Bedtime

Lately, I've been the parent responsible for feeding our son just before bedtime. While my wife ties up a few loose odds and ends before bed, I'll take command.

In an ideal world, he'd take a bottle, burp, and fall asleep for 5 hours.

Sadly, you and I both know there is no such thing as an ideal world.


Here's the usual routine: Diaper, feed 2+oz.; burp; he closes eyes for 5 minutes; I stand up, thinking he's asleep; he opens eyes, remembers that he's still hungry; feed 2+oz.; burp; falls asleep.

At this point, I take him upstairs and put him in the cradle next to our bed. You might ask, "Why is he sleeping in your room? Put him in the nursery." I might answer, "Good point. But shut up....I'm tired and I don't need to argue this with you."

My son, though, might be the next Amazing Kreskin. Within 10 seconds of my head hitting the pillow, he starts to fuss. Kreskin knows that it'll only take approximately 15 seconds for me to fall asleep. Thus, as a courtesy compromise, he fusses after I've laid down, but before I fall asleep.

So, after fussing for a few minutes, he breaks into a cry. Not a Cry-cry....but a cry. Usually it'll take a few more ounces of milk to get things back to normal. Sometimes he can pacify himself by latching on to my pinkie.

In the near future, Young Kreskin will be moved to the nursery. This will provide me with more chances to trip over things before getting to him when he cries. (Note: by "me", I mean "my wife")

Guilt

With a two-week old, I find myself thinking about what my son will grow up to be.

I'd like to think I'm fairly open-minded, and that I'll support all of the important life decisions he makes....what college to attend, what occupation to pursue, who to choose as a mate.....all of that will be up to him. I'll gladly offer advice when requested (and sometimes when it's not requested).

There is one non-negotiable item.

My son will be a fan of Cleveland sports. His adorable diapered ass will be firmly planted on the seat of the Cleveland sports train.

My job, as his father and Cleveland sports mentor, will be to teach him about the history -- the highs, the lows, the lower lows and the lowest lows -- of the world of sports. Here are the cliffnotes:

highs: 1948 Indians, Browns up until Jim Brown retired, Miracle of Richfield, Wilkens-era Cavs, Steroid-era Tribe, Cleveland Crunch, LeBron-era Cavs, Joe Tait, Tom Hamilton, Nev Chandler, Casey Coleman, Jim Donovan
lows: Red Right 88, Don Rogers, The Drive, The Fumble, The Shot, Braves pitchers, Marlins, Spurs, Red Sox, Magic...
lower lows: Expansion era Browns
lowest lows: Baltimore Ravens

I feel a bit guilty forcing my son to support Cleveland teams. I don't want to cause a Kinsella-esque schism. But I feel that by being a Cleveland supporter, there are many important life lessons to be learned. Among these lessons:

• how to lose honorably (See: 1964-2010)
  
• how to deal with disappointment (See: Cavs - 2009)
  
• how to see the glass half-full...especially while throwing said glass onto the field to express anger
• how to deal with "loss" of a hero (See: Thome, J - 2002)
• how to irrationally hate (See: Mesa, J)
• how to rationally hate (See: Yankees; Steelers)
• how to rationally hope (See: James, L)
• how to irrationally hope (See: 1964-2010)
  
• how to ridicule (See: Roethlisberger, B)
• how to celebrate (See: tumbleweed rolling)

I feel a little guilty....not letting him choose. I suppose that somewhere, down the road, he could give up Cleveland sports. I mean, with all the losing and disappointment, who could blame him? But, I'd like to think he'll understand commitment, heart, and unconditional love.

They say it's always darkest before dawn....hopefully, for my son's sake, the rooster crows very soon.

Diapers...

At the beginning of our pregnancy, my wife and I specifically requested a child who was potty-trained. If not potty-trained, at least litter-trained, like our cat, Plinko. If not litter-trained, at least house-broken, so we could let him do business in the yard.

As it turns out, our child poops and pees in a diaper. I'm told this is normal, and shouldn't be a problem. At about $100 a pop, I'd say that diapers is money down the drain. Sadly, it's like money down the diaper-pail.

Two weeks in, I feel pretty comfortable changing his diapers. I've been peed on three times....twice by him, once by me. His poop does not yet resemble poop. Instead of turds, it looks like fancy mustard gone bad.

The two worst times involved poop on the peeper before the circumcision site had fully healed. Thus, we had to take him to the sink and let water trickle on his area...baptizing his wiener, in essence.

The circumcision has fully healed. No longer does it look like he's trying to guide Santa's sleigh through a blizzard, and we don't have to put vaseline on him so it doesn't stick to the diaper. I can't imagine a pain worse than "circumsized penis sticking to diaper." I would not luvs that, and if it happened, someone would have to pampers me, or I would vow to blowout every diaper.


Yes, there have been some gross diapers, but I keep thinking, "This is nothing. The worst is yet to come."

Is two weeks too early to start litter and/or potty training him?

Tired...

Let's jump back in time about two weeks....we're approaching our due date. The message that we receive from every parent: Get your sleep!

I think I underestimated this advice. I kind of treated it like the "drink plenty of water" advice when working out in the sun during a humid July afternoon....it's a good idea, but, whatever...I'll be fine.


One week of being a father has kicked my ass.

I hesitate to even write this, because as much as I complain, my wife can justifiably complain 150% more than me. I can sleep while our son eats. She cannot. Also, her insides are still healing.

If I had to describe the tiredness I feel, I would liken it to college...particularly near the end of the spring semester...when everything is due in the matter of 3 days, and there is a ton of stuff going on around campus. Much like those days, I can fall asleep anywhere, anytime. On the toilet? Check. On the floor? check. Anywhere.

Also, just like those days, after a 20 minute nap, I'm ready to take on the world (and crappy diapers).


If I was smart, I would've saved a bunch of blog entries in advance. I would've left them like MadLibs, and filled them in quickly later.

I felt (adjective) when my wife gave birth.
My son's diapers often look (color) and smell like (rotten food).



Among the topics that I'll discuss:
Breastfeeding
Circumcision
Helplessness
Baby Clothes
Food
Leaving the house
Letting him cry
Diapering
Lessons to teach, Lessons to learn

A Baby Story

Our little guy has arrived. There is a ton to write about, but while Mom and son enjoy a post feeding nap, let me run down our Monday.

• Friday - Appointment. 3.5cm dilated, 80% effaced (the same way she's been since the beginning of April. Midwife says, "I'd be surprised if you don't deliver this weekend, but don't quote me on it." Thus, I'm quoting her on it.
  
• Saturday - Due date. No baby.
• Sunday - Due date + 1. No baby.
  
• Monday - Due date + 2.
  
• 2:45: Wife has Non-stress test. Hooked up to machine that measures contractions and heart rate of child. She had 8 very mild contractions in 34 minutes.
  
• 3:20. Test complete. Everything looks good. We make another appt for Thursday.
• 3:40. Grocery shop. We spend some time in Aldi's. I mean, I think we spent $60. At Aldi. That takes time.
  
• 4:45. Arrive home (30 min from hospital), I put away groceries, wife uses bathroom.
• 5:00. Wife wonders if her water broke. Calls office.
  
• 5:45. Midwife on duty calls back and tells us to come in to hospital. En route, wife has first somewhat painful contractions.
  
• 6:20. Arrive at hospital, ask for room with bathtub in which to labor.
  Hooked up to monitors, contractions become more regular (4 min apart) and stronger. Her water has not broken.
  
• 8:30 Still considered outpatients, nurse checks wife, says she's 5-6cm dilated. At this point, we're in it to win it.
  
• 8:45. The nurse brings in a labor ball, and allows Nicole to get up and move around. Also, she's given a dose of pain relief via her IV.
  
• 9:00. Drugs make her loopy.
  
• 9:30. Midwife comes in, after helping deliver another baby. Asks if wife wants to get into labor tub, she says yes.
  

At this point, I should note that this tub is not intended for delivery. We did not deliver in this tub. She seemed to enjoy the tub, though. I think it helped take a little of the edge off of the contractions.

• 11:00. After two stints in tub, midwife suggests heading back to bed to check things out. At this point, contractions are virtually on top of one another.
  
• 11:10. Upon checking, midwife tells us that the dilation has increased to 9cm. With that, she's too far to receive an epidural. The midwife breaks the water and discovers meconium present. My son has already had a BM...while I'm proud, it's the first hurdle we've encountered.
  
• As we prepare to deliver, a pediatrician arrives to take care of potential problems presented by meconium.
  
• 11:46. After pushing through about 8 contractions, my wife gives birth to our son.
  
• After not hearing him cry while they suctioned out any meconium, we heard our son cry for the first time.
  

He was 8lbs 7.7ozs. A pretty good sized baby. Chubby cheeks and a fair amount of hair. Ten fingers, ten toes.

There's a lot to dissect here....so, over the next few entries, I'll focus on different parts of the labor and delivery.

Uh-oh...

Much like the teenage protagonist of a sitcom, I'm getting a zit at the worst possible time.

Kelly Kapowski gets the zit right before the big dance, and I get a zit right before my first child is born.


Such is life.

Birthing room idea

I need your opinion: playing this song and holding my son up like this when he's born.

a) Good idea
b) Awesome idea
c) Your wife will kill you...but that's one hell of an idea.



PS: I'm holding auditions for the part of Rafiki.