Half Zombie, Half Tazmanian Devil

The other day I came to work with my undershirt on backwards.

I regularly come to work with stains on my dress shirts and dried baby formula stuck to my hands.

I am daddy. I am dirty. I am disgusting.

Mornings are tougher with a baby. Hell, life is tougher with a baby. But mornings are particularly bad because you are going on less sleep than normal and trying to get a whole other person ready for their day. I’m half zombie, half Tazmanian Devil, if that is even possible.

I am waking up earlier than ever and still getting to work late.

Sydney is now falling asleep about 9 p.m. We have struggled mightily to get her into a sleeping routine. This earlier bed time is nice because we have time to ourselves before bed, but it means that her night-time wake ups start earlier. You can usually count on one at about 2 a.m. and another in between 4 a.m. and 6 a.m. So, when 6:40 comes and it is time for daddy’s shower, he is prying his eyelids open with a tire iron.

Then the sprint begins.

Shower. Shave. Brush the teeth. Dress. Wake Sydney. Change Sydney’s diaper. Dress Sydney. Start the car to warm up. Put Sydney’s bag together. Wash Sydney’s bottles and pack her formula for her day in child care. Pack my lunch. Feed Sydney her morning bottle. Gather my lunch bag, work bag, Sydney’s bag and Sydney into the car and drive to child care for drop off.  Drive to work.

If all goes well, I am there at 8:15. Only 15 minutes late.

Oh how I long for those care-free days when I could watch the first 20 minutes of the Today Show, hop in the shower after the first break and still be to work by.…8:15.

How do you veteran parents do it? I can’t imagine adding another kid in the mix or trying to prepare some sort of hot breakfast.

I guess I should feel lucky. My wife helps me. And, I haven’t yet had her throw up on me so that I have to change clothes. Nor is she cranky pants and fighting me in the morning. She’s generally pretty happy.

Things could definitely be worse. Remind me of that the next time you see me walking around with my shirt on backwards.    

My Poor Baby

I worship at the altar of the booger sucker.

Are those things great or what? Just a couple sucks with the bulb syringe and the baby’s nose is clear! Yes, the boogers are gross, but the results are worth it.

Of course, she absolutely hates it. Who the hell wouldn’t? She’s got a tiny nostril and that’s a lot of suction. You know that cylinder-shaped thingy-ma-jig on the end of your vacuum cleaner? Give that a shot and let me know how it feels.

But, in the end, we are doing her some good, right? Right?

This baby sickness thing brings a whole new meaning to the phrase, “This will hurt me more than it hurts you.” I cringe with every cough and throw my hands over my ears when I hear the congestion rumbling through her shallow breaths.

I know how miserable I am when I am sick. I can only imagine what it is like for a tiny human being who is experiencing these types of things for the first time and has no idea what they are or how she will get through them.  I would trade places with her in a hot second.

So the key is keeping her healthy. But how?

My wife is a teacher. She brings home every disease but the bubonic plague. (Actually, she had a rat in her classroom last year, so she may bring the plague home soon, too.). I work in an office building with 750 people. I imagine sicknesses jumping onto my skin every time I walk by someone.

Sydney’s at an age where everything goes in her mouth. Seriously. If you hand her a basketball, she will try to put it in her mouth. She actually gets mad and starts crying because some of the things she gets her hands on are too big to fit in her mouth.

I recently saw a story about a 3-year-old girl who ate 23 magnets. These things were tearing up her intestines and they had to operate to pull them out. They couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her and they did an x-ray and saw the magnets linked together in a circle like a necklace.

This makes me a bit fearful. I am not the most attentive dad. If you read this blog, you know about the time I became engrossed in paying bills and somehow my daughter rolled off the bed. What happens if I get caught up in an episode of Criminal Minds while Sydney is stuffing magnets in her mouth? By the way, who the hell has 23 magnets lying around their house?

Anyway, keeping her healthy is a chore when you consider all the factors. Besides my wife and I both working in germ factories, she attends child care with other kids. In close quarters like that, if one kid gets it, they are likely all going to get it.

She also has two dogs in the house who like to lick her face. Especially at feeding time, when she is likely to be covered in the baby versions of bananas, sweet potatoes or squash. That is nirvana for the puppies.

So, if we can’t keep her healthy, we have to try to make her comfortable. You are not allowed to give a baby anything for their sickness. I asked about a little Sudafed and my wife looked at me like I was crazy. “Let’s face it, if she takes that, we ALL are getting a good night’s sleep,” I said. Glare.

Someday, I am going to write a book about all the things you SHOULDN’T do with a baby. There is a best seller there for parents like me who are afraid of killing their child. MAKE SURE YOU WASH YOUR BOTTLES WELL BECAUSE BAD OR OLD FORMULA IS DANGEROUS or SIT YOUR BABY BACKWARDS IN THE CAR SEAT TO PROTECT THEM or DON’T FEED YOUR BABY A FOOT-LONG CHILI DOG FOR DINNER.

One of the things we do when Sydney is sick is squirt saline up her nose. Saline is salt water. Ever heard the saying, “Don’t rub salt in my wound”? That is because salt BURNS an open wound. We use this stuff to eat away sidewalk ice, for god’s sakes. Yet, the doctors suggest squirting salt up your baby’s nose?

Between that and the booger sucker, Sydney’s nose gets a hell of a workout.

One day, I am going to be old and unable to take care of myself. Should this unfortunate burden fall on my daughter, I am sure she will take some pleasure in grabbing the blue bulb syringe and heading toward my schnozz. How about a little saline too, dad?