Love and Diapers

When Mary was pregnant I had a reoccurring dream in which Abigail was born and I felt nothing. I would be in the hospital room or nursery, holding the baby and feel nothing. I'd  hold the baby and spit out platitudes because I'm supposed to love the baby but don't.

The dream always bothered me. I don't know this kid. What if she's a jerk? She's changing my whole life. Who's to say I'll like her?

I was lucky to be able to spend so much time with Abigail the last couple months. I read somewhere that if you want to feel the way you're meant to feel about the new baby you need to do the grunt work. Its only in caring for the a thing that you become attached to it.

Grunt work I've done. Gross gross grunt work. Taking care of a baby is disgusting. Pee. Poop. Vomit. Drool. Snot.  Crying. Screaming. Its like taking care of the worlds cutest alcoholic.

I have a game I play with Abby where I lift her above my head horizontally and walk her around the room. Space Baby. Space Baby is great because it always calms her down. She can be upset and if I take her to space she stops crying. Space baby don't cry. Being a brilliant man, I played this game with Abby right after a feeding. She pointed out the error of my ways by vomiting on my head from space.

I know I've seen something similar happen in horrible romantic comedies, but I couldn't remember how they handled it. It was probably charming and adorable. Dry heaving and cursing are not adorable.

Also, poop. Abigail has started waiting until her diaper is being changed to poop. This is problematic. I'll be changing her, we'll be in the middle of a conversation and she'll just start going. She'd be a great conversationalist if she didn't start pooping in the middle of a thought. When this happens conversation stops and we try not to look each other in the eyes. Its awkward.

I don't know how people watch kids they are not related to. Love is required for me to deal with other another humans poo.

Look out below

Megamind

I suspect that part of Marys plan to become our daughters favorite parent involves making me take Abigail to her vaccinations. It was a good plan, a plan that came to an end this morning. She's off work and I'm under the weather, so bad cop Mary time. She was the one getting  the “what the hell are letting them do to me ” look! See Abby, this isn't my idea!

When Abigail goes in for her vaccinations they weigh and measure her and give us a chart tracking her growth. She's been lower than the third percentile for weight at our visits.I tell her this is normal( you were early, those other babies are not better than you) but I can tell it bothers her.

Thankfully, Tank continues to roll along. She now weighs 11 pounds 14 ounces, a healthy gain over the last month.This puts in the 6th percentile for weight. She says she has the other babies in her sights. I approve of her goals, not her rhetoric.

This visit they measured her head size. Her head is in the 50th percentile. Her weight is in the 6th, her head size in the 50th.  I find this amazing.  If this continues her head will weigh 47 pounds by her fifteenth birthday.

Mary doesn't ask the same questions I do. She asks the obvious questions. When do we switch to solid foods; whats going on with that belly button; is it normal that my daughter thinks my husband is the bees knees? All fine questions, but different than what I tend to ask. After our first vaccination I asked if bigger, fatter babies would protest against Abby because she was in the 1 percentile for size. The nurse just looked at me, wrote something on the chart and walked out of the room. I'm pretty sure she wrote "GREAT DAD!".

My first thought when I heard about her  head size was "great, our baby has a big brain!" The second thought was" When does her body catch up, because this sounds like the back story for a super villain. Is there anything I can do to prevent a life of super crime?" I’ll ask the nurse next month.

IM A GREAT DAD!

I AM FULL OF BRAINS!

Parents First Christmas

We keep getting asked what we're doing for Abigails first Christmas.What special plans do we have, what grand happenings are going on to celebrate the first Christmas with our daughter.

I find this all kind of silly. All of this stuff is for us, Abby doesn't care. She wants a clean diaper, a full bottle, someone she can verbally abuse, someone to hold her.

The problem is that while I'm aware that its all about the new parents, the fact that I don't really care about it makes me feel like a lousy dad. Being a new parent is the only time I've been obviously, clumsily marketed to, said no and felt guilty afterwards. I'm a fat, white male. Seventy percent of all advertisements are directed at me and my fat white brothers in couch.  I thought I had built up a solid defense but that flicker of worry( am I being a lousy, inattentive father) eats at me.

This will be the last calm Christmas. Next year she'll be thrilled with the paper, the boxes, the lights and the ornaments. Then she'll start talking santa and gifts and we're off to modern christmas.

Lets just make a strong batch of eggnog and enjoy the peace. Merry Christmas!

At least put me in a cute outfit

Dogs, Free to Bad Home

One thing is clear after  my stay at home: Our dogs are horrible. They are monsters who hide their evil  with cuddling, big brown eyes and sweetness. That doesn't describe evil dogs you say? Well Sir or Madame, shut up.

They're villains, and like any great villain they are smart. They dont launch their evil schemes until the time is right.

Last week I made Abigail a bottle while she angrily squirmed in my arms. Holding onto of 11 pounds of hungry anger while trying to measure, pour and shake in the other arm is difficult for me as I am the clumsiest man in the world.

I finish up and took Abby into the living room for her lunch. I didn't think at all about the full can of formula sitting on the edge of the counter. I didn't think of our lab Molly, watching this all go down out of the corner of her eye.  My only concern was the hungry scream machine in my arms.

Abby is halfway through her bottle when I hear the dogs batting something around in the kitchen. All the cupboards and drawers are closed so I think nothing of it. Its not long before I realize the magnitude of my mistake. Molly runs into the living room with the can of formula, shaking it all over the house. She proceeds to run around the entire living room, coating everything in formula.

Not good. Abby, majorly pissed that she got kicked out of the restaurant halfway through dinner, is screaming at the top of her lungs. Both dogs are running around licking up formula.For some reason Molly is afraid of brooms, so when I start to sweep the mess up Molly starts barking uncontrollably. This does not help the pissed off Abby calm down.

I stop to assess the situation. Abby is purple with anger. Molly is trying to scare all the brooms on our block out of town. Madison is running around excitedly licking everything, like Homer in the land of chocolate.



In the face of this catastrophe, I did what was right. The only sane thing really. I put the worlds angriest three month old in her crib, ran downstairs, poured myself three fingers of Jameson (at 2:15 in the afternoon) and went to work.

Powdered formula is nasty, sticky stuff and it was everywhere, in every crevice, corner and nook in the front room and kitchen. I swept and vacuumed and swept some more. This left a big sticky mess everywhere so I scrubbed the floors. Did I mention that Molly hates brooms and mops? Yeah, she was barking the whole time. 

Cleanup takes 45 minutes, dogs barking and baby crying the entire time.  Thanks to the Jameson, I was able to face the rest of the afternoon with a strained smile.

How are stay at home moms not all alcoholics?

Control your dogs, jerk

Doctor Visit, Doctor Vacation

Its terrible, but I've grown to love Abigails doctors visits. For one thing, its nice to get good news about her health. Better? It wears her out. The poking and prodding just takes it out of her and I get a docile, sleepy baby when I get home.

I'm not a monster, I don't enjoy her being upset or scared. The visits and tests are for her own good, and as a result I get a perfect baby. Its not that I skip when leaving the house for a doctors appointment. That would just be rubbing Abbys face in it. That would not do.

I skip on the way back in the house. She's already passed out so I know she wont be offended.

We had her first cardiologist appointment last Monday.  The appointment consisted of several tests that both seriously pissed Abby off and wore her out. They took her in for a chest x-ray and her cursing filled the office. It was impressive, I wouldn't be surprised if it didn't drive a couple terrified parents and their children from the building.

After the screaming x-ray they gave her an ECG. This involved hooking Abigail up like she needed a jump start. It would have been amusing if I hadn't been the one to hold her down during the test. Mock crucifying your three month old girl  is not a fun Monday morning activity. 

When the cardiologist  came in to discuss the test results with us, I noticed that he was directing all responses and questions to Mary. I'm guessing its because she was on her way to work, put together and looking like a consummate professional and I, halfway through my paternity leave, look like an unemployed garage attendant.
 
It turns out Abigail has a heart murmur. She has a hole in heart that should have closed and hasn't. Given the size of the hole, theres a 50 percent chance it will close on its own  in the next 18 months. The murmur wont affect her at this age,  the only danger is if they hadn't found it. If the hole doesn't close on its own they'll go through a vein in her leg and shut it. Not ideal, not as scary as it originally sounded.

After the cardiologist I stopped in at the office to pick up some work and let Abby meet the people I work with. It was a nice visit, really nice to see everyone and happy they got to meet Ms. Stinkface. As nice as it was, it was a waste of the doctor vacation. She slept the entire visit, then woke up as soon as I got home. Misstep!

I HATE THE DOCTOR YOU MONSTER

Smiley

I am in love with this kids smile. Its a simple thing but it makes my day.  I'm addicted and its becoming a problem.

 I'll do anything to make her smile. My stupid baby voice will make her smile, so hey, more stupid baby voice. Peek a boo will make her smile so lets play peek a boo for two hours. She thinks sticking my tongue out is the best thing ever. It makes her smile and laugh, and she'll try and stick her tongue out back at me. Mary is appalled by this game, like doing this is going to cause us to have the rudest, tongue sticking outest baby in town. Abigail just realized she had a tongue four days ago so I'm hoping the mimicking doesn't stick.


If she starts sticking her tongue out at people I'm in a lot of trouble.

Halftime

Its the halfway point of paternity leave. One month in and there have been no emergency room visits, I'm not on any lists with the state and this morning the doctor confirmed that Abigail is still alive. Big victories all around.

That may seem like a low bar. Not for me! Even if it is, theres something to be said for being the best mediocre stay at home dad. When I began my leave I had goals. Bond with Abigail.Catch up on work. Read. Folly. My new goals better reflect reality. Keep Abigail alive. Try and take a shower every two days. Eat a sandwich when given the opportunity.

Thankfully for Abby, the next month will go better than the last. Its not that I'm getting the hang of this stay at home thing. Its absolutely not that. Abigail is getting easier to manage. Marys nighttime voodoo has her sleeping 8 hours a night. If I can get at least 6 hours of sleep we both cry a lot less during the day.  

Her development over the last month has been amazing. A month ago it didnt matter who was there . My presence didn't matter ,not anymore than anyone else. I was changing and feeding her because I'm her Dad and I love her, but as far as she was concerned I was an indistinguishable, scruffy blur.  That's beginning to change. She's cooing more and threatening me less. She recognizes my voice and face. Yesterday she started smiling for the first time.

That smile. All I've done today is try and make her smile. Faces. Voices. Peek a boo. Just one more smile kid. One more and I'll stop bugging you. You spit up on me twenty minutes ago, its the least you can do.

Good lord those cheeks

Sleep Magic, Night Talks

Mary has instituted a nighttime regime that when properly followed results in Abby sleeping for five or six hours at time. Marys Full Tank Program involves cluster feedings, no nonsense changings when she wakes up at night and I assume some sort of black magic.

In addition to her normal feedings, Mary tops the tank off at 5:30 and right before bed. The last fill up must be help in complete silence, in the dark. I've never been involved in this portion of the ritual, which is probably for the best.Mary can keep her sleep spells and drugs secret. Its fine. I wont share my patented "pacing in the hallway while pleading with crying baby" trick.

Its also important to be all business when she wakes up at night. No lights. No talk. Change the diaper, feed her and put her back to bed. I run into problems at this stage. For one, I have to turn on a light. Mary can go in, change and feed her in the dark, like being pregnant gave her mole people vision. If I dont turn on the desk light Abby will have a diaper wrapped around her arm and a bottle shoved in one of her eye sockets.

The bigger problem is Abigails new found ability to talk to us. The last three or four days she's up at 3,  happy and talkative. I have to talk back. It breaks with Mary orthodoxy, I cant help it. Look at that face.I am just incapable of ignoring a sweet coo from that face.

Gooahh? I hear you. That is indeed outrageous. Ahhhool huh? Yep, totally.

Mary can get in and out at night in like 30 minutes. With talkative Abby, Im in there for an hour and half. An extra hour at 3 in the morning should be enought to get me in and out. Its not. Shes too cute.

Well played adorable baby.

Gaaaaa-oooohhh Baaaavooop. Translation: You're my puppet.

Baby Island

I left the house today! Huzzah! Marys folks are in town and agreed to watch Abby so I could go meet my coworkers for lunch. It wasnt a hard sell.

Lunch was great, very nice to see everyone. It was like I had escaped baby island. Can I make a smooth transition back into society? I felt like Tom Hanks at the end of castaway. Or maybe Brendan Frasier at the start of Encino Man.

I've been home for three weeks and before today I'd  left the house once, for grocery shopping. It feels like I've been out of circulation for longer than that. Im starting to get a touch of cabin fever, devolving into some sort of sloppy, baby talking diaper monster. 

Marys parents took her for a while yesterday and I had a moment of clarity. I realized that the phrase I say most during the day is "is your didy dirty, pumpkin?". Not good. Worse? My terrible baby voice is slowely turning into terrible baby gibberish. Abigail has started making baby noises, which is fun. Cooing is much better than cursing. Unfortunately, I've starting cooing back. We have long conversations in gibberish. Waaa oooooh? Thats a good point. Let me just say: oooooh waaaaa. And in summation:gaaaaaawooooookaaaa.

I'm now aware that my choice in background noise has  become a problem. I have terrible daytime tv on all the time. I dont actively watch but Its seeping into my brain anyway . The song I sing Abby when I'm trying to calm her down is that terrible education connection jingle. I sang it to her for three days before I realized what I was doing.



If I dont turn the tv off Im going to be talking to Abby about consolidating her debt and class action mesothelioma lawsuits.

I need to get out more.

Chaos

Things are never completely under control when I'm in charge. It keeps things fresh. Whats going to happen now? Hell if I know!

Its always a little sloppy, rarely chaos. When the train does come off the tracks run. Run away.

We had people come by the house to clean up our leaves as I never got around to it. Thats 75% Abigails fault (babies are living excuses, just ready to go), 25% me. The guys showed up to clean up our yard and everything fell apart. The dogs freaked out, Tank was at 11 and I cant do anything to calm anyone down.

All of the commotion upset Abigails delicate system. Ten minutes into the their work and Abby has a blowout. Its a bad scene down there, I need to change her clothes. As soon as I get her cleaned up and undressed  Molly cracks and she pees all over the floor. Hooray. I wrap Abby is a blanket and put her in her crib so I can quickly clean up the mess. As Im doing this, Maddy senses a opening and goes into the nursery and steals a dirty diaper.I have pee on the floor, a dog running around with the filthiest diaper on earth and a seriously pissed, naked baby.

There was a minute or two that I considered loading Abby up into my car, lighting the house on fire and starting a new life in Nova Scotia. I couldnt figure out how to load Abbys pack and play and my tv so that plan had to be scrapped.

Triage time. Abigails up first. She's super pissed, so getting her dressed takes a while When I finally win that fight, she goes back into her crib still furious. Dog pee is next, wipe up and mop. Worst is last. Maddy, that monster of a dog. Shes spread filth around the front room and is now laying with the diaper between her legs, evil side down.  It took me 30 minutes to clean up the living room, all while the dogs are barking and the baby is screaming.

I may not be cut out for this line of work.

Abby does her amazing dad impression

Lack of posting

Abigail hasnt agreed to give me time to write recently, I'll be talking to her about it this afternoon.

In the meantime, heres Abby playing on her mat. Apologies for the camera work and my voice.

Adjusted future

Though Abigail is nearly 11 weeks old, she's only four weeks adjusted age. The adjusted age thing still throws me off, primarily because I'm kinda dumb. Shes almost three months, but shes also almost a month. Its like having a baby with split personality disorder. One baby cries and poops, the other poops and cries.

Regular baby should be smiling by now, the adjusted baby should start smiling this month. Regular baby may start grabbing things, adjusted baby wont for a while. Regular baby will start grabbing her feet soon, adjusted baby doesn't formally acknowledge her feet.

I  focus so much on adjusting that I start adjusting everything. Is the doctors appointment adjusted, so  my appointment is both next week and two months ago? Do we need to have thanksgiving in November and January?  I'm not sure my liver can handle two birthdays.

The doctors stop adjusting her age at two. That doesn't mean I have to. I'm going to adjust everything.

Ear piecing?Adjusted age ear piercing is 15. Driving without Mary and I in the car? Welp, according to my adjusted age document it looks like you'll have to wait until you're 19. Going on a date? Well I'm sorry Abigail but the doctors say you cant date until you're 27.  Belly button piercing? Back tattoo? Two weeks after my funeral.

Sorry pumpkin cheeks, its science.

Cheeks are not adjusted.

Hectic

Its been great getting to spend so much time with Abby. We have two or three face offs a day. I'm at a disadvantage, she has three go to faces (stinkface, tortoise face, Peter Falk) and I only have one (very tired dad). When that game is done we lay on our stomachs and see who can hold their head up longest without starting to scream. I dominate that game.

Its fun. Its also constant chaos. I have no time. I have trouble finding time to shower, to eat, to make formula, to do dishes and laundry.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror this morning and did not like what I saw. I look like a poorly illustrated mad scientist (will the Hardy Boys crack the Baffled Dad Caper?). My hair is sticking straight up, I have two weeks worth of beard stubble and my laugh has gone from jolly to maniacal. 

Fearing my cartoonish appearance may be terrorizing Abigail, I decided to clean up. She was sound asleep in her bassinet so I made my move. My back is sore, so I decided a bath was the way to go. A nice calming bath. I can read, relax, sooth my aching back. HUBRIS. As soon I as settled in she woke up, screaming. I tried in vain to calm her from the tub. Didn't work, clean up aborted. My torso is damp but I still look insane.

I find myself trying to make side deals with God. God, make her go back to sleep and I wont blaspheme again for another 20 minutes. God, calm her down long enough so I can shower and shave and I'll go vote in our municipal elections. Apparently God hasn't cared for the terms of my proposals. I've never been a strong negotiator.

God, ensure that this diaper is not a blowout and I'll stop entering into half-assed negotiations with you.

Want to wake me up? Make lunch or shower

Questions

Abigails dramatic entrance means that shes in higher risk groups than most normal, punctual babies. She's doing fantastic, closer developmentally to her due date than her actual birth date. I credit my one week (and counting!) of staying home with her for her success so far.

Because she's at higher risk Abbys participating in a program to monitor her progress. A nurse comes by once or twice a month and checks on her. Its a great program, I'm glad we're able to participate.

We had a nice visit today, talked about where Abby is and where she should be in a month. As she was finishing up she said she had some questions about goals. The questions were so beige they threw me off.

What things do you like to do, as a family?

Well, if we're going by Abigails time with us so far its spending time in the hospital,  pacing and not going outside. I look forward to being able to go do things but she's still tiny and right now she's extra vulnerable to getting sick. So right now we wash our hands religiously as a family, we don't take her anywhere as a family and we go without sleep as a family. Does that count?

My response: Ummm, probably taking walks, and uh, being outside?

What do you want for your daughter?

This is a  question begging for cliche instead of an answer.

What do I want for my daughter? Its a big question for a sheet that allows one line for a dictated response. I want her to be all of the best of Mary and I and none of the worst. I want her to get everything she wants in life. I want her to work for it. I want her to be healthy and happy and live to 150.  I want her to be a US Senator who gets appointed to the Supreme Court after she retires from being a world renowned hand surgeon to the stars.

My response: Happy and healthy. Take it one day at a time and just give it 110%

What are your concerns? What worries you?

Everything. I am worried about everything.

My response: Everything!

Week one statistics

Its the end of my first week taking care of Ms. Abigail and we havent had to rush to the emergency room or have a visit from social services. Victory!

Hours spent crying (Abby): 18 1/2

Hours spent crying (Joe): 2 1/2

Times vomited on: 6

Kisses to pumpkin cheeks: 272

Pumpkin cheek kiss attempts that ended with baby vomit on my face: 1

Diapers changed :3,000 (rough estimate)

Poopacolypse diapers: 2

Times dogs woke baby: 8

Threats to violently kill dogs: 63

Times I thought Abigail was smiling: 4

Times it turned out to just be gas: 4

Books read: shut up

You win baby

The $240,000 baby

Our bill for tank finally arrived:  $240,000! Hooray insurance!

I had hoped that showing Ms. Abigail her bill would cause her rethink her attitude and actions. No more threats, no attempts to give me  a prison tats while Im not looking, no more hurtful insults (Im sorry you think my hair is stupid, baby. This is just the way it grows)

In fact, the bill has had the opposite effect. She's embraced her status as a luxery item. When I suggested to her that this isnt how a $240,000 baby should act, she said I was jealous. She was worth more than everything I own combined, she could buy and sell me. Its brutal.

I started to explain that just because insurance is paying that much, she doesnt actually have that money. Tank wasnt having it. She launched into a tirade about the jealous masses, that 1% of babies get 95% of the medical bills. 1% of babies get 95% of the binkies.1% of babies control 95% of the cute cheeks. If the other babies dont like it they should be cuter or pull themselves up by their teeny bootstraps.

I told her how disappointed I was with her, those are not the values of our house. She rolled her eyes, grabbed her favorite ruby covered pacifer, settled into her deluxe massage chair and went to sleep.



Her monocle just fell out

New Management

Listen up baby, there are going to be changes around here. No more coddeling. No more yelling. No more babying, baby.  You need to know whos in charge, baby. Me. I'm in charge. Meet the new boss, not same as the old boss.

Oh yeah? Think youre in charge?
Check my diaper.
Dance monkey dance.

I started my baby leave this week. A day and a half into my leave and so far my attepts at changing the culture around this place have failed.  I'm off for two months, which at this point is really damn intimidating. I. Am. Already. Tired.

When I spoke with Mary about the leave I talked about the books I wanted to catch up on, the work I could get done. I mean, the baby sleeps right?  Marys derisive laughter struck me as odd at the time. Now I understand.

Bottles. Diapers. Formula.So much of everything, everywhere. To be cleaned, filled, made, washed, thrown away, burned. It turns out when the baby sleeps I need to get things ready for when the baby is awake.  Who knew!

Photography with crazy people

Mary has been wanting to take a picture of Abby in her pumpkin hat next to a pumpkin. I married a crazy person so the whole process was very involved. Outfit changes, lighting equipment, backdrops.  When I proposed an alternative, "hey why don't we just sit her next to a pumpkin and take the picture", I was told that wouldn't work. When I asked why we needed a backdrop to take a picture in our living room I got a look that suggested my input was not wanted and maybe I should shut my stupid face.

The first try was an abject failure. I am a lousy assistant. I couldn't figure out how to sit her up, I couldn't figure out the backdrop. My heart wasn't in the project and when I suggested we put the hat on the pumpkin and photoshop the rest I was summarily fired.

The next night Mary recruited a more enthusiastic volunteer, my mom. Mom came over with some pillows, additional lights, and a can do attitude. She was there to figure out the backdrop, the Tank propping and the lighting. Operation Pumpkin Cheeks was a go.

I left Abby with these crazy people, took the dogs and retreated to the basement. When I came back up to check on things, I was greeted by this scene:

They wouldn't go into details but attempts to manage the baby, backdrop and pumpkin obviously failed miserably.

I never thought to wear the backdrop as a snuggie and become the studio. That's why I was fired, inability to think big. Also, my bad attitude and drinking on the job.

Pictures are taken, outfits are changed. When Mary wanted a slightly different angle and the backdrop wasn't in the shot, they figured it out on the fly. Brilliantly.

I cant wait to see what they come up with for potty training.

Abigails photo shoot

The pictures from the crazy person shoot came out well (see above). These are my favorites

Tank telling the story of her last arrest

Thriller, thriller night
You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight

Stinkface does not approve of this operation

Formula Neck:The Stinky Plague

Every day millions of parents wake, pick up their babies and make a horrific discovery: Formula neck.

The American Pediatric Association describes formula neck as The area on an infants neck, usually the folds of the neck, where dribbled formula from feedings collects and sours. Formula neck is most likely to occur in babies with adorable cheeks, neck folds and on bath days. Formula neck is diagnosed by smelling the baby. The smell will likely resemble a pungent cheese kept in a drawer of dirty socks.

Formula neck is no laughing matter, it tears families apart. For new parents already dealing with smells and bodily functions that would terrify their pre-baby selves, formula neck is often a bridge too far. According to the Institute for Formula Neck Studies, 3 million babies suffered from formula neck in 2010. Studies show formula neck is the third leading cause of cursing in nurseries.

We've tried to prevent formula neck. Burp clothes. Bibs. A cover that would most accurately be described as a baby burqa. She inevitably thrashes her way out of the protection and into the formula neck danger zone.

More needs to be done to educate parents on this horrible issue. I knew not to shake my baby. I did not know about formula neck.

Pumpkin hat is cute enough offset formula neck

(Quiet)

Abigail is awake more and more during in the day, which is fun. We talk, walk around the house and act out scenes from our favorite movies. Abbys a big fan final scene in Robocop. The kid does a mean ED-209 impression. Just adorable.

In order to get enjoyable awake Abby and not Tank the war machine, we need to make sure she gets her sleep.

When she's getting sleepy I'll ever so carefully carry her to the nursery, adjust my hold for the easiest crib transition (one hand behind head, one hand on body) put her down then stand silently next to her crib and pray the sleep holds. Its tense. If I don't wait five minutes the floor will wake her up as I sneak away. I hate that damn floor. Hate.

The first week we had her home I snuck in roughly 50 times a night to confirm she was still breathing. If she was so quiet I couldn't hear breathing I'd hold a finger under her nose to confirm baby breath.  The finger under the nose trick was not ideal, it often woke her up. I couldn't find a wee mirror to hold under her nose so I improvised.

I assure you, Im just sleeping.

I'm getting better. I no longer wake her up to check if shes breathing. Progress!

Unfortunately, silence following an extended fit still freaks me out. Abigail raged at the world for the better part of Sunday morning. When she finally went down, she was out cold. It was unsettling. How could she go from Hulk angry to completely silent just like that? Shouldn't she be fussing a bit? Am I just being paranoid? Should I go check? I'll go check.

I snuck upstairs and was immediately betrayed by that damn floor. The tank was awake, the guns were firing. No one was safe. Stupid floor. Stupid stupid Dad.

Fake baby

Abigail is the perfect baby when people come over and visit. No crying. No yelling. No threats of violence or talk of baby prison. She sleeps or looks at whoevers holding her with big pretty eyes.

I feel their judgement as they sit there holding the kid." Oh, you're tired from this? This perfectly quiet baby thats not trouble at all? For shame sir."

Telling guests that your little girl is just faking is frowned upon in the etiquette books I've read, so I let it slide.Thats not to say she's a bad baby. Aside from her troubled past, shes mostly a joy.

But jeez, the way she flips a switch for guests. Amazing. I was trying, in vain, to calm her down this weekend when my Dad called to come visit. As soon as I said " Sure, come on over Dad" Abby brightened up and stopped fussing. The same thing happened when my cousins came over. Crying baby then BAM: Perfect angel baby.



Grandpa time. Will start screaming
in five minutes



With Cousin Sarah. Will yell
for an hour after they leave

Maybe tank is polite enough to not fire all guns in front of guests. Maybe we're just boring her. Shes either faking it for guests or we're really bad at this.



Tank Maintenance

Abigail had her two month checkup today (two months old!). I sat her down before we left and tried to explain what that meant.

Me: So uh, hey. We're going to the Doctor today and

Tank:Yeah yeah yeah, they're going to weigh me, listen to my breathing and heart and call it a day. Great.

Me: Wellllll.....that and theyregoingtogiveyousomeshotsandyoullbepissed. Hey lets go!

Tank: Say what now?

We talked about staying calm, her breathing exercises and proper language for a young lady in public. She promised to be on her best behavior.

When we got to the doctors office you could see she was preparing herself. Zoning out, finding her happy place.

Im not looking forward to this

Our nurse came in and looked her over. She's doing great. Tank now weighs 7 pounds 9 oz, a 9 oz gain in a week. Thats fantastic.

After the examination we had a break and Abby let her guard down. She relaxed, got a little cocky even.

Eh, no big deal

They come back for the shots. As the needle went into her leg she looked up at me. Her eyes said "Why are you allowing them to torture me father?". Her mouth said
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!".

I thought I had already seen her at her loudest and angriest. I had not. This baby goes to 11.

Workout with Abigail

There are at least three other babies on our block. Knowing this, Abigail has been adamant about getting in her workouts. She insists she needs to stay strong so the other babies on the block know whos in charge. Its one of the last effects of her extended stay in baby jail, a sad testament to her time locked up.

The doctors call her workout tummy time. They say its important because it gives her a chance to lift her head and develop neck muscles. Abigail calls it Tank Training. Five minutes of one handed push ups, five minutes of inverted crunches and five minutes of light sparring.

One of Marys coworkers gave us a great training ring as a baby gift. Its got a crinkly elephant ear to pull on, a hanging giraffe, lots of colors, a mirror. Its everything that Abby needs to stay strong and adorable.

Tank Needs Fuel

The thing that keeps most babies from leaving the NICU is eating. The ability to swallow and breathe at the same time is one of the last things to develop in-utero. The last week and a half of our stay in the NICU was waiting on Abigail to figure out eating.

Feedings and the updates that followed were the most exciting parts of our day.Mary would call and excitedly tell me Abby took two thirds of her bottle. I would call Mary and tell her that Abby took two thirds of her bottle and I only almost drowned her twice. The name Tank came from these feedings. Ate 40 mls? Goooo Tank go!

Thanks for not drowning me with formula

Our NICU time trained us to obsess over how much she's eating and how often she's doing it. We have a program on the Ipad and my phone that allows us to track and graph how much she's eating. It also track diapers, if you see me out and want to know our poopy diaper situation, well, the answers a click away!

We've been gradually upping her food based on how she's doing. 10mls here, 15 there. That system worked well until this week when Tank went into overdrive. A switch was flipped and now we have this insatiable baby. The Tank needs fuel to grow and develop and yell expletives at me. Its just ramped up so quick.  If she keeps this pace up we'll have to abandon bottles and make her a formula bong.

Go Tank Go!

Someone Please Calm This Baby

I have a list of things to do if Abby starts crying. This solves the problem 90% of the time.

Change Diaper. Feed. Rock. Burp. Use ridiculous baby voice. That's my entire list. Its...really short.

The list doesn't always solve the problem. I'll convince myself I've found the answer " Aha! She doesn't like this hat. This hat is the problem and now this baby will be happy forever".  She'll be happy for a few minutes, start yelling and I'll try something else. I wonder if doing the charleston calms furious infants?

When Abigail got out of the NICU, they sent use home with a video about crying. The video,Period of Purple Crying: A New Way to Understand Your Babies Crying, is garbage.

I watched Purple Crying during a night of extremely angry baby yelling. Watching a video about screaming babies while holding a screaming baby was stupid. Mary woke up to the echoes of wailing children.

 What did Purple Crying teach me? Some babies are jerks.There is nothing you can do. Thanks video!

I am angry

Tank goes to the doctor

We took tank in for a weight check on Friday. She resents the constant attention paid to her weight. I've told her its to make sure she's healthy, she doesn't buy it. "If society doesn't like the way I look, they can (expletive deleted)." She's a confidant girl.

Mention my weight again and I'll punch your face off your face

Tank is now up over seven pounds, which the doctors say is an important goal weight. Instead of having to wake her up at night we now get to wait until she tells us she's hungry. The change is good for everyone involved. We get a bit more sleep and its it safer for us waking a resting tank is dangerous.We have no doubt she'll wake us up with expletives and thrown beer bottles.

We again asked about Abigail's hernia (her outie). The nurse said it looked good, then pushed it in. It looked like a clowns nose after being punched.



Incidentally, that's almost exactly what Abby was saying to the nurse treating her belly button like a doorbell.

This trick delighted Mary and freaked me out. I've seen Mary do this twice since we got home. I assume she's at home right now, just pushing it in and watching it pop back out.

Win Win

The proposal: Mary feeds and takes care of Abby for an entire night, I take care of and feed Abby the next night.

The purpose: Mary gets one night of uniterrupted rest. I get a night of sports, stupid tv, videogames and beer drinking. Everyone wins! USA! USA!

The problem: I am old and lame.

Mary agreed to my terms and took Abigail for the night. I headed downstairs, turned on the Brewers-Cardinals game, grabbed a beer and settled in. This is going to be great.One night time machine.

Six hours and a quarter beer later I woke up on the couch.

I made it one half inning and three sips of beer into my solitary man night. Good lord what a failure, what a waste of a well negotiated deal.

Abby night was more fun than time machine night. We had an old man face contest at 3:00 am. I won. Facial hair advantage.

This fist says I win

Zero Day!

Its Abigails due date! Our seven week old was supposed to be born today! She's now 0 days old adjusted age, an exciting achievement.

Now doctors can judge me!

Being 0 is an exciting time in any young womans life. Breathing. Crying. Pooping. Existing. The thing is, being 0 is wasted on her. She doesn't appreciate the moment. When she's two or three weeks adjusted age she'll look back on the halcyon days of zero and realize she squandered her time. Soon she'll have to lift her head, smile, recognize us, start to crawl. The pressure will build  and she'll think, "Oh, to be zero again".

Tank is planning on celebrating by spitting up on dad, yelling at us as soon as we fall asleep and watching the Coen brothers A Serious Man.

I completely wasted my adjusted dad time. I'm now zero in adjusted dad age, meaning everything before this has been for naught. 3 am feedings? Didn't count. Rocking chair time? Pointless. Diaper changes? What a waste.

If I had discovered the adjusted dad loophole earlier I'd just be getting back from Mexico and you'd all be marveling at my awesome new tattoo.

Cant now. Responsibly adjusted.

Dogs! Babies! Rainbows!

We have two dogs: Molly, a black lab mix who's very sweet and kind of dumb, and Maddy, a pure bred cocker spaniel who is smart and evil.

Good dog, evil dog

We tried our best to prepare the dogs for Abigails arrival. Mary brought blankets and clothes home so they could get used to her smell. I started waking up three times a night and practiced pacing in the hallway.

They're both  interested in her, but in different ways. Molly is protective and sweet. When I feed Abby, Molly lays at my feet and watches. When Abby is screaming Molly gets nervous and looks at me as if I'm waterboarding her and enjoying it.

Maddy feigns interest so she can get close then steal pacifiers and socks. She'll sneak up, lick Abbies head, then steal whatever is available. The dog cons us into thinking she's full of love then robs us blind. I look forward to the day Abby can retaliate with ear pulls and eye gouges and figure four leg locks.

When Mary was pregnant I read that sounds Abby heard in utero wouldn't bother her once she was born. This has turned out to be true. Shes not bothered by the dogs incessant barking. She's not bothered by my yelling at the TV, my snoring or sleep cursing. Fun fact of the day.

Abby looks at her dumb friend

Burping techniques for difficult babies

Abigail is difficult to burp. When she does burp, its a manly, deep, sunday morning buffet burp. It's a burp that makes me proud to be her father.

 I use the golf tee technique, seen below. It allows for control of the head, maximum palm to the back and adequate protection against baby vomit.

golf tee technique

Mary likes to employ the burmese palm slap. Its a controversial move, but it works for her.

Burmese palm slap. For experts only.

Sleep is for closers

Its your turn to feed Abby.

How can I feed a baby out here, fishing? That doesn't seem sanitary. All I have is worms and granola bars.

Wake up. Its time to feed Abby. Joe. Wake. Up.


Ohhhh yeah. We have a baby. No longer a hospital baby. A asleep in the next room baby. Right? Isn't there a baby? Pretty sure theres a baby. Wake up.

Shes only been home a week and I'm really tired.

Mary is handling the lack of sleep better than I am. I'm surprised by this as I've always been the night owl and Mary has always needed 14 hours of sleep a night. I assume some mom gene activated in her after Abigail was born allowing her to go without sleep. That or there was some voodoo ceremony while I slept wherein my sleep needs were swapped with hers. Like the movie Vice Versa, except just sleep switching and no Judge Reinhold.

On Saturday I went to sleep at 8pm. I shuffled upstairs, told Mary I couldn't do it anymore and went to bed. She looked me in the eyes, saw a defeated, desperate man and let me sleep through the night. The baby broke me in less than a week, a fact I'm not proud of. 

I got her bottle ready and changed her. I'm on autopilot, the only thing in me that's awake at all is my irrational resentment of my now soundly sleeping wife.

We sit down for her bottle and I start to wake up. She's completely awake and alert, looking around and making noises.I assume she's threatening me in baby talk. "The minute you close you eyes imma cut your achilles tendon".

She latches onto the bottle and looks up at me as she eats.

I own you

This isn't so bad.

Baby voice, bath time

My baby voice may be the worst thing that's ever happened to America.

Its terrible. Just awful. Right now I think its the worst thing about me. If I could change anything about myself, I would eliminate that voice

I wouldn't lose weight. I wouldn't drink less. I wouldn't be taller, smarter, better looking or richer. I would kill the baby voice. Forever.

I cant stop it. I am helpless in the face of its infantile power.  There seems to be nothing I can do.  I swear I'm done then the next time I see her cute damn face I relapse.

Mary: Abby took 95 ml at her last feeding!

Me (picking up baby): Ohhhh thats my wittle tank! What a big girl you arrrre! Are you going to burp for daddy? Are you? Ohhhhhh!"

Me (walking away): Wait, what the....awww son of a....

We were going to give her a bath this afternoon. A baby talk mine field. To prepare I went into the bathroom, looked myself in the mirror and repeated "YOU WILL NOT BABY TALK. YOU ARE A MAN. A STRONG STRONG MAN." I did this for ten minutes and came out a strong strong man.

Then this happened.



THE FIRST THING I SAY IS IN BABY TALK! I am powerless before this cute baby.

Gilde Home for Criminally Insane Babies

Abigail has spent 80% of her life institutionalized. She's adjusting well to life on the outside, but she's still at little rough around the edges. She refers to being put in her crib as "being thrown in the hole" and her time in her bouncy chair as "the yard". On a more positive note:  we've only found three shivs on her this week and she no longer talks about trading me for three packs of smokes.

Looking for shivs

With her sketchy past, Mary and I have to protect ourselves at all times. When we feel she's about to lose it, we put her in restraints. Its safer for everyone.

We've tried a variety of devices, some better than others.

In most of the restraints we've found, she can get her hands free. This is a problem with a violent baby.



Free hands=dangerous baby




















Luckily we found a company online that specializes in baby straight jackets. Seems to be working well so far.



Great gifts and disappointed babies

Abigails great Jan and uncle Greg made her this amazing Seussian birdhouse for her room. They matched everything with the colors from her room. She loves it!

Abigail reacts to the news that I am in fact her dad

Dr. Visit

Abigail had her first Pediatric check up today. Everything went great, she's a perfectly healthy six week old and a superhuman -1 week old (adjusted age)

Tank now weighs 6 pounds 10 ounces, a healthy gain since she got out of the hospital on Monday.

When carrying her back from getting weighed, one of the nurses said "Oh wow, she looks so tiny with her big ole daddy!"

Tank took offense to this. She started to say something to the lady, I pulled her into another room to talk sticks and stones, turning the other cheek and not causing scenes in public places. Its all about teaching moments folks.

Insult me again and I'll cut ya

Hospital theft and Target runs

Abigail was in neonatal intensive care for five weeks. That is a lot of care. Intensive care even.  I'm looking forward to seeing that bill.It's not that I'm worried for our financial well being.  I have amazing insurance, it wont cost us much out of pocket. My hope is that I can use the ridiculous amount the hospital charges as leverage against Abby.

"Oh, you don't want to sleep? You want to keep crying? You know, that's not really how I expect a $200,000 baby to act. Harrumph harrumph"

When we finally checked out, we grabbed anything that wasn't glued down. Bottles. Diapers. Pacifiers.  If it wasn't for the nurse right by the door I'd have a nice new mini fridge in the basement.

Our supply of ill-gotten bottle nipples ran out last night. This was a problem. We have other nipples at the house, just not any Abby liked. She just couldn't get anything out of them. As a result, I made my first emergency target run.

The bottle aisle at Target is intimidating. I have no idea what any of this stuff means. Whats the difference between three drops on the label vs two drops? Why does this one have two drops and a baby thumbs up? Vacu-speed bottles? Bottle bags? Aerodynamic speed bottles with laser sights? This is all overwhelming.

Apparently I wasn't the only one in this predicament. It was 8:45 pm and there were two other men wearing the same look of confused terror. Picking up boxes, reading the side, putting the boxes down then sighing heavily or weeping softly. At one point a mom zipped in between us, looked at us with pity and got the hell out.

I ended up buying one of everything (only a slight exaggeration) and heading home. We found a combination that worked and the night was saved.

This is going to be hard.

This giant bottle is working. Huzzah!

Hello Family!

Hey everyone, welcome to the all things Abigail blog. You may occasionally have to suffer through Mary and Joe content, but it wont be often. We know what the people want: Abigail Abigail Abigail!

Sup

Fear

When I look at Abby, sometimes I see the spitting image of my brother as a kid. Sometimes I think she looks a lot like me. I mean, she's really damn cute but I hope this corrects itself sooner rather than later.


Baby Abigail

Eric and I when kids

THE FUTURE?

FEAR

Firsts

It was a beautiful fall evening in Des Moines so Mary and I took Abby for her first walk. She enjoyed her first extended time outside.

First walk

She didn't help on the walk at all, but was tuckered out by the end. Damn freeloading liberal baby.

We also gave Abigail her first bath. I was going to record Mary giving the bath, unfortunately Abby was screaming bloody murder and we needed to move things along. I feared the neighbors would think we were running a baby fight club and call the cops.

They say that we should use Abigail's adjusted birth date for tracking developmental goals. Adjusted birth date is her original due date, which means that Abby is negative one week old. She can really scream for a negative one week old. STOP YELLING THEORETICAL BABY!