Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Joseph about to crawl
As I processed this video from the camera, Joe was all over the place. He's the fastest crawler I've ever seen. So, this video is a bit dated (October 2008 sometime). Nonetheless, here's the last video of him before he could crawl:
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Joseph's first B.A.S.E. jump
It went well, actually. No broken bones, no cuts, scrapes, and just the smallest hint of a bruise.
The location: his crib. I was on the phone with Judie when it happened, yes, driving down the road. All of a sudden she starts screaming "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! I'll call you late--" and then she hung up, but not before I heard my 8-month-old son, my world, screaming in pain.
What does one do in such a situation? One drives in a straight line, stunned, imagining the most horrible things. Intruders...terrorists, no doubt...gas line rupture...building collapse...suffocating, hardening gel-like substance piped in by an evil multi-national corporation. (We've perhaps watched too much "Fringe.")
As it turned out, the little guy managed to climb over the railing of his crib, a feat we didn't expect for another month at least. Forensic analysis indicates that he probably folded himself over the rail, flopped forward, and did one complete rotation on the way down. He probably hit his head on the base of the crib, too.
Thankfully Judie called me before the road curved and I drove through a McDonalds. He was pretty PO'd, but alright. Since then his head has bounced off a variety of surfaces, and I'm pleased to see that it's made of material stronger than wood, tile, thin carpet and cabinets.
Post-script: My mom likes to tell the story, usually when trying to motivate me somehow, that I never learned how to crawl out of my crib. She'd ask me why I never tried to (so presumably I never learned to escape even after I'd developed my language skills), and I would answer, "I caaaaan't." That's been a common theme in my life.
So, good job, Joe! You've already surpassed your old man well before the one-year mark.
I might as well give it up and put on some diapers.
The location: his crib. I was on the phone with Judie when it happened, yes, driving down the road. All of a sudden she starts screaming "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! I'll call you late--" and then she hung up, but not before I heard my 8-month-old son, my world, screaming in pain.
What does one do in such a situation? One drives in a straight line, stunned, imagining the most horrible things. Intruders...terrorists, no doubt...gas line rupture...building collapse...suffocating, hardening gel-like substance piped in by an evil multi-national corporation. (We've perhaps watched too much "Fringe.")
As it turned out, the little guy managed to climb over the railing of his crib, a feat we didn't expect for another month at least. Forensic analysis indicates that he probably folded himself over the rail, flopped forward, and did one complete rotation on the way down. He probably hit his head on the base of the crib, too.
Thankfully Judie called me before the road curved and I drove through a McDonalds. He was pretty PO'd, but alright. Since then his head has bounced off a variety of surfaces, and I'm pleased to see that it's made of material stronger than wood, tile, thin carpet and cabinets.
Post-script: My mom likes to tell the story, usually when trying to motivate me somehow, that I never learned how to crawl out of my crib. She'd ask me why I never tried to (so presumably I never learned to escape even after I'd developed my language skills), and I would answer, "I caaaaan't." That's been a common theme in my life.
So, good job, Joe! You've already surpassed your old man well before the one-year mark.
I might as well give it up and put on some diapers.
Friday, November 14, 2008
The Crotch Matrix
Buttons. They'll be the death of me.
That's buttons on baby pajamas, that is. I can handle a lot. I've put up with a boss whose development seems frozen at 15-years-old for two years, for example. But pajama buttons put me over the edge, particularly when the cute little guy throws cuteness out the window and sets it to "white-hot rage" at 5:30 AM.
It's not buttons per se. It's a combination of buttons, hands, kicking feet, morning sluggishness and morning blindness. Sometimes he's an angel who waits patiently while I change is diaper. But that only happens when he's wearing his PJs with the zippers. When he wears his button PJs, all hell breaks loose.
Not too long ago I'd had a pretty typical day--9 to 5 W2 job b.s., moving business-related stresses, etc. But none of that really got to me. These last few years have taught me to quit being a whiner and be a man. What I used to think of as "crises" I now think of as mere pains-in-the-butt. So, when I got home and Judie was working on dinner, she asked me to give the little guy a bath.
We had lots of splish-splashy fun, and while I got soaked, I didn't mind. Nothing is more fun than watching Joe have fun.
But when I dried him off and tried slipping him into his PJs, fun time was over. Feeling all clean and still a little bit slippery, he thought he would just jump off the changing table and take off naked down the hall. Now, he can't actually do that yet, and I'm encouraged by his fearlessness (I personally never learned how to escape my crib, I'm told), but physics is physics, kid. Newton's Laws apply to you. If you squirm your way off the changing table, you WILL brain yourself on the floor.
Anyway, I pulled out the only PJs within arm's reach because I had to hold him down on the table. They were button PJs. By now, the formerly angelic little boy is arching his back and screaming. Not "crying," as in "Please feed me" or "Please explain what is happening, Daddy," but SCREAMING. My newly robust babese translation skills interpreted these screams as (and think of "The Exorcist" here) "RELEASE ME, MEAT SACK, OR I WILL KILL YOU."
I managed to slip the PJs under him and get one arm into a sleeve before he knew what was happening. He looked me right in the eye and shouted (in his language) "How DARE you!" I snapped my fingers and said "Hey!" That usually stuns him for a second, and it did this time, so I slipped a leg into the PJs.
Joe arched his back and twisted a la "The Exorcist" again. To be completely honest, I peed my pants a little bit. It was freaky. The kid can't walk unassisted, but he can apparently levitate.
I managed to get his other arm in, and then the other leg, but I made a fatal mistake. I started buttoning the PJs from the top. I'd gotten three buttons down when he kicked both legs out of the PJs and then laughed. He LAUGHED.
Look, I love this kid beyond all expectation, but right then I could have slid him across the hardwood floor down the hall and into the living room. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction, though.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a second, and recommitted myself to the project. That's when I noticed that he'd learned a couple of other things: #1, he learned how to undo his diapers, and #2, he...how shall I put this...learned that he has a "special little toy in his pants." There he was, PJs half off diaper askew, grabbing "little Joe," a huge smile on his face.
"Uh, no, buddy," I said, unsure how to proceed. This was a conversation I expected to have with him in, oh, about twelve years. Now I've got to give him a course in Theology of the Body before he reaches his first birthday?
I grabbed his "business hand," and flung it away. He didn't react well to handus interruptus, so I double-timed it. Have you ever had to put a diaper on an infant while holding his dirty, sinful hands, AND tried to put PJs on? You practically need to be Vishnu.
By now I was fighting back my own tears. I'd buttoned the top few buttons and most of the ones down the legs, but then there was "the crotch matrix." After millions of years (or thousands, depending on your reckoning) of child-rearing, it shocks me that we still have complicated button arrangements on childrens' clothing. Is this leg button supposed to connect with the crotch button? Or does it go to the other leg?
My hands weren't cooperating. Joe is bucking and twisting and screaming, and I've somehow turned two PJ legs into one big sack. It looked like he was sewn into a sleeping bag with two little footies at the bottom. No, that wasn't right, I thought. So, I popped them all off and started over. This time I managed to connect a mid-leg button to a belly button area button.
Can I say "button" one more time???
That's when Judie came in. "Need me to take over?" she asked.
Without a word I let go of the bunched up fabric and baby in my hand and headed off toward the liquor cabinet.
So, that's my life. Defeated by the crotch matrix.
That's buttons on baby pajamas, that is. I can handle a lot. I've put up with a boss whose development seems frozen at 15-years-old for two years, for example. But pajama buttons put me over the edge, particularly when the cute little guy throws cuteness out the window and sets it to "white-hot rage" at 5:30 AM.
It's not buttons per se. It's a combination of buttons, hands, kicking feet, morning sluggishness and morning blindness. Sometimes he's an angel who waits patiently while I change is diaper. But that only happens when he's wearing his PJs with the zippers. When he wears his button PJs, all hell breaks loose.
Not too long ago I'd had a pretty typical day--9 to 5 W2 job b.s., moving business-related stresses, etc. But none of that really got to me. These last few years have taught me to quit being a whiner and be a man. What I used to think of as "crises" I now think of as mere pains-in-the-butt. So, when I got home and Judie was working on dinner, she asked me to give the little guy a bath.
We had lots of splish-splashy fun, and while I got soaked, I didn't mind. Nothing is more fun than watching Joe have fun.
But when I dried him off and tried slipping him into his PJs, fun time was over. Feeling all clean and still a little bit slippery, he thought he would just jump off the changing table and take off naked down the hall. Now, he can't actually do that yet, and I'm encouraged by his fearlessness (I personally never learned how to escape my crib, I'm told), but physics is physics, kid. Newton's Laws apply to you. If you squirm your way off the changing table, you WILL brain yourself on the floor.
Anyway, I pulled out the only PJs within arm's reach because I had to hold him down on the table. They were button PJs. By now, the formerly angelic little boy is arching his back and screaming. Not "crying," as in "Please feed me" or "Please explain what is happening, Daddy," but SCREAMING. My newly robust babese translation skills interpreted these screams as (and think of "The Exorcist" here) "RELEASE ME, MEAT SACK, OR I WILL KILL YOU."
I managed to slip the PJs under him and get one arm into a sleeve before he knew what was happening. He looked me right in the eye and shouted (in his language) "How DARE you!" I snapped my fingers and said "Hey!" That usually stuns him for a second, and it did this time, so I slipped a leg into the PJs.
Joe arched his back and twisted a la "The Exorcist" again. To be completely honest, I peed my pants a little bit. It was freaky. The kid can't walk unassisted, but he can apparently levitate.
I managed to get his other arm in, and then the other leg, but I made a fatal mistake. I started buttoning the PJs from the top. I'd gotten three buttons down when he kicked both legs out of the PJs and then laughed. He LAUGHED.
Look, I love this kid beyond all expectation, but right then I could have slid him across the hardwood floor down the hall and into the living room. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction, though.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a second, and recommitted myself to the project. That's when I noticed that he'd learned a couple of other things: #1, he learned how to undo his diapers, and #2, he...how shall I put this...learned that he has a "special little toy in his pants." There he was, PJs half off diaper askew, grabbing "little Joe," a huge smile on his face.
"Uh, no, buddy," I said, unsure how to proceed. This was a conversation I expected to have with him in, oh, about twelve years. Now I've got to give him a course in Theology of the Body before he reaches his first birthday?
I grabbed his "business hand," and flung it away. He didn't react well to handus interruptus, so I double-timed it. Have you ever had to put a diaper on an infant while holding his dirty, sinful hands, AND tried to put PJs on? You practically need to be Vishnu.
By now I was fighting back my own tears. I'd buttoned the top few buttons and most of the ones down the legs, but then there was "the crotch matrix." After millions of years (or thousands, depending on your reckoning) of child-rearing, it shocks me that we still have complicated button arrangements on childrens' clothing. Is this leg button supposed to connect with the crotch button? Or does it go to the other leg?
My hands weren't cooperating. Joe is bucking and twisting and screaming, and I've somehow turned two PJ legs into one big sack. It looked like he was sewn into a sleeping bag with two little footies at the bottom. No, that wasn't right, I thought. So, I popped them all off and started over. This time I managed to connect a mid-leg button to a belly button area button.
Can I say "button" one more time???
That's when Judie came in. "Need me to take over?" she asked.
Without a word I let go of the bunched up fabric and baby in my hand and headed off toward the liquor cabinet.
So, that's my life. Defeated by the crotch matrix.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Joseph blogs
Daddy was funny yesterday. Mommy had to go to her friend's baby shower (Yay! A new friend!), so it was a guys' day out. Daddy has been wearing the same clothes since before he and Mommy got married, so that meant we had to go shopping. Daddy said that "clothes shopping with Mommy is like taking the SATs while being clubbed with baby seals," but I didn't know what that meant. I was just glad to get out of the house.
We went to some place called "Old Navy." For some reason that made me hungry, so after Daddy buckled me into my stroller I politely asked him to unbuckle and unbundle me and feed me in the back of the car. I don't know what Daddy is talking about--there's plenty of room back there, and when Daddy's legs are crushed up to his chin, it makes a nice little place for him to cradle and feed me. Daddy kept staring at a man with lots of wrinkles in his face in the car beside ours. He said "What are you looking at, Yoda?" Daddy says funny things sometimes.
Old Navy was fun. Daddy is afraid that I'll cry in public or something, so he drives the stroller really fast to make me laugh. He doesn't do that around Mommy, though, because she gets nervous and slappy.
Daddy picked out some pants and shirts in less than five minutes. That's different than Mommy. When we go shopping, we stay out ALL DAY LONG. I like shopping with Mommy because we go to lots of different stores. People look at me and say I'm cute. Mommy puts this fuzzy hat on my head because it makes people say "Awww" and "Ooooh." Daddy says the hat makes me look like a back-up dancer for New Kids on the Block, but that's cool because I AM a new kid on the block!
Daddy took me into a "changing room" and said "please, please, please work with me, buddy." I hate it when daddy begs, but I tried. Since I'm so small, though, my attention span is really short. So when Daddy took FOREVER to unbutton the first shirt he brought in there, I was sad. When I cried, Daddy started dancing all round and acting goofy. I was confused, but it was funny, so I laugh/cried. Daddy kept saying "Just another minute, just another minute," but I don't think Daddy knows how to tell time. We were in there for more than three minutes! As soon as we left the changing room I was happy again.
Then we were done. Daddy said he'd never bought so much so fast before, but he must have been grateful because he said "Thanks a lot, buddy." He said we'll probably go back to Old Navy next week when he finds out none of the clothes fit.
Yeah, right, Daddy. You go shopping once a decade.
Gotta go now. I did something in my pants and need to call the Female Care Provider, a.k.a. Mommy. Buh-bye!
We went to some place called "Old Navy." For some reason that made me hungry, so after Daddy buckled me into my stroller I politely asked him to unbuckle and unbundle me and feed me in the back of the car. I don't know what Daddy is talking about--there's plenty of room back there, and when Daddy's legs are crushed up to his chin, it makes a nice little place for him to cradle and feed me. Daddy kept staring at a man with lots of wrinkles in his face in the car beside ours. He said "What are you looking at, Yoda?" Daddy says funny things sometimes.
Old Navy was fun. Daddy is afraid that I'll cry in public or something, so he drives the stroller really fast to make me laugh. He doesn't do that around Mommy, though, because she gets nervous and slappy.
Daddy picked out some pants and shirts in less than five minutes. That's different than Mommy. When we go shopping, we stay out ALL DAY LONG. I like shopping with Mommy because we go to lots of different stores. People look at me and say I'm cute. Mommy puts this fuzzy hat on my head because it makes people say "Awww" and "Ooooh." Daddy says the hat makes me look like a back-up dancer for New Kids on the Block, but that's cool because I AM a new kid on the block!
Daddy took me into a "changing room" and said "please, please, please work with me, buddy." I hate it when daddy begs, but I tried. Since I'm so small, though, my attention span is really short. So when Daddy took FOREVER to unbutton the first shirt he brought in there, I was sad. When I cried, Daddy started dancing all round and acting goofy. I was confused, but it was funny, so I laugh/cried. Daddy kept saying "Just another minute, just another minute," but I don't think Daddy knows how to tell time. We were in there for more than three minutes! As soon as we left the changing room I was happy again.
Then we were done. Daddy said he'd never bought so much so fast before, but he must have been grateful because he said "Thanks a lot, buddy." He said we'll probably go back to Old Navy next week when he finds out none of the clothes fit.
Yeah, right, Daddy. You go shopping once a decade.
Gotta go now. I did something in my pants and need to call the Female Care Provider, a.k.a. Mommy. Buh-bye!
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
My baby got da blues
Of all the times not to have a video camera...
Yesterday (Sunday), Joseph was being a little jerk. He was well-fed, well-cleaned and well-loved, but nothing satisfied. He whiiiiined. It isn't the worst sound I've ever heard, but prolonged exposure could easily lead to patching holes in walls. Judie has heard this whine a lot more than me, and I could tell from the way her coffee cup would shake in her hand that she was just...this...close to snapping.
We decided to go on a field trip to the zoo.
Unfortunately, I completely forgot about Life Rule #27--NEVER drive into the city on a nice, temperate Sunday afternoon. I mean, I haven't been this naive since, well, since I bought a massively overpriced condo and trusted that "it would all work out..."
I'll spare you the details because they're almost totally irrelevant, but the point is that we never found a parking spot at the zoo, and more than an hour after leaving our place, we finally gave up on Joe's first zoo experience. (Like he would have cared anyway). So, we decided to get a snack in Old Town, Alexandria and kill some time before Mass (and hopefully cool down--city driving puts me into a black rage).
So, we walked along the waterfront where the boat we used for our reception is docked. The usual cast of characters was there--skinny magician man with the child molester mustache (who makes balloon characters that make you raise an eyebrow), 17th century guitar player who can do a really good "Star Spangled Banner" with his hands, and the "Way of the Master" street evangelists who were trying a new tactic--they had a booth set up with a hand-drawn sign asking "Are you good enough to go to Heaven? Take the quiz and find out!" I've seen how Way of the Master operates--obviously nobody is good enough to go to Heaven. I was tempted to take the quiz, knowing full-well that I'm not good enough to get there on my own, and see the results. I can imagine that they'd be shocked--"This guy knows he's not good enough to go to Heaven, which means...he might go to Heaven!" Then their heads would explode and my work would be done for the day.
Wow, sorry for the tangent.
There was another guy I don't recall seeing before. He was a blues musician and he had the whole setup--dobro, drum set, harmonica. He played them all together so well even I forgot about my dignity and started shucking and jiving against my own will. Hey--it was sunny, warm, on the water, with my beautiful wife and (for the moment) happy son. It was a good day.
He also had a hell of a voice. I don't know how many packs a day you have to smoke to get a blues voice like that, but he should keep it up. Or double it.
We stood there with the crowd and watched a bunch of kids dance to the, well, somewhat naughty song. I think it was called "I dust my broom," and well, I'm not sure what exactly that meant, but the rhythm was fine.
Joseph started dancing then. I was holding him in my arms, his back to my stomach so he could watch, and he just went wild. Arms flailing, little (powerful) legs kicking, eyes wide and focused intensely on the musician. Then he started singing. "Uhhh--ooo--ah--ga--ooo---uhhh!"
I told him that was more jazzy than bluesy, but he didn't care. He was IN to it.
So, my baby got da blues. Go fig. I think I'll start calling him "Joey Fats" or something.
Yesterday (Sunday), Joseph was being a little jerk. He was well-fed, well-cleaned and well-loved, but nothing satisfied. He whiiiiined. It isn't the worst sound I've ever heard, but prolonged exposure could easily lead to patching holes in walls. Judie has heard this whine a lot more than me, and I could tell from the way her coffee cup would shake in her hand that she was just...this...close to snapping.
We decided to go on a field trip to the zoo.
Unfortunately, I completely forgot about Life Rule #27--NEVER drive into the city on a nice, temperate Sunday afternoon. I mean, I haven't been this naive since, well, since I bought a massively overpriced condo and trusted that "it would all work out..."
I'll spare you the details because they're almost totally irrelevant, but the point is that we never found a parking spot at the zoo, and more than an hour after leaving our place, we finally gave up on Joe's first zoo experience. (Like he would have cared anyway). So, we decided to get a snack in Old Town, Alexandria and kill some time before Mass (and hopefully cool down--city driving puts me into a black rage).
So, we walked along the waterfront where the boat we used for our reception is docked. The usual cast of characters was there--skinny magician man with the child molester mustache (who makes balloon characters that make you raise an eyebrow), 17th century guitar player who can do a really good "Star Spangled Banner" with his hands, and the "Way of the Master" street evangelists who were trying a new tactic--they had a booth set up with a hand-drawn sign asking "Are you good enough to go to Heaven? Take the quiz and find out!" I've seen how Way of the Master operates--obviously nobody is good enough to go to Heaven. I was tempted to take the quiz, knowing full-well that I'm not good enough to get there on my own, and see the results. I can imagine that they'd be shocked--"This guy knows he's not good enough to go to Heaven, which means...he might go to Heaven!" Then their heads would explode and my work would be done for the day.
Wow, sorry for the tangent.
There was another guy I don't recall seeing before. He was a blues musician and he had the whole setup--dobro, drum set, harmonica. He played them all together so well even I forgot about my dignity and started shucking and jiving against my own will. Hey--it was sunny, warm, on the water, with my beautiful wife and (for the moment) happy son. It was a good day.
He also had a hell of a voice. I don't know how many packs a day you have to smoke to get a blues voice like that, but he should keep it up. Or double it.
We stood there with the crowd and watched a bunch of kids dance to the, well, somewhat naughty song. I think it was called "I dust my broom," and well, I'm not sure what exactly that meant, but the rhythm was fine.
Joseph started dancing then. I was holding him in my arms, his back to my stomach so he could watch, and he just went wild. Arms flailing, little (powerful) legs kicking, eyes wide and focused intensely on the musician. Then he started singing. "Uhhh--ooo--ah--ga--ooo---uhhh!"
I told him that was more jazzy than bluesy, but he didn't care. He was IN to it.
So, my baby got da blues. Go fig. I think I'll start calling him "Joey Fats" or something.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Joe's first rollover
He's a pro at rolling over now, but here's a video from July when he did it for the first (or second) time:
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Updates coming soon!
It finally happened. I was so overwhelmed by pictures and video that the thought of processing it all for the blog was too much, and I ignored it. But I'm coming under intense pressure to update the blog, and lo, it shall come to pass. Soon. Yes, honey, really soon.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Joe's first plane ride
Heading to the folks' place in Washington State on July 3, 2008. He's probably the best traveling baby ever.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Joseph devouring his toy
I've got to say--this is a little bit scary. I've been worried about spiders eating my face in the night, but I might want to look somewhere else...
Friday, June 6, 2008
Watch those hands...
Last night Joseph grabbed a toy from Mommy's hand. It wasn't a quick or particularly coordinated grab, but it was a movement conducted with determination and will. He tried to celebrate by eating it.
Sometimes I feel like a scientist scribbling notes on a clipboard when I watch him. Or, maybe I just feel like a dad as I stare in wonder at this little, perfect creation.
Coming soon: video of him giggling at the word "zerbert."
Sometimes I feel like a scientist scribbling notes on a clipboard when I watch him. Or, maybe I just feel like a dad as I stare in wonder at this little, perfect creation.
Coming soon: video of him giggling at the word "zerbert."
Monday, June 2, 2008
His future's so bright, he's gotta wear shades...
His first words yesterday were "Where's my mojito?"
Friday, May 16, 2008
Family pictures time, everybody!
Thanks for coming by, Mom & Dad. Here are some of the pics that actually came out. My favorite is the last one where both Dad and Joseph check out for a second.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Usurper!
6:00 a.m.: whines and growls. The Boy is awake.
I drag myself out of bed, pick him up out of his cradle, and take him to the diaper changing station. He's not as cheery as he was yesterday morning. No, he just wanted that diaper off NOW, and oh, by-the-way, did you notice I've got my entire FIST in my mouth because I'm starving to DEATH?
We've got an emergency situation here. Explosion imminent.
With the diaper changed I take him back to the bedroom and ask Judie, who's as groggy as a Dartmouth boy on a Saturday morning, "A naturel, or bottle?"
"Hrngh."
Bottle it is.
I lay him down next to mommy on my side of the bed. He's arching his back and diverting all power to the vocal cords, but I think he's beginning to understand that the fastest way for me to get him a bottle is with two hands. So, he holds back for a moment.
My plan is to give him a quick injection of noms, burp him, and catch another couple of hours of sleep before my first move today. I make the bottle double-time and head back to the bedroom and...
What's this?
The little man is laid out in his little starfish sleeping position. He's like a cartoon coyote splatted on the canyon floor. Out. As in comatose. On MY side of the bed.
Well played, little one. Well played...
I drag myself out of bed, pick him up out of his cradle, and take him to the diaper changing station. He's not as cheery as he was yesterday morning. No, he just wanted that diaper off NOW, and oh, by-the-way, did you notice I've got my entire FIST in my mouth because I'm starving to DEATH?
We've got an emergency situation here. Explosion imminent.
With the diaper changed I take him back to the bedroom and ask Judie, who's as groggy as a Dartmouth boy on a Saturday morning, "A naturel, or bottle?"
"Hrngh."
Bottle it is.
I lay him down next to mommy on my side of the bed. He's arching his back and diverting all power to the vocal cords, but I think he's beginning to understand that the fastest way for me to get him a bottle is with two hands. So, he holds back for a moment.
My plan is to give him a quick injection of noms, burp him, and catch another couple of hours of sleep before my first move today. I make the bottle double-time and head back to the bedroom and...
What's this?
The little man is laid out in his little starfish sleeping position. He's like a cartoon coyote splatted on the canyon floor. Out. As in comatose. On MY side of the bed.
Well played, little one. Well played...
Friday, May 9, 2008
For the sake of comparison...
I'm amazed at how fast this kid is growing and changing. Take a look at a picture from Day 1:
Now look at Day 75. Just look, I tell you:
Next week: College graduation pictures.
Now look at Day 75. Just look, I tell you:
Next week: College graduation pictures.
It's time for another episode of "Who's the Cutest Baby in the World!"
As there are no other eligible contestants, Joseph Gordon, the reigning WTCBITW champion, will have no trouble defending his title.
Here he is in his favorite spot in the house, his changing table. Feeling fresh and clean, he flashed a few smiles which, I've found, are harder to capture on film than the Loch Ness Monster (which is totally real, by the way).
My apologies for the blurriness. He emitted a burst of cute rays which messed with the camera's charge-coupled device.
Here he is in his favorite spot in the house, his changing table. Feeling fresh and clean, he flashed a few smiles which, I've found, are harder to capture on film than the Loch Ness Monster (which is totally real, by the way).
My apologies for the blurriness. He emitted a burst of cute rays which messed with the camera's charge-coupled device.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Busted.
Here's Jude's second note. In my defense, I AM almost totally oblivious to what's going on at night. As Lord Protector of, and Provider for, the Realm, I am ashamed of this, but I've always liked to think that if someone did break in, some atavistic part of me would sense it and rise, Achilles-like, fiercely to the occasion. The following story, I think, bears this out.
+++
Joseph has almost learned to sleep consistently through the night (if
you consider 10 p.m. to 5 a.m. a full night). But very often he still
wakes at 2 a.m. for a snack and since I'm packing the food, it's no
surprise that the night shift falls to mom.
Chris must feel guilty about not helping, though, because he is
constantly saying that he doesn't even hear Joseph when he cries.
Until last night, I believed him.
What changed? At 2 a.m. as I reached for a burp cloth on the
nightstand, an eight-legged critter had gotten there first. Calmly, I
laid Joseph on the bed and whispered to Joseph in a voice so soft I almost
couldn't hear myself, "Hang on, we've got a spider situation."
At that, Chris who appeared to have been deep in dreamland, sprang to
a sitting position. His hair was wild and his eyes squinted as they
darted from the sheets to the wall to the ceiling looking for the
"spider."
Meanwhile, I picked up the cloth and disposed of Daddy's greatest
phobia -- Itsy Bitsy Spider -- all awhile shaking my head and
thinking, "You are so busted."
+++
+++
Joseph has almost learned to sleep consistently through the night (if
you consider 10 p.m. to 5 a.m. a full night). But very often he still
wakes at 2 a.m. for a snack and since I'm packing the food, it's no
surprise that the night shift falls to mom.
Chris must feel guilty about not helping, though, because he is
constantly saying that he doesn't even hear Joseph when he cries.
Until last night, I believed him.
What changed? At 2 a.m. as I reached for a burp cloth on the
nightstand, an eight-legged critter had gotten there first. Calmly, I
laid Joseph on the bed and whispered to Joseph in a voice so soft I almost
couldn't hear myself, "Hang on, we've got a spider situation."
At that, Chris who appeared to have been deep in dreamland, sprang to
a sitting position. His hair was wild and his eyes squinted as they
darted from the sheets to the wall to the ceiling looking for the
"spider."
Meanwhile, I picked up the cloth and disposed of Daddy's greatest
phobia -- Itsy Bitsy Spider -- all awhile shaking my head and
thinking, "You are so busted."
+++
Midnight Memoirs from Mommy
Here's an unexpected treat: Judie blogs! She's written two posts (I'll post the second right after this). I wonder, though, how she managed to do this. All I ever hear is how busy Joseph keeps her, and how she can't put him down for one second because he's so needy all of a sudden. But she has time for a post? Hmm. Seems like time that could best be spent making me sandwiches. ;-)
(Note: we joke like that.)
Anyway, here's what she asked to be posted to the blog:
+++
Sometimes the best pictures are never taken but remain in the mind of
the beholder. Such was the image I saw a few days ago in the dim, hazy
bedroom light at dawn.
Joseph had been awake nearly the whole night and I was beyond
exhausted. When he woke again at 6:30 a.m., my darling husband took
over so I could sleep.
"Hey, little buddy," I heard Chris say softly as he picked Joseph up
out of his cradle and left the room to change Joseph's diaper. That was the
last thing I remember until I opened my eyes again after several short
dreams.
This is when I saw it; the image that will forever be framed in my
imagination. Chris was standing over the bathroom sink face full of
shaving cream, carving smooth lines with a razor in one hand while the
other arm supported a wide-eyed baby boy who looked over his daddy's
shoulder.
Too exhausted to fetch a camera, I closed my eyes and committed the
vision to memory.
+++
Note from Chris: Of course, as a guy, I'm going to read this as an artful entreaty to get up and help more! Duly noted, honey. Duly noted.
(Note: we joke like that.)
Anyway, here's what she asked to be posted to the blog:
+++
Sometimes the best pictures are never taken but remain in the mind of
the beholder. Such was the image I saw a few days ago in the dim, hazy
bedroom light at dawn.
Joseph had been awake nearly the whole night and I was beyond
exhausted. When he woke again at 6:30 a.m., my darling husband took
over so I could sleep.
"Hey, little buddy," I heard Chris say softly as he picked Joseph up
out of his cradle and left the room to change Joseph's diaper. That was the
last thing I remember until I opened my eyes again after several short
dreams.
This is when I saw it; the image that will forever be framed in my
imagination. Chris was standing over the bathroom sink face full of
shaving cream, carving smooth lines with a razor in one hand while the
other arm supported a wide-eyed baby boy who looked over his daddy's
shoulder.
Too exhausted to fetch a camera, I closed my eyes and committed the
vision to memory.
+++
Note from Chris: Of course, as a guy, I'm going to read this as an artful entreaty to get up and help more! Duly noted, honey. Duly noted.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Joseph loves Lamp
So, my boy has a friend. His name is Lamp. Lamp stands next to the couch in the living room, and he and Joseph will carry on lengthy conversations together. Sometimes Lamp says something funny, and Joseph will laugh while staring at his skinny friend.
Judie says that babies are fascinated by the contrast between black and white. I hope this is the case, because I'm not sure what to do with this unexpected eventuality.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
Fitness is a family effort
Lately (as in, about the last five years), I've noticed a little bit of a paunch in my mid-section. In fact, it's gotten a bit alarming. When one finds himself short of breath after tying his shoes, there's a problem. Or if, on your way up your condo's stairs on your way to pick up ice cream and beer, you give yourself a sweat stain on your back, it might be time to re-evaluate some habits. I used to be able to blame it on the humidity of the mid-Atlantic region, but, uh, it's actually been very nice lately.
So, I once again resolved to get back on my bike ride routine. I'd been thinking about it for weeks, really trying to figure out why this is so damn hard. Here were some of the obstacles as I saw them:
The bike is in the closet buried under a telescope, workout ball, some shelves (another neglected project), bike rack (ironically) and Christmas supplies. Getting it out would be a major pain. Might as well just make myself a gin & tonic...
My schedule is just too chaotic. What with a 9-to-5 job, another business I'm trying to start up, and of course, a new child and still shiny new wife, I just don't have the time. Might as well order pizza and hang out with the family after work...
My prayer life has been sorely neglected. Hey--get your priorities straight! What's more important, prayer or looking good for pool-time? Since I recently started the Liturgy of the Hours, which takes up a not-insignificant amount of time, I've struggled to squeeze it in somewhere. Trying to bike on top of that? No way. I'm just going to watch a couple of shows before prayer...
And so on. I have a million of them, although very few could withstand being spoken aloud. And, I quickly discovered, eliminating TV pretty much breaks the bonds of procrastination.
The family helps, too, in loving and not-so-loving ways.
Yesterday when I got home from work I discovered my bike perched outside the front door on the partially reassembled bike rack. For a moment I wondered if I really did have powers of telekinesis. I tried another mind experiment, but when I opened the door, no, my wife wasn't scantily clad sitting atop a pile of clean, non-sequential $100 bills. Dang.
So, I laid out all of my workout clothes before I went to bed, set the alarm for 5:45, and had a man-to-man with myself.
"Self," I said, "You know and I know that there's probably a 5% chance of actual bike riding tomorrow morning, but let's at least consider this a baby step."
"Self," I replied, "That's pansy talk. You go nigh-nigh now, and I'll go find your balls."
"Fair 'nuff," I said, and hit the hay.
Approximately two hours later, someone, perhaps a third self working in collusion with my first self, reached into my guts, grabbed, twisted and pulled, leading to an extended visit to the bathroom.
"Well, self," I said, "Looks like that blows my early morning plans. There's no way I'll be able to get up and ready to ride in time. Oh well, we tried."
"We'll see about that, Nancy," Self said.
At 5AM Joseph decided that it was time for his morning binge. He's been getting a fair amount of sleep lo these last few nights, but when he wakes up he'll try to eat anything near his mouth. This morning he was particularly irrational, and he shrieked and shrieked and shrieked. 5AM slipped into 5:15AM, and despite two pillows on my head, I couldn't drown it out. (This is where I lose my Father of the Year nomination. Using the bathroom experience as an excuse, I didn't offer much (read: any) help to Judie as she wrestled with the boy.)
Finally, at 5:41, I was wide awake and out of excuses. Almost. I was teetering on the edge. I could reset the alarm for 6:30, just maybe, and save a little conscience. After all, the baby was bawling his eyes out...
"Will you take him while I go pump?" Judie asked plaintively.
Look, I love my son. I love him with a heart-aching passion whether he's crying or cooing. But at that moment I saw an opportunity, I guess, and said, "Well, I guess I'll just have to get a bike ride in this evening."
The suddenness of her response startled me. "No! Go for a bike ride! I can wait!"
Hmm...
It occurs to me that Judie, for all of her love and encouragement, may have a larger stake in my exercise than I thought. To tell the truth, it hurt a little bit.
"No, really, I can just go tonight."
"Get up and move, fatty."
And I did. I have no one to blame but myself.
***
In many ways, where we live is awesome. Lots of walking paths in the immediate vicinity, a library, movie theatre, grocery store, ample and diverse restaurants (which is part of the problem). But the biking is terrible. It's all intersections and power lines and freeways. At my last bachelor pad, one of the area's best and most challenging bike paths ran ten feet from my bedroom. However, after a little trial-and-error, I eventually found the Northwest Passage of bike paths that connected our place to the Mall and the monuments. My goal was to get to at least the Lincoln Memorial, if not the Capitol itself.
I failed. I was hauling butt, considering I haven't been on the bike in a year, but I only made it as far as the Air Force Memorial. As it happens, this was most fortuitous. You'd hardly know it from almost any vantage in the area, but the Air Force Memorial is on a slight hill, giving you a really fantastic view of D.C. and all the major architectural landmarks. The sun was just coming up over the Jefferson Memorial, and it looked a lot like (to this rabid Catholic's reckoning) a Communion Host. The Lincoln and Washington Monuments were bathed in that soft, pink glow, and in the distance you could see the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, the Washington Cathedral, the Capitol dome, and the Library of Congress.
I was the only person there, which was good because I had to put my head down and stare at the grass to keep from puking. I must have looked sad, but I wasn't. It was a perfect morning wreathed in joy.
So, I once again resolved to get back on my bike ride routine. I'd been thinking about it for weeks, really trying to figure out why this is so damn hard. Here were some of the obstacles as I saw them:
The bike is in the closet buried under a telescope, workout ball, some shelves (another neglected project), bike rack (ironically) and Christmas supplies. Getting it out would be a major pain. Might as well just make myself a gin & tonic...
My schedule is just too chaotic. What with a 9-to-5 job, another business I'm trying to start up, and of course, a new child and still shiny new wife, I just don't have the time. Might as well order pizza and hang out with the family after work...
My prayer life has been sorely neglected. Hey--get your priorities straight! What's more important, prayer or looking good for pool-time? Since I recently started the Liturgy of the Hours, which takes up a not-insignificant amount of time, I've struggled to squeeze it in somewhere. Trying to bike on top of that? No way. I'm just going to watch a couple of shows before prayer...
And so on. I have a million of them, although very few could withstand being spoken aloud. And, I quickly discovered, eliminating TV pretty much breaks the bonds of procrastination.
The family helps, too, in loving and not-so-loving ways.
Yesterday when I got home from work I discovered my bike perched outside the front door on the partially reassembled bike rack. For a moment I wondered if I really did have powers of telekinesis. I tried another mind experiment, but when I opened the door, no, my wife wasn't scantily clad sitting atop a pile of clean, non-sequential $100 bills. Dang.
So, I laid out all of my workout clothes before I went to bed, set the alarm for 5:45, and had a man-to-man with myself.
"Self," I said, "You know and I know that there's probably a 5% chance of actual bike riding tomorrow morning, but let's at least consider this a baby step."
"Self," I replied, "That's pansy talk. You go nigh-nigh now, and I'll go find your balls."
"Fair 'nuff," I said, and hit the hay.
Approximately two hours later, someone, perhaps a third self working in collusion with my first self, reached into my guts, grabbed, twisted and pulled, leading to an extended visit to the bathroom.
"Well, self," I said, "Looks like that blows my early morning plans. There's no way I'll be able to get up and ready to ride in time. Oh well, we tried."
"We'll see about that, Nancy," Self said.
At 5AM Joseph decided that it was time for his morning binge. He's been getting a fair amount of sleep lo these last few nights, but when he wakes up he'll try to eat anything near his mouth. This morning he was particularly irrational, and he shrieked and shrieked and shrieked. 5AM slipped into 5:15AM, and despite two pillows on my head, I couldn't drown it out. (This is where I lose my Father of the Year nomination. Using the bathroom experience as an excuse, I didn't offer much (read: any) help to Judie as she wrestled with the boy.)
Finally, at 5:41, I was wide awake and out of excuses. Almost. I was teetering on the edge. I could reset the alarm for 6:30, just maybe, and save a little conscience. After all, the baby was bawling his eyes out...
"Will you take him while I go pump?" Judie asked plaintively.
Look, I love my son. I love him with a heart-aching passion whether he's crying or cooing. But at that moment I saw an opportunity, I guess, and said, "Well, I guess I'll just have to get a bike ride in this evening."
The suddenness of her response startled me. "No! Go for a bike ride! I can wait!"
Hmm...
It occurs to me that Judie, for all of her love and encouragement, may have a larger stake in my exercise than I thought. To tell the truth, it hurt a little bit.
"No, really, I can just go tonight."
"Get up and move, fatty."
And I did. I have no one to blame but myself.
***
In many ways, where we live is awesome. Lots of walking paths in the immediate vicinity, a library, movie theatre, grocery store, ample and diverse restaurants (which is part of the problem). But the biking is terrible. It's all intersections and power lines and freeways. At my last bachelor pad, one of the area's best and most challenging bike paths ran ten feet from my bedroom. However, after a little trial-and-error, I eventually found the Northwest Passage of bike paths that connected our place to the Mall and the monuments. My goal was to get to at least the Lincoln Memorial, if not the Capitol itself.
I failed. I was hauling butt, considering I haven't been on the bike in a year, but I only made it as far as the Air Force Memorial. As it happens, this was most fortuitous. You'd hardly know it from almost any vantage in the area, but the Air Force Memorial is on a slight hill, giving you a really fantastic view of D.C. and all the major architectural landmarks. The sun was just coming up over the Jefferson Memorial, and it looked a lot like (to this rabid Catholic's reckoning) a Communion Host. The Lincoln and Washington Monuments were bathed in that soft, pink glow, and in the distance you could see the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, the Washington Cathedral, the Capitol dome, and the Library of Congress.
I was the only person there, which was good because I had to put my head down and stare at the grass to keep from puking. I must have looked sad, but I wasn't. It was a perfect morning wreathed in joy.
Monday, April 21, 2008
More smiles...
From now on, I'll have my camera grafted to my hand.
His earlier smiles and laughter may have been, I must admit, a bit premature. While the expressions and sounds certainly resembled smiles and laughter, poops and toots did soon follow, leading me to believe there was a causal relationship.
However, this morning as I was eating his tummy and little feets, there followed a sustained grin and expression that I can only interpret as saying "I don't know what you're doing, scratchy faced-bottle-bringing-food-dispenser, but it curiously amuses me, whatever 'amusement' is." And then he didn't poop.
His earlier smiles and laughter may have been, I must admit, a bit premature. While the expressions and sounds certainly resembled smiles and laughter, poops and toots did soon follow, leading me to believe there was a causal relationship.
However, this morning as I was eating his tummy and little feets, there followed a sustained grin and expression that I can only interpret as saying "I don't know what you're doing, scratchy faced-bottle-bringing-food-dispenser, but it curiously amuses me, whatever 'amusement' is." And then he didn't poop.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Excellent...
Joseph seems fascinated/soothed by Gregorian chant. I couldn't stomach the idea of turning on the Sunday morning shout-shows today, (even though "Meet the Press" and "Fox News Sunday" are pretty tame, compared to, say, "Hannity & Colmes") so I fired up the Gregorian chant playlist on my iPod. (Not surprising that I have one, is it?) He was fussy and hungry for a bit, but before too long he was looking around with wonder.
Daddy is very pleased.
Daddy is very pleased.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
A new saint...
Welcome to the Faith, little one...
I'll have some video up hopefully by the weekend. My friend and former fellow 8th grade CCD teacher Sarah did a great job with the camera. Unfortunately, she filmed almost the entire thing, which makes the editing job that much harder. ;-) (Thank you, Sarah, for filming it, though. I had planned to do it myself somehow, but I'm glad you volunteered. Or did we volunteer you?)
Similarly, thanks you Clayton for working the still camera.
All in all it went well. Two other babies were baptized, both girls, one of whom was a redhead. Not surprisingly, she was loud and an attention-hog. Heh. Joseph slept through most of it after eating almost four ounces of milk. He graciously opted NOT to puke or poop on my suit, and his vintage baptismal gown remained unsoiled. He was a little bit shocked when Fr. K. poured the water on his head, and unfortunately the video doesn't quite capture the comic look of alarm on his face from all three pours. It went something like: "I baptize you in the name of the Father," (gasp!) "The Son," (gawk!), "and the Holy Spirit" (ack!)
Everyone kept asking "Does this kid ever cry?"
Does this kid ever cry...
I'll have to invite them over to our place at 3AM...
Anyway, if he's happy about his new sainthood, he's not talking. Kind of same-old, same-old for him, although his appetite has increased significantly...
I'll have some video up hopefully by the weekend. My friend and former fellow 8th grade CCD teacher Sarah did a great job with the camera. Unfortunately, she filmed almost the entire thing, which makes the editing job that much harder. ;-) (Thank you, Sarah, for filming it, though. I had planned to do it myself somehow, but I'm glad you volunteered. Or did we volunteer you?)
Similarly, thanks you Clayton for working the still camera.
All in all it went well. Two other babies were baptized, both girls, one of whom was a redhead. Not surprisingly, she was loud and an attention-hog. Heh. Joseph slept through most of it after eating almost four ounces of milk. He graciously opted NOT to puke or poop on my suit, and his vintage baptismal gown remained unsoiled. He was a little bit shocked when Fr. K. poured the water on his head, and unfortunately the video doesn't quite capture the comic look of alarm on his face from all three pours. It went something like: "I baptize you in the name of the Father," (gasp!) "The Son," (gawk!), "and the Holy Spirit" (ack!)
Everyone kept asking "Does this kid ever cry?"
Does this kid ever cry...
I'll have to invite them over to our place at 3AM...
Anyway, if he's happy about his new sainthood, he's not talking. Kind of same-old, same-old for him, although his appetite has increased significantly...
First bath...and he didn't like it much...
He's since learned to be a normal boy--a fish--but the first time wasn't so great.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Pictures and video coming up...
Probably this weekend. It's an easy process, but still somewhat time-consuming.
Dear Joseph,
Just a quick note here, buddy, but could you please stop pooping on me? If you find this request too burdensome, could you please wait until I get the new diaper on you?
Thanks much,
Dad
Thanks much,
Dad
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Joseph's first laugh
Just got a call from Judie--Joseph went into a milk coma after his third or fifth bender of the day, but he started laughing in the middle of his sleep. Judie cooed at him and he kept rumbling a little. Everyone say it with me:
"Awwwwwww."
I wonder if there's any significance in the fact that he got giggly at 4:20. Hmmm...
"Awwwwwww."
I wonder if there's any significance in the fact that he got giggly at 4:20. Hmmm...
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Joseph's First Smile
Remember this date: 3.16.08.
The day our little boy woke up in my arms and smiled--smiled so big and bright I thought the sun rose in my living room.
Excuse me while I go thank God for 12 hours or so for this child...
The day our little boy woke up in my arms and smiled--smiled so big and bright I thought the sun rose in my living room.
Excuse me while I go thank God for 12 hours or so for this child...
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
I'm teaching my son to be a coffee-drinking capitalist
Yes, there's an advertisement at the top of the page. That's for Mystic Monk Coffee, which I've tried and can wholeheartedly endorse. It easily replaces our usual Starbucks addiction, and its underlying ideology is far more enlightening. ;-)
Plus, if you click on the banner and end up buying a bag (or anything there), a portion of that goes right back to me! So, please, won't you help us feed our son?
Plus, if you click on the banner and end up buying a bag (or anything there), a portion of that goes right back to me! So, please, won't you help us feed our son?
Joseph 2.0
I hope this isn't premature, but it seems we've fixed some of the bugs in the whole daytime/night-time sleeping/feeding routine. Just as we had resigned ourselves to months of an aggravating schedule of him sleeping all day long and waking up at 11:00PM to cry and fuss, he seems to have settled in to a more human pattern. That's good, because I was starting to think my boss was onto something regarding that "E.T." comment.
And not only is he learning how good sleeping at night can be, he's also finally figured out the path of least resistance to a full belly. "Oooohhhh," he said to me recently, "So screaming and shaking my head WON'T fill me up faster..."
That's right, kiddo.
In fact, last night I was able to feed him with a bottle--something he hasn't traditionally gotten along with--and let mommy get some sleep. Joseph pretty much inhaled the bottle's contents, promptly burped, and fell asleep on my shoulder.
Cute days...
And not only is he learning how good sleeping at night can be, he's also finally figured out the path of least resistance to a full belly. "Oooohhhh," he said to me recently, "So screaming and shaking my head WON'T fill me up faster..."
That's right, kiddo.
In fact, last night I was able to feed him with a bottle--something he hasn't traditionally gotten along with--and let mommy get some sleep. Joseph pretty much inhaled the bottle's contents, promptly burped, and fell asleep on my shoulder.
Cute days...
Thank you, Vernon and Vicki...
For your very nice card. It was well-received, and you're in our prayers, too.
God bless,
Chris
God bless,
Chris
Monday, March 10, 2008
Yes, SIR!
I'm going through my inbox at work today, and I came across a note from the president. It says, "Your boy looks like ET. Congratulations!"
Lol. Nice.
Lol. Nice.
Few more Joseph pics...
Eventually, (sooner than later), this blog will have outlived its purpose, but in the meantime, here are a few more pics of the little guy.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Thank you...
I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who's brought things over, come by to visit, or sent us congratulatory e-mails. We're both zombies these days, and it becomes apparent (pun intended) every time we talk to outsiders that we have lost most, if not all, of our social skills this last week. So, let me just say "thank you" again for your concern and gifts. They've been a blessing.
12 Hours...
Time seems to have collapsed into a warm, taffy-like goo, so it's difficult to determine exactly how many hours I've been awake. Judging by archaeological evidence consisting of swaddling blankets, burp rags, miscellaneous cups of coffee and water bottles up to a depth of three feet in some places, I'd say that last night's crying jag lasted about twelve hours.
I might as well get used to it: I'll be saying "I just don't get my kid(s)" for the rest of my life. They're irrational. In fact, Joseph seems suicidally insane. We know he's hungry, but he does this head-shaking thing that prevents him from latching on and eating. When he does, then he starts screaming. He hasn't gotten control of his fists yet, so that's a big problem. I tried gently explaining that he can't have both the boob AND his fist in his mouth at the same time, but his response has thus far been, "I'll do it MY way, thank you very much."
It's amazing human beings have been able to survive childhood all these millenia.
Anyway, here's a fun little minute-long clip showing what we do around here at night:
I might as well get used to it: I'll be saying "I just don't get my kid(s)" for the rest of my life. They're irrational. In fact, Joseph seems suicidally insane. We know he's hungry, but he does this head-shaking thing that prevents him from latching on and eating. When he does, then he starts screaming. He hasn't gotten control of his fists yet, so that's a big problem. I tried gently explaining that he can't have both the boob AND his fist in his mouth at the same time, but his response has thus far been, "I'll do it MY way, thank you very much."
It's amazing human beings have been able to survive childhood all these millenia.
Anyway, here's a fun little minute-long clip showing what we do around here at night:
Friday, March 7, 2008
I may have a bad sense of humor, but I'm not a bad father...
...at least not yet. I haven't had time to really screw him up yet, although he seems pretty traumatized by the fact that I had the gall to change his diaper. Not only that, I pinned him down while mommy brutally assaulted him with a damp, warm washcloth. The look in his eyes said "I thought I could trust you--you said I could!" Well, them's the breaks, kid. Around here we like our coffee sweet and our babies clean.
Where was I?
Oh yes--my son is not Satan. He's not possessed by Satan. I love him very much. He's a sweet little angel with terrible communication skills. We bear him no resentment, even now as we look down the barrel of another long night. So please, friends, no need to worry.
For those of you who've written with advice, thank you. We're trying anything and everything.
Where was I?
Oh yes--my son is not Satan. He's not possessed by Satan. I love him very much. He's a sweet little angel with terrible communication skills. We bear him no resentment, even now as we look down the barrel of another long night. So please, friends, no need to worry.
For those of you who've written with advice, thank you. We're trying anything and everything.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Reality sets in...
It's 2:30AM and my beautiful little angel has been possessed by Satan. I'm only able to write this now because Judie is taking over the futile duty of calming him down. We've tried everything--feeding, burping, changing, walking, rocking, leaving him alone. I finally had to just lay him down and walk away because while I've avoided my breaking point lo these many months and trials, a shrieking, irrational beast who's both hungry and refuses to eat may just crack me wide open. I've been told that I "will be" a good father and that I "am" a good father. I like the compliment, but right now it's all I can do to keep from putting my fist through one of those nice, thin balsa wood closet doors we have...
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Testing e-mail blogging...
Even though I'm pretty sure I'm not going to use this blog at all, I still want to know if I got this feature right.
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