One Year of Blogging in the Books

A lot can happen in a year.

I know it is a cliché. But this has been the most life-changing year in the 46 I’ve spent on earth.

Sometimes I feel like a coked-out teenager. Other times, like a grandfather on his last legs. Always, like a contestant on the Biggest Loser, sweating through my exhaustion to make it just one more step.

I live a life of schizophrenia. Parenting has a lot of highs and lows.

My original goal for this blog when I started it one year ago was to capture Sydney’s life so she could someday look back on it and understand what she was like as a baby. Somehow, that goal morphed into providing a humorous take on parenting that every parent can relate to. Rarely are my posts specifically about Sydney and how she spent her day; they are mostly topical about experiences all parents share.

I still think Sydney will get a good idea of what her life was like. She’ll probably be embarrassed by the many mentions of poopy diapers, crying and other every-day baby experiences. Hopefully, she will laugh. I know Brooke and I both like to laugh – especially at ourselves – and I assume our daughter will be the same way.

One thing I hope she will surmise is that she was a baby who was loved and cherished beyond any words I can express in this blog.

I don’t know how long this blog will last. The posts are sporadic now. It seems like every-day life is a little more mundane after the baby is born. Wake up. Change the diaper. Feed. Play time on the floor. Play time in the Jumperoo. Change diaper. Feed. Play time…..you get the picture.

We’ve had teeth break through. We’ve had the first words. We’re waiting on the first steps. None provide enough fodder for a really funny blog post. I am not thrown into as many absurd situations (bloody delivery room, breastfeeding classes, black-tar poops, etc.) as early on. Maybe the absurdity kicks back in with walking and talking and getting out in the public. I’m sure the first playground fight will make for a good column, especially if I have to punch out a fellow father who is not controlling his bratty kid.

So, if this is the lull, it is time to reflect. What have I really learned as a first-year parent? Here we go:

·       The “you’ll-never-sleep” warnings are absolutely real. I can count on one hand the number of times I have slept more than six hours at once in the past 11 months. We were blessed with an insomniac. She wakes up at least once, and most often twice, between the hours of 9 p.m. and 7 a.m. (which is about her wake-up time). She has recently started fighting us about even going to bed at 9.

And it is better now than it has ever been for her. We used to have three or four wake ups a night.

I used to have a problem sleeping. I have an unused bottle of Zolpidem sitting on my night-stand, enticingly calling out to me for a night when there is no Sydney or work the next day. I had trouble falling asleep and trouble staying asleep. In fact, once I woke up, I was up for good. But getting up once or twice a night with Sydney has changed that. Now, I can fall asleep faster than Ann Curry’s career fell apart.

·       Children progress at their own pace. Nearly every week, my wife is ready to take our daughter to a neurologist. “The book says she should be doing this by now and she is not! There is something majorly wrong with her!” You would think someone educated and skilled in the subject of child development would know better, but when it is your own child, you tend to panic a bit.

I on the other hand, am much more nonchalant. She’ll crawl when she wants to, talk when she wants to, eat when she wants to, etc. No worries. Be happy.

I never cracked a book on baby development. The only Dr. Spock I know is that guy with the funny ears on Star Trek. My wife has all these magazines and books she reads and all it does is drive her crazy with worry. I proudly go with my gut on parenting. Call me Daddy Instinct. If she is turning blue, I check to make sure she is breathing. Other than that, it is all good.

·        Everybody is a parenting expert. We get advice from everyone. Some of it is good, mind you, and I appreciate it. But each child is different and you have to handle them differently. It is easy to say “just let her cry it out when she wakes up at night.” But after you’ve tried it once or twice, and she cries for two hours in the middle of the night, you realize that feeding her a bottle for 15 minutes and then putting her right back to sleep is a better way to keep your sanity.

Some of the people who are giving advice have done a shitty job of raising their own children. “I always gave junior a little whiskey in his bottle to help him sleep through the night. Just a touch.” And you wonder why Junior is on his third DUI arrest? If your kid is a drug user, habitual criminal, pathological liar, high school dropout or member of the Tea Party, you forfeit the right to give me parenting advice.

You’d be surprised how many older people look at us like we have no idea what we are doing. “Well, when I was raising my children back in the 1960s, we always let them sleep on their bellies, ride in the car without a car seat and we weren’t afraid to give them a good shaking if they didn’t listen.”

Yeah, sounds like a plan.

·       You can forget about your own desires. I’ve recounted my lost life here before. I like to watch a tiny bit of TV every now and then. Now, the only thing that is ever on in our house anymore is the Sprout network. I like to play a little poker, too. Not happening. Weekends with friends? Once every six months.

My life is pretty much work and Sydney. I RECENTLY added the gym to that schedule, at my wife’s pleading. Yeah, I really desire that.

My point is, there’s someone else in your life now who is far more important than you are.

·        My wife is a freaking parenting goddess. I’d be lost without her. She handles the bulk of the caregiving. She’s changed triple the number of diapers, prepared double the number of bottles, handled almost every bath and is the go-to parent when Sydney is upset. My main responsibility has been late-night feedings.

When we get a divorce, I’m going to lose custody to her because I can’t even make a good argument that I have been an equal parent. (Just trying to see if you are paying attention, honey! No plans for divorce.)

·       Poop and puke become just another normal part of your day. I’ve handled more Explosive Ass Disorder (EAD) events than a bedpan in a nursing home. Poop flies everywhere when you have a baby. The other day, I was being a little nonchalant while changing her and a turd dropped on the couch. Ho hum.

Puke is not as frequent, but it is funny how quickly you become immune to watching your daughter send everything in her stomach right back at you. We have bought special bibs that actually CATCH THE PUKE at the bottom when the texture of Sydney’s green beans are too much for her to handle. Whoever invented those things should be an absolute millionaire. I think that might be my gift for every friend who has a baby between now and the end of my life.

·       Speaking of gifts, you get a lot of them. It is unbelievable how generous people are when you have a little one on the way. Essentially, it is a free pass to ask for anything you want. How do you think I got my big-screen television? We said we needed it to watch Sydney’s home videos and some sappy relative fell for it.

Ok, I exaggerate. But believe me, I am extremely grateful that having a baby has not put me in the poor house and that is where I would be if my friends and relatives had not been so giving.

·       Mommy will always be #1. This stinks worse than an EAD, but it is true. I’m as popular as a tax increase some days. Sydney’s first instinct when she is hurt or disturbed is to yell “ma-ma.’ I think she actually says “da-da” more often, but I’m not sure it means much to her. Looking at the wall? Da-da. Looking at the dog? Da-da. Looking at the mailman? Da-da.

When she needs something, it is ma-ma.

I’m chalking it up to breastfeeding. We all know the person with the biggest breasts always wins.

·       Having a child is the greatest thing to ever happen to me. I’ve made no secret that I wasn’t hot on having children. I’m closer to the grave than the cradle and I was hoping to ease into an early retirement. Now, the chances are I will be working until I am 70. And I’ll be the grandpa-looking-dude chasing kids around the soccer field while fathers half my age let me lean on them for support so my back doesn’t give out.

My wife says I never admit when I am wrong. Brooke, I was wrong.

Sydney has brought absolute joy to my life. I think about her a hundred times a day. She’s not even out of diapers and I think about her first day of school, taking her on college visits, her career choice, being at her wedding.

Most of all, I can’t wait to get home each night and see that smile when I walk through the door. I have been to press events at the White House with two different presidents; conducted interviews inside NFL and Major League Baseball locker rooms; talked with, and written about, music and film stars. I can honestly say I have more anticipation of seeing that little girl’s smile every evening than I did any of those.

My emotions are deeper than they have ever been. There is not a day goes by that she doesn’t do something that makes me laugh out loud. I read a story about a child dying or catching a disease and I’m immediately nervous for Sydney. I see some event in the newspaper that I would previously never get caught dead at and I excitedly think, “Maybe I should take Sydney to that. She would love that.” I think about all the great events ahead in her life and fear that I won’t last to be a part of them.

Sydney, with apologies to my wife, has become the love of my life. All in one year.

If this is the lull, I will take it. It has been a hectic year. I’ve learned about baby showers, $450 strollers, crapping in the delivery room, dastardly doulas and nipple confusion. I’ve changed dozens of diapers and prepared hundreds of bottles. I laughed. I cried. I danced. I slept…well, maybe not so much.

If this is a lull, I can use the break. It might not lead to good blog fodder, but it will keep me sane.

There will be a lot of highs and lows in the future. I just pray I’m around to experience them. 

I am the Professor of Nipple Confusion

We went to another child class this week. "Happiest Baby on the Block. "

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz. Three hours I’ll never get back.

The highlight of the class happens before it even starts. All the couples are waiting and this last couple scrambles in, searching for a seat. The wife is a pretty good-looking woman. The husband is a pretty ugly man. I mean really ugly.

I look at Brooke. I know she is thinking the same thing. She’s too respectful to say anything.

“That guy is doing pretty good for himself,” I whisper. “He probably makes good money.”

She retorts: “I bet a lot of people say that about you.”

Touche.

The woman teaching the class came off as kind of a New Age baby guru. She said she teaches a “hypno-birth” class. I assume that involves hypnotizing mom so the birth goes smoothly. I’d rather have an epidural.

She said this class would be based on treating the baby’s first three months like she was still in the womb. She said a year in the womb would be better than nine months for the baby and we, as parents, need to make sure she lives her life as closely as possible to what it was like in the womb.

O…K. Although, I CAN understand why the baby might like three more months in there. Every morning, I want three more hours of sleep. I imagine the feeling is similar.

She talked about different techniques for dealing with children, not putting your baby on a schedule, ALWAYS responding to your baby when she cries and that there is no possible way to “spoil” a baby.

Yeah, right.

She’s probably the kind of mom who allows her children to run around the restaurant screaming when people are trying to eat. Wouldn’t want to hurt their little feelings.

I remember reading the same thing about puppies. “They’re too young to understand, so don’t try to train them until they are a year old.” Well, at about six months, my Vegas decided to eat the baseboard while I was at work. When I got home, he got the whipping of his life. Guess what? No more baseboard eating.

To this day, eight years later, I can walk near that spot on the baseboard and say, “Did you do that?” and he will lower his head and sulk to a corner out of my eyesight. Too young? I don’t think so.

My plan is to have my child sleeping through the night at about three weeks, potty trained before she is 2 and enrolled in early college classes by 9.

But my wife believes the baby peas and carrots Miss New Age is dishing out. She insists we will respond EVERY time the baby cries. But she once insisted we’d always eat dinner on the dining room table – the same one that now serves as her scrapbooking center while I eat my meatloaf on the couch during another King of Queens re-run.

Miss New Age also said a baby is really supposed to cry only about 30 minutes a day.

Miss New Age also said a baby is really supposed to cry only about 30 minutes a day.

Miss New Age also said a baby is really supposed to cry only about 30 minutes a day.

Maybe if you say it enough it will actually come true.  

She speaks in a monotone voice – with little interruption -- for the whole three hours. She tells us there is no such thing as colic, but then hands out a sheet with “Reasons for Colic.” Go figure.

She says a child’s cry has been proven in studies to be similar to an electric shock for parents. Good thing I am old and hard of hearing. Good luck, Brooke.

She did have some information that I found interesting. Apparently, babies like to fart. She said some of those grunts and faces they make are just them having fun cutting the cheese. Or, they are simultaneously using their stomach and anus muscles – a difficult thing for them – as they learn to poop.

Finally, Miss New Age was roping the dads into the conversation.

She did tell us that the babies actually taste and grow to like the foods the mom eats because it flows to them in the breastfeeding process. Moms have to beware of things like caffeine. I think Brooke had visions of kicking her Starbucks habit back into high gear, but those grand triple-cafe lattes will have to wait.

Good thing I am not doing the breastfeeding. Quarterly sales for the Cincinnati offices of Chipotle and Snappy Tomato Pizza would hit rock bottom if I had to cut out junk food. Or, I could just risk it and Sydney would develop an addiction to cheeseburgers before she was out of size S diapers.

Do diapers come in S, M and L?

During the class, we learned about a Dr. Karp from UCLA and his method for calming crying babies. I can’t remember all the details, but it involved wrapping your kid up in a blanket like one of those mini-hot dog appetizers you get at a party. Miss New Age said this gave the baby the security it felt in the womb.

She showed a film of this Dr. Harvey Karp in action. I swear, this guy was a child whisperer. He would take these crying, screaming kids, wrap them tight in a blanket, hold them in his arm and whisper “shhhhhh” at them for a few seconds and they would grow as happy and content as Paris Hilton in a Prada store.

This guy was amazing. But I couldn’t help wondering if this was like one of those advertisements where they show you a huge, juicy burger with colorful garnishes but when you show up to eat it you find a dry burger, about half the size, with wilted lettuce. How many babies DID NOT stop crying and never made the movie?

The class also dealt with things like nipple confusion and sleep deprivation, which Miss New Age accurately pointed out is a form of torture in many countries.

She’s really selling this whole parenthood thing.

Nipple confusion is the ONE THING I knew more about than Brooke going into this pregnancy. I had read a sliver of information on it in some humor book on pregnancy. Turns out the book was not that humorous, but it gave me a leg up on Brooke when it came to the complexity of various nipples.  

Don’t think I don’t lord this over her whenever I can.

Brooke: “Honey, we’ll have to introduce food to Sydney slowly and one at a time so we can determine food allergies.”

Me: “Sure honey, but the real key is that we don’t get her confused about your nipple, the bottle and the pacifier. This could cause her to not feed properly and she will slowly starve to death without us knowing it. Good thing I am around to tell you these things or our baby would never make it out of diapers.”

Brooke is never amused when I do this. Nor does she really appreciate my knowledge of nipple confusion.

In the end, this was another one of those classes I am not sure had great value. I think I am going to sink and swim on my own when it comes to this baby thing. Good thing I am a couch potato. Everything I really need to know about babies I am pretty sure I learned watching TV.