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!