob. He lies beside it, resting his hand on it for safe keeping even if he’s not nursing.

I know, I know, cry it out, right? You just have to be tough. Everyone has advice in this department. But when that little guy gets to screaming I’m up. Last night we had him down. And then the dogs started barking. The next thing you know it was 12:32 and still no shut eye. I came very close to shedding tears myself...

My wife is a bit better at the tough parenting approach. But this makes sense, she and him are perhaps the two most stubborn people I’ve ever met. I’m merely caught in their clash. Last night, I rocked him for two hours, patted his butt, and then we let him have it out. He screamed like a freight train for the next few hours. And it took everything I had not to go in there and rock him, because I knew it would only start the process anew. 

When I tried to rock him, he tugged at my nose, gouged my eyes and took a swing with his tiny, drool drenched fist at my face. The baby whisperer I am not.

Meanwhile the dogs sigh heavily, wondering why I can’t get the little noise maker to quiet down. But our house is impossible to situate. Someone’s always busy. Get the baby to sleep and dogs want to play. Get the dogs settled and the cat wants to come inside. Get the cat inside and the baby’s awake. Yeah, let’s add another kid to this recipe!

In all seriousness, I wouldn't change a thing about my son.  Fatherhood is the hardest but at the same time most rewarding job of my life.  And once we get this guy sleeping through the night, which by the looks of things will be when he’s 12, I am going to enjoy the sound of ______. Yes, _______. That blank right there, that's the sound of sweet sweet quiet.  I'll bet my parents are laughing there butts off right now...

Hard Work

Air Guitar!

You know, this parenting thing is hard.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s incredible too.  It’s a blur of amazing, exhausting, demanding, and rewarding all at the same time.

One minute I’m holding a sleeping ball of love in my arms, feeling good about myself and the whole daddy thing, while the next moment I’m cringing as the ear piercing screams resume and I come under attack by tiny hands with sharp little claws.  What happened to my life?

The past seven weeks have been a challenge that has tested our levels of endurance beyond anything I imagined, and I have found patience and strength that I didn't know existed.  But I can’t take the credit, it’s Mom that’s been amazing.  She has held this operation together through it all with a mixture that is one part motherly instinct, one part gritty determination, and two part boobs.  It hasn’t exactly been a couple’s retreat at our house for the past two months, but words cannot describe the love and respect I feel for my wife. 

We were warned of the late nights, the diaper changes, the crying, the zombie-like nighttime wandering, and the feeling of waking up exhausted in the mornings.  But it cannot be fully understood until experienced firsthand.

The last couple of nights have been especially trying. As my wife put it, it seemed our baby was abducted by aliens. He’s doing much better today, and I’m sure there will be many more rough patches in the future, but we’ll get through it, we don't have a choice...  

On a high note, Daddy did get his first smile yesterday.  A real smile too, I’ve learned the difference between a I’m just crapping my pants and a hey dad smile. It makes it all worthwhile.

But one thing is for certain, this little guy is going to be an only child!

Worth it All...

Dinner is Served

The table is set and my stomach is groaning. The aroma of pasta swirls throughout the house, carrying with it the smell of fresh bread. A leafy green side salad compliments the entree as dinner promises to be delicious and fulfilling. All that's missing are the candles...

"Do you want to eat first?"

"No, you go ahead." 

Wait.  We're not about to enjoy a romantic dinner, there's no Michael Bolton playing lightly in the background.  No, that's the unmistakable sound of a baby screaming for the boob as if he were auditioning for a role in the next Rob Zombie movie. This is survival, and in order to survive we must appease him. 

We eat in shifts, one of us will scarf down a meal while the other tends to the guest, who after all, is a guest.  One who will be staying for, oh say, 18 years.  Eating is just that, eating.  Nothing else.

We are mere servants to his wishes.  My wife will be serving up breast milk while I can rest assured that after dinner I will be stripping him down and wiping his rear. 

We have to be available at all hours, on call and on the clock.  If we do a competent job, we are tipped with peace and quiet, give poor service and we will hear about it well into the night.  Our ill-mannered guest can be brutish and crude.  Belching and passing gas, he may even spit his dinner on my shirt.  Or things could get really ugly.  We could enter a meltdown.

But for all the exhaustion, for all the nightly lessons in patience, and the learn as I go errors, our little guest knows how to turn on the charm. He can melt our hearts and steal our breaths.  His peaceful sleep (when it happens) is a thing of beauty, with light murmurs and adorable grunts. In the mornings he stares up with big blue eyes, eyes that seem to say, Thanks Dad.  And that’s all it takes.  I trudge on to work knowing that it was all worth it. Because although the rewards can be few and far between, this is the best job ever.