Book Smarts...

Recently, I went to the library to pick up a few instructional books and managed to thoroughly confuse myself. There is no shortage of books out there to educate the masses on the art of raising a baby.  Babywise, What to expect, Happiest baby, and many more of these books line the shelves, each with its own take on raising a well behaved baby.  I checked out three, no four, wanting to cover my bases.  But as I look through the mystery stained pages, I’m more convinced than ever that my baby is never going to be normal.

These books have different ways of doing one thing, sticking to a schedule.  Sleep, eat, play.  My dog does this too, but also squeeze in time to sniff the cat's  butt. (Wait, do kids do that too?)  These books stress rigid routines and schedules, and some of them are not shy about explaining the consequences if that schedule isn't followed.  I’m already quite neurotic, and if you haven’t noticed, my imagination likes to run wild.

I imagined my son after being raised on unscheduled feedings. He's left free to roam without the all important structure in his life.  Combine his mother’s stubbornness and any of my laundry list of afflictions, he will quickly become a nightmare.  A screaming demon child who lashes out because he played after sleeping, or even worse, played while eating. I'll only have myself to blame because I didn’t stick to the schedule.  What will become of him then?  The consequences could be devastating.

Somewhere there’s a lost interview with Jack the Ripper’s mother berating Mr. Ripper for not following the feeding rules or waketime.

I’m not saying this stuff doesn’t work, I’m sure it does, actually I have no idea.  But my wife has something that I don’t.  Common Sense?  Well yes, but also a motherly instinct.  As I read passages from these books to her, more often than not she’s able finish the paragraph for me, laughing as I stare at her in amazement.  It's as if there is some secret code that nobody bothered to mention to me. And I'm beginning to thing that she just might know how to take care of what’s growing inside her.

But I'll continue to read the book.  And who knows? It just may make a parent out of me yet.  That'll show her!


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A quick look at the countdown:

Looking at this makes me realize....that I need to charge my phone!

Seated...

Not long ago, my youtube searches consisted of a monkey drinking his own pee, talking dogs, sneezing cats with gas, and other high brow comedy routines. This morning however, I watched a car seat instructional video.  Oh how the times have changed...

This is all part of my personal growth I guess.  We’re nearing go time, and there is still much to do.  Our lives have changed drastically over the course of the pregnancy, and I’m sure parents will tell me that it is only just beginning.

Today I installed a car seat—no easy task by the way--what will tomorrow bring?  Soon, I’ll have changed my first diaper, buttoned up a onesie, and before I know it I’ll be out on the street holding on to the backseat of a bike, reluctant to let go as my son pedals away… 

There’s still some time before any of that happens, but if this pregnancy has taught me anything, it’s that pregnant women can be quite moody.  No wait, it’s that I do have what it takes to be a dad.  After fighting with the many levers and straps of the car seat, securing it in place while mumbling a few unfit for children words, I stepped back, feeling a sense of pride and responsibility.  I can already envision the back seat, littered with runaway cheerios and juice boxes, various toys, and other products of parent cars.  Picturing my wife pulling in to the driveway, sunglasses on with our little guy in the back, listening to kid tunes.  She’ll be a pretty hot mom. 

My emotions have ranged from ecstatic, to anxious, to…well ready I guess.  At week 35, it’s time to pack the bag and watch my phone, expecting the phone call that will change my life forever. 

I’ve done a lot of growing up in the past year, and I have a lot of growing yet to do.  I look forward to what the future and what it brings as a person, husband, and really soon, a father.  But what the heck, I’ve got time to watch that monkey one more time….

The View Has Changed...

When I was a kid, I’d sit here for hours looking at this train trestle from an overlook at our local park. As teenagers, it was a much visited place for kids drinking beer and smoking cigarettes (and still is, as evidenced by some poorly drawn graffiti). 

It seems that little has changed since the days of my youth, or for that matter my father's. My dad and his friends would go out on the trestle, some even deciding to test their fate and cross it.

Recently I took a trip down to the park.  Making my way down the old familiar path, the trestle seemed farther away, the overlook much higher.  I took a few steps back and watched a wayward pebble roll off the cliff and plunge downwards, bouncing off of the rocks below.  They really need to fence this off, I actually thought to myself, not unlike a worried grandmother. When did this happen?

When did I become mortal?  Is it age catching up with me, just the normal progression of growing older and, ahem, wiser?  Was it when I found out I was becoming a dad, my protective instincts fine tuning themselves?  Maybe it's a little bit of both.  In the many months since finding out my wife is pregnant, I've noticed that the world seems like a much more dangerous place.  Its edges much sharper, its peaks much steeper.  At times people can seem so harsh and cold.  Tragic stories seem to stay with me longer, and I begin to worry for the future.  I pay more attention to the little things these days, and as I've gotten older I've learned just how small of a piece of this enormous puzzle that I am.

My youthful exploits seem so far away, the wild nights used to bring with them excitement and thrill now seem so silly and stupid, not to mention a complete waste of time.  I'm by no means enlightened, but I look forward to mornings, enjoying a cup of coffee and a clear mind.  

Down the road, when I'm even older,the time may come when my son asks me about my younger years.  Perhaps he'll ask if I've ever broken curfew, skipped school, or maybe run from campus police through a bowling alley and spent the night in the drunk tank. I'll give him the wise and father look that I've already begun to practice, take a slow sip of coffee while I ponder his question, and say,

 "Son, have you seen your mother's tattoo?"  

Dear Simon,

I've dreamed about meeting you since the moment I learned of your existence.  And as the date draws near, I'm counting down the days until I can hold you in my arms. But for the time being, if you don’t mind, could you try to take it easy on your mother?

If you're anything like me, and your mother says you are, I’m sure you’re getting a tad bit restless as you hear all of the commotion going on the outside.  Not to mention how claustrophobic it must be getting in there.  But Mom is having quite the time with you and the number you've done on her feet, back, wrists, and pretty much everything else.  She misses her body and wants it back (I of course love her body just the way it is).

I know it’s not your fault, trust me, your mother has made it quite clear where the blame lies.  I’m glad you’re growing and active as you prepare to make your grand entrance, but maybe you could ease up on her bladder just a bit.  She’s not getting much sleep these nights, and when she does it can be a bit terrifying.  She snores and moans, sometimes speaking in tongues that frighten your father.  But this isn't about me, I usually just head down to the other room and fall into a deep, uninterrupted sleep until morning, often times receiving a cold stare from your very tired mother as I wake up refreshed and chipper.

Anyways, she’s lugged you around for so long now, and both you and her have done so well.  Soon enough, it will be my turn to share the load.  We’ll have to work together when you get home, maybe we can figure out some sort of schedule.  I'll make you a deal, if you take it easy on us, I will see to it you never have to wear some of the more hideous clothes your mother wants to dress you in.  Yeah, they're that bad...

But I’m jumping ahead; what I really wanted to address is this whole labor thing.  Let's play a game, the goal is to make this process as smooth as possible.  For your mother’s sake let's try to set some sort of smooth birthing record.  I'm sure you must have some concerns about the whole thing yourself--which you will no doubt voice once you're out--but I think if the two of you remain calm during the delivery, we will all be fine.   After all, Dad will be doing enough freaking out for everybody.

So enjoy the warm and cozy confines of the womb for the next few weeks.  I’ll enjoy these last few weeks of sleep and try to deal with your mother as the nesting stage has arrived.  I’m looking forward to our face to face in the near future, and just remember, remain calm and head for the light.  Safe travels and I’ll see you soon.

Love,

Dad

The Toy Tester...

My Dad and Stepmother recently bought a bike for a young boy through a Christmas gift program in their area.  Now my dad isn't going to give this boy a bike that doesn't work, he had to test it out to make sure it worked properly.  

As you can see, I'm sure Grandpa is very excited about testing all of Simon's future gifts to make sure they aren't defective, and I hope to carry the torch of toy tester in the coming years. But one thing is for sure, I hope that my wife and I have this much fun when we become Grandparents!

The In-Laws

My wife and I have come a long ways in the four years since I was able to talk her into a first date.  I am forever grateful that our chance encounter led to such life-changing events.  I've managed to convince her I was worth keeping, and together we’ve bought a house, gotten married, and are now preparing to bring a child into our lives.  And family has played a large role in each of these endeavors.

But back to the dating. Things were getting serious between us when she asked me to accompany her to Northern Virginia, as her parents were coming down from upstate New York and wanted to meet the guy that their daughter had told them about (and if there was time, me).  With many miles between us I had managed to delay the encounter, but now the time had come, I was going to meet the parents. 

I've never been a charming conversationalist, so I was just a bit intimidated before the meeting.  What I learned about my girlfriend's father on our 3 hour trip did not help matters. He’s not only a marine but also an avid gun collector.  Oh, that makes me feel very comfortable, is there anything else you want to tell me?  Does he have a portable water boarding device as well?  This has been great; just slow down here and I'll jump out.

She managed to keep me in the car and we arrived as scheduled in Alexandria, Va, to head up the Potomac River for a tour of George Washington’s Mount Vernon. My worrying was unfounded as they quickly made me feel like part of the family. My future mother-in-law was (and is) warm and genuine, and I immediately felt comfortable.  Meanwhile my future father-in-law, like me, enjoyed American History, which made the conversation, the meeting, and the trip all the more enjoyable. To top things off,  I saw no evidence of a torture device...

A Year later....

I was nervous again (I'm a little neurotic), anxiously preparing for another meeting with my future In-laws.  Only this time they were at my house after making the 13 hour trip down to visit their first born daughter.  I was searching for the right time (and words) to ask my future father-in-law for his daughter’s hand in marriage.  Deep breaths.

My wife and her mother went shopping, leaving the two of us on the couch watching a football game.  I waited for the perfect segue to begin my dialogue....And with that the Giants take the lead! Pete, what do you think of marriage? 

The moment never came.  I took a breath, cleared my throat and stammered into the lines that I had practiced, my voice unsteady and shaky as I powered through….your daughter means the world to me….I was hoping to uh……that you would uh…. It was truly a forgettable performance. (Or memorable for all the wrong reasons).

When I was finished, he shifted slightly while gently scratching our dog on his head (the dog never left his side when he was at the house) before saying,

“If she’ll have you then I’ll have you.”

A wave of relief rushed over me, and I was about to say something stupid or ruin our talk gushing over the moment when, with his eyes still on the game, he continued:

“That was a great catch.”

I nodded knowingly, as if to say, I hear ya, let’s not get all emotional here! Meanwhile I was smiling like an idiot. 

I'm lucky, I won the in-law lottery.  Today, geography limits our visits, but technology will keep us connected.  As the baby arrives we will be sure to Skype, facetime, and send way too many pictures via facebook and email.  I look forward to bringing our son up to the North Country to visit with his northern counterparts as well as visits from grandparents to see their daughter and grandson.  As for me, I'm just glad I didn't jump out of the car before that first meeting!

The Last Childless Christmas

Over the weekend, my wife and I headed out in search of a Christmas tree.  In recent years we settled on the convenience of The Home Depot, grabbing a tree on the way out of the store and hoping it would make it until Christmas day.

But this year, both of us were feeling a bit more in the spirit of things. So with temps nearing the 60 degree mark, we headed to Dave's Maine Christmas trees and wreaths, a roadside lot with a large selection of fresh Frazer Fir trees

Under the string of light bulbs we began our search for the perfect Christmas tree.  And I got all sentimental, (when did this happen?), realizing that this would be the last Christmas with just the two of us at home.   As a matter of fact, this year has been full of lasts.  The last childless birthday, the last childless father’s day, the last childless anniversary, the last childless everything.  

But something happened that I'm sure will not be a last.  I managed to lodge my foot squarely in my mouth.  Searching for that perfect tree, my wife rejected my choices, calling them scrawny or scrimpy, shaking her head with every candidate I presented.

She pointed to her choice, a full tree that was $10 more than the ones I had selected.  And then it happened, I called the tree fat and out of shape.  But I didn’t stop there. In a complete lapse of judgment and an absence of sanity, I continued, calling the tree pregnant.

She shot me a disparaging look, her eyebrow raised as she put together my sentences.

“Is that what you think of me, fat and out of shape?”

Oh boy.

“No honey, I didn’t mean it like that….it must have been my angle, or the lighting….I actually think this tree is beautiful, it’s radiant…..a fine looking tree….it glows really, if you ask me....I’m going to go run out into traffic….”

After letting me suffer for a moment, she laughed it off, as she is an excellent sport.  But still, I have to be more careful.  (And for the record I don’t think my wife is fat and would never, ever say so if I did.) 

Eventually we picked the perfect tree.  We loaded it up into the truck and brought it to our home to decorate, playing Christmas songs and kicking off our last childless Christmas together.  

Afterwards, we sat back and enjoyed our beautiful tree, the colorful lights sparkling as they reflected off of our childhood ornaments. And I must say, the tree is a stunning, a glowing tree that lights up our house and warms my heart, just like my pregnant--but not by any means fat--wife.

Counting Down

At 32 weeks, it’s a little late in the game to be getting cold feet, but as the weeks fly by and the due date inches closer and closer, I find myself questioning if I’m ready for all of this.  Am I cut out to be a parent?  Just the other week used the term “milking the baby”.

Before it was all fun at games, well for me at least.  My wife’s little belly started to poke out, we were playing the name game, and planning the baby shower.  But now, as the trips to the doctor are becoming more frequent, her feet swell up like cantaloupes, and her energy has been depleted, I am constantly reminded that this will be happening soon.

The other night as I watched my wife get up to pee, sit down, and then get up to pee, it suddenly occurred to me--this whole pregnancy thing has suddenly gotten really real.

I know I know, man up right?  Stop whining while your wife is doing all of the work.  Trust me, I understand that I’ve got the easy job, but I’m supposed to be the man of the house, unafraid and strong, the protector.  I'm also just a bit nervous about this whole thing.  Because as the nursery is nears completion, and my coworkers say things like Oh wait until _____ happens! I'm beginning to get a little unravelled.

I try to shake it off, everything's normal, but then I watch my wife take more pee breaks than Willie Nelson trying to pass a drug test and I realize that in the not so distant future, after the Briggs and Stratton turn into real contractions, I will be driving her to the hospital, a nervous wreck, knowing that my life will never be the same again.

The Story of the Pink Plane

At some point in the next 3-5 years I anticipate having the following discussion with my son:

“Daddy, why is the plane on the wall pink?”

Well son, it's kind of a funny story.  You see, your mother sometimes has control issues when it comes to certain things.  Mainly in the kitchen and interior design stuff.  What’s that?  Oh interior design is when you match stuff in the house.  Like if you have a brown rug, you want brown curtains, something like that. Anyway, I found this wooden plane when she was pregnant with you and I was very excited about painting it myself, sort of my own little daddy project.  I started to plan what colors I wanted to paint it, but then I made the mistake of taking your mother to Lowes with me.

"But why is it pink?"

Well son, I was going to paint your plane blue, but your mother didn’t think blue was right for the color scheme in your room.  What buddy?  Oh, a color scheme is when you match stuff in a room.  Yes, sort of like interior design...I think…but more…uhh…I uh…I don't really know son.

Anyway, to please your mother I decide to paint your plane red.  Yes, like the fire trucks that our dog Mason howls at as they go by.  Well your mother didn’t think that particular shade of red went with your criminally expensive curtains, or your outrageously priced quilt.  Outrageous?  Yes, like that bad call during the football game yesterday. What? Oh no, don’t say that second part!

So your mother gets involved with my project for you and pulls 5 shades of red that she thinks will work for the plane.  Why did we need to get paint shades for a wooden plane?  Son, you will learn that your mother can be quite….well…..it goes back to that control thing. So she has all of these shades of red and I tried to act like I was really thinking over my decision.  You’ll get the hang of that one here soon, it makes her happy if we put an effort and appear like we care about these things that we find insanely boring.  Boring?  You know, like golf.

So I painted your plane with the correct shade of red that your mother chose  yet made it appear that I chose and that is why you have a pink plane on your wall.  Think of it as a special plane; it can fly through the air yet still be fashionable. It's one of a kind and it was painted especially for you. 

"But Dad, I want a blue plane."

I'm sorry son, you’re going to have to go ask your mother for that.

In Progress...

*As you can see the plane is not pink, it actually came out more of a brick red, making both of us happy. But a pink plane makes for a much better blog post!

The Romantic

In the kitchen, my wife and I are both in pajamas.  She’s making a grilled cheese sandwich and I’m reheating Lasagna.  Nothing special, it’s Saturday night and we are both enjoying the night in. 

She’s wearing my Virginia sweatshirt and it stirs a memory from our dating days.  It was a different kitchen and different circumstances, but the same sweatshirt.  It was a Saturday night and our relationship was new and promising.  Good friends were visiting and we were enjoying drinks, conversation and most of all, each other’s company.  The sparks were flying as it was the start of a budding romance that was destined to change both of our lives forever.

Today, the sweatshirt is a little tighter as her belly has swelled to accommodate our son. Soon he will be here and I’ll look back and remember these little moments of passing in the kitchen.  I smile at my wife with a twinkle in my eye, the memory still fresh in my mind as I’m about to tell her how lucky I feel. We have come so far together and I look forward to what the future holds.  I lean over to kiss her on the cheek when……she passes gas. 

She’s unashamed and indifferent to the shocked look on my face.  She’s reached the point of no return; the point when caring has long since ceased to exist. If I have a problem with it I'd better get over it quickly. This is a woman fully engulfed in the dog days of pregnancy. Her wrists hurt and her back aches. Her feet are swollen gobs of puffiness and she has to pee yet again, so if I want to romanticize things I will just have to use my imagination.  

Standing Firm...

Last night my wife and I went to the nearby hospital for a tour of the maternity center.  We joined six or seven other expectant couples and in between pee breaks, we familiarized ourselves with the area. 

Our tour guide led us to the front desk, the delivery room, the recovery room, and everything in between while also going over procedures and protocols that were standard and in compliance with many regulations that I did not pay full attention to.

While in the recovery room, which was very nice and almost resembled more of a hotel room than hospital, our instructor informed us that it was here that our baby would be ready for his pictures and, for those having boys, circumcising. 

Here we go...

My wife raised her hand--or she may not have, actually I'm certain that she didn't--and asked:  

“Do both parents have to sign the consent form?”  Twelve heads whipped around towards us in unison, trying to locate the source of such an odd question.

My face, elevated from it's normal stand by shade of semi pale to an immediate code red, was now flushed and broadcasted what could be described as a pleasant scowl.

“Uh, no just one.”  The instructor answered, her tone pleasant and neutral.

This did little to mitigate my wife's concern, as she looked back at me with helpless resignation, as if she were touring a puppy mill.  I stood stoically behind her, attempting to put forth the look of the strong silent type, praying silently that she wouldn't start her tangent about mutilation and cruelty.

“I think nearly 90% of parents opt for the circumcision.” The instructor went on,  but this did little to satisfy my wife.  She mumbled something to the effect of not in Africa, which I didn’t understand nor acknowledge because I didn’t feel like having this ongoing debate in front of an audience.

And it has been a debate.  This is the only decision I have been adamant about.  My wife thinks it’s cruel and will cause unnecessary harm to our son.  I counter by telling her that I’m the expert in this department.  I don’t remember it, it’s done quickly and then it’s over with.

For those who aren’t circumcised or have elected not to circumcise their sons, that is fine too.  This just happens to be the one thing I request, and I don't feel that it's too much.

My wife finally let it pass, and we continued the short tour without incident.  I’m sure that this won’t be the first time we don’t see eye to eye on decisions for our son, and I’m sure she will more often than not get her way.