The Apparent.

     It's apparent that I'm slowly becoming a parent. I'm starting to realize that having a child only proves two fertile people got together. Creating a new life doesn't make me a parent any more than a bad toupee makes someone not bald. Membership into the parent club happens in tiny increments, one diaper at a time. Each time I pick her up when she cries, give her a bath, make a bottle at three A.M, I'm taking one step closer to being a parent. At least I think so. It's not like driving, I don't know if I'm half way, or even when I get there. What's weird about parenting is if I do it right, I'll work myself out of a job. I will always be Evy's dad, even after I die; but I won't always be her parent. And I guess that's the point, isn't it? I spend the first year of her life just trying to keep her alive. The rest of my life is spent trying to keep her safe and myself sane. There's parts of this job that really tax my patience and even my relationship with Catie; but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

The Science.

     Click on this link and check out "The Science of Babies". Totally helped me to appreciate Evy on a whole new level.

The Consensus.

     So, one of the easiest ways to decide if you're crazy or not is to see if other people experience reality the same way you do, there's a good chance you're not completely bonkers. As long as everyone else experiences the squares between the squares in the illusion on the left, even though they're not there, it's okay. Now, if you see Jesus in the picture on the left, you may have a problem. Seek help.
     This is a very important thing to remember when you have a kid. If she cries a lot, all the time, and there's nothing you can do about it, you can often feel like a terrible parent. It's an easy assumption to make. She's crying, there's something wrong with her, I can't help her, so I must be a bad parent. But, when a seasoned professional, like grandparents for instance, can't do anything to help either, it's a good thing; in a way. It means it's not just me. If there's a consensus about Evy, that means it's not just me. But it doesn't mean there's nothing we can do. We're taking her to the doctor to have everything checked out, and hopefully we'll be able to give her something that will help. But, if not, we're just going to ride this out until she's over it, and we'll go from there. I just have to keep telling myself it won't last forever... It won't last forever...

The Running II.

     Day three of staying home with Evy. Day one and two, no problem! She was fussless, she was without fuss. I was a great father! This thing was going to be easy. While I didn't say it, I was confident I had this parenting thing down. Apparently, it takes three days for me to eat my unspoken words. Today, right now, as I'm writing this post, Evy is in the other room, swaddled, fed, clean, coming off a full night's rest (like six full hours!), in her swing, listening to the magic CD that's supposed to make her happier than a pig in poop, and yet she will not...stop...crying! It's driving me nuts! I pick her up, she cries. I put her down, she cries. I bounce her, rock her, shake her (in the good way, not the abusive way), give her a pacifier, give her a bottle, and nothing. Well, nothing but tears and screaming.
     You may be wondering, if my daughter is in the other room crying, why am I in here, blogging? That's a good question and I'm glad you asked. The purpose of blogging at this particular moment is three fold:

1. It's important for me to be honest with what's going on inside my head and my heart, while this is happening.
   
2. I'm killing time until my father gets here so I can go running.
   
3. If I'm in here, I can't be in there, getting frustrated.
   

I'm not sure how much longer I can take this. I'm doing the right thing by calling my dad and waiting on him to give me a break. Don't get me wrong, I would never hurt my child. I'm not worried about that, it's just that I have no idea what to do to make her happy. And I think I may be close to realizing what "impotent rage" really means. My frustration factor is pretty stinking high right now...but there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing more than what I've already tried. Plus, it's not like she started crying and I just said to myself, "Self, let's see how long she can keep this up...it'll be fun!" I really have tried everything, but she's been crying for two straight hours and that's enough to challenge Mother Theresa. My dad's here now, so I'm going to go running. Thank God for grandparents...

The Disconnect.

 ⁼

     I'm not a computer genius. I think I'm better than most, but there are a lot of people out there better than me, and I'm better than all the people that currently live in my house. This means that when something electronic does goes haywire, it immediately gets passed to me. A friend who's in the same electronic situation I am laughs about this with me. What our wives don't seem to understand is that we don't know right away what's wrong either! We do some poking around, do some research online, take a best guess, try to see if anyone else has had a similar problem, and just keep trying until we find a solution. But the wives, they don't want to know this. I think they truly want to believe I have some magical power over all things computerized. I've talked about this in a little more detail in a previous post. Well, apparently I am to computers as Catie is to Evy.
     There are times when Evy cries, I have no idea what the problem is. She's clean, she's fed, she's the right temperature, but nothing seems to make her happy. At a certain point, I just hand her off to Catie. Nine times out of ten, Evy stops crying, goes all limp and slack-jawed, and then her eyes close. It's like magic! I ask Catie about this, and she says, "Oh, she just wanted to be bounced..." Bounced? That's what she wanted? How in the world did you divine "she just wanted to be bounced" out of that particular cry? It makes no sense to me. Catie and I sit down and start talking about this, because I can't pass Evy off to Catie every time she cries. Partially because it wouldn't be fair, but also because I'm going to stay home with Evy while Catie's at work. So, Catie asks me how I fix problems with computers.
     I tell her there's nothing really to it, I just poke around and see what I can do on my own. If that doesn't work, I look for other people online that may have had similar problems, and try what worked for them. She starts laughing and says, "that's exactly what I do with Evy!" When I think about it, she's right. When Evy was colicky, we tried a bunch of things on our own, none of them worked, so we went out and did some research. We bought a book, tried several new things, and found something that worked. When she cries now, I feel way more empowered. I sort of look at her like a computer, and just try stuff until the disks stop making that noise. And I guess when it comes to parenting I'm a lot like I am with computers: I'm better than a lot of people, but there's a lot of people better than me. Which gives me a little bit of hope. It lets me know I can help a few people out there with their children, and it tells me there's a lot of people out there who can help me. I'm not alone, and neither are you.

The Wow.

     Everyone knows who this guy is. He's the guy that beats up prostitutes. What you may not know is that he sells kitchen kitch, like the SlapChop, and, more important to our conversation, the ShamWow. Vince says, you'll say wow every time you use it. Last night, I could have used something that absorbent. So here's the thing, if someone figures out how to make a swaddler out of a ShamWow, I'll buy it. Evy started a spitting up marathon style last night. She just wouldn't stop. She didn't seem to be distressed or anything, just unable to keep the milk down. Could've been the amount of food she ate, could've been the garlic bread we ate at nine last night, who can say? Regardless, we owe a pretty large wet spot in our sheets and a half full washer to her esophageal exploits last night. She's fine, but I totally want a ShamWow burp cloth and/or swaddler. It would make me say wow every time she spit up! I think parents need that; a reason to say wow when their kid spits up...

The Automobile.

     A couple of years ago, we got what we thought was a good deal on a car. It was/is a Pontiac G5. While it has been immortalized in a terrible song by Jesse McCartney, the Pontiac has still been canceled and the whole idea was a total mistake. Regardless, a two door sports coupe is a great investment that only increases after you have a child. Have you ever tried to put a car seat in a two door? Houdini couldn't have done that. Well, he probably could have done it, but not in less than a minute, and that's saying something for Houdini. Anyway, I hate the car, but that's not what this is really about. I do hate the car, but it's not the point.
     When we bought this POS, we had no intention of having a baby. it wasn't even in the plan. By the time we were going to have a baby the car would be paid off and we could drive it off a cliff if we wanted. Well at least there has been one lesson learned, you never know what the future holds, so don't do anything just for today. Like, right now, we're remodeling our new house. All the things we're buying, we are thinking about the future. Ceiling fans? Buy one for the future, not just for today. It's times like this when a little bit of extra money spent up front will pay off later. I think it even applies to the time we're spending with Evy right now. It's as if we have to take advantage of every opportunity afforded us from now until we're dead in order to make up for this Pontiac accident. I'm sure it'll be alright though, most people only make one financial mistake their entire lives, right?

The Hallelujah.

     So, my last post was about Evy's colic, which was genuinely awful. Then I remembered a book some random stranger told me about at a restaurant. Sleep deprived and desperate, Catie & I walked down to Border's to pick up the book...money was no option. I know people say that, but I would've dropped a hundred bucks if that book would help her sleep; and by proxy, help me sleep a little too. We picked up a book called The Happiest Baby on the Block and it's an absolute life saver. Seriously, this book has probably saved a few babies lives. Before, we'd lay her down, she'd freak out, scream, cry, and generally be inconsolable. We read this book with the intensity and ferociousness of someone with barely any hope. After a few hours, we read the important parts that applied to us (having a baby that wouldn't stop crying) and tried out the suggestions in the book. If you do them correctly and in the right order, it totally works. I'm gonna highly suggest this book to anyone with babies. Not just colicky babies, but any baby that has ever cried. Go. Buy the book. Thank me later.
     P.S. Apparently, I was supposed to be posting this thing like a week ago. I said I'd post it in a day, but after having a baby, one day = a week. We've had the same todo list for the last month.

The New.

     Happy New Year everyone! For the last few years Catie and I have been in bed when the New Year rolled in. We just slept right through it. This year, that wasn't a problem. Evaline has decided to become colicky. It's not too terrible yet, but it's getting close. For the past four nights she's cried for about four hours straight, completely inconsolable. The new baby smell and charm is tarnishing quickly and my frustration levels are rising just as fast. A friend was over last night and told us it's not really colic until you start wondering how hard you could hit the baby's head against the wall to knock them out without doing any permanent damage. I can say we're not to that point, yet. Still though, most people stay out pretty late on New Year's eve. If you're one of those people, and you don't have kids yet, the way you feel in the morning is how I feel every morning. The only difference being that I don't have any crazy stories or incriminating photos that show up the next morning on Facebook.
     In the mean time my room has been converted into an obstacle course, rife with rockers, swings, blankies, baby shoes, and who knows what else. Trying to walk around in the dark is going to shorten my life considerably. The worst part of the whole thing is there's nothing I can do to make her feel better. It's pretty much the most powerless I've ever felt. Regardless, she's healthy, she's pretty, and this isn't going to last forever. Even if it feels like it.

The Sickie.

     I have a little cold right now and a slight fever. Apparently, that's enough to put me in some kind of hermetically sealed room on medical lock-down just this side of a leper colony. Right now, Evaline is getting more antibodies than anyone else in this house and if she gets sick at this point it's not like she's going to be missing any school or work. Now, before I start getting hate mail, I do understand an adult cold can potential become a baby killer, but it's a long shot. But I guess it's better to be safe than sorry.
     The weird thing is I actually want to be in there, you know? I feel like I'm in little league soccer all over again just hoping the coach will put me in. "Come on, Coach! I can do it! I know I didn't put that last diaper on correctly and poo got on your shirt...and I know I keep leaving dirty diapers in the crib...but I can do this man! One for the Gipper?" While I'm not a Notre Dame fan, I still get it. The point is to win. With parenthood, at this current time and place, that means keeping the baby alive. Anything short of that is pretty much considered a big "L". So, spreading my sick breath all over Evy probably isn't a good thing. I still don't think Catie should make me sleep in the guest bedroom, but I gotta listen to Coach...I mean Catie.

The Realizations

     Here are some of the things I've discovered in the first week of fatherhood:

1. Eventually, everything becomes a burp rag.
   
2. No matter how much they poop, there's always a little left.
   
3. The importance of the cleanliness of foolers/binkies/pacifiers is directly inverse to the immediacy of its demand.
   
4. If you're dropping a laptop and a baby, it's good when you catch the baby.
   
5. Women are just as amazed at their ability to lactate as we are.
   
6. Dogs love to lick babies feet. I don't know why, they just do.
   
7. There are never enough diapers. Costco couldn't keep up with that kind of demand.
   
8. Bellybuttons are gross.
   
9. Sleep is precious.
   
10. Kids are worth it.

The Rambo.

     Okay, yesterday was the first time we took Evy out. I mean, this was the first time we took her further than one city block. As I was packing the diaper bag, going through a mental list of everything we might need and how much of it should be packed, I had the recollection of the Rambo/Hot Shots Part Deux where the Rambo character is getting ready to kill everyone and he ties his headband tight, pulls his boot laces up, slams the giant knife into the sheath, ties some memento around his neck, and with renewed vigor charges out to defeat an undefeatable army. Packing the diaper bag is about as close as I'm ever going to come to prepping for battle. Now, there have been times in my life where I have gotten into some scraps, but there was rarely time to prep. I kinda wonder how long it will take for this to become ritual and second nature. In the mean time, I'll revel in the process.

The Normal.

     I've never been so wrapped up in the pursuit of normal. Ever. How much she's supposed to weigh, how often she should poop, pee, eat/drink, sleep, everything. I don't know what to expect or what's right. I've never had one before so I don't know what I'm supposed to pay attention to and what I shouldn't worry about it. I have never really cared how this much about what's considered normal. I don't even want exceptional, I just want what's right.

The Disbelief.

     This is my daughter. If I did my math right, that means I'm a father. I have changed her diapers, burped her, and woken up constantly to care for her. All of these are further indications that I am not only A father, but HER father. The thing is, I still feel like I'm babysitting. Not sure what I was expecting, some magic switch was supposed to get flipped and BAM I'd feel like a dad. I'm not worried, though. I know it will change and I know I love her, but a dad? I just don't feel like it yet. Of course, it could just be the sleep deprivation has a general numbing sensation... Now that I think about it, the lack of sleep thing may very well be it. I'll check back later.

The Validity.

     So, my baby girl is here. I'm no longer a (complete) hypocrite for running fatherade. And what have I learned in the first 24 hours? Get a hair cut. Seriously. So far I've been prepping myself pretty perfectly for this kid. I cut the chord without passing out, I felt totally helpless in the delivery room, I've already cleaned up three meconium filled sticky gross diapers, and I did a bunch of dishes in the days leading up to the birth. What I forgot about, what never popped into my head? I should've gotten a haircut. These pictures are going to be on our walls for years and I look kinda like a hobo. So there you go, my first advice as a father to expecting dads: get a haircut.

The Anagram.

Catie is in active labor so here's the anagram. Good luck! "Do even all mice lie, sir?"

Just put your best guess in the comments section and I'll try to check it when I can.

The Waiting.

     Sorry it's been so long between posts. I realize not many of you have been coming out & checking up on me. The blame falls squarely on my shoulders for not updating this thing with kitschy and pithy sayings you've all grown accustomed to. Well, it's not gonna happen now either. Catie is almost a full week past her due date, it's finals week for me, and this baby is just chilling. I thought preparing for this kid was going to be the hardest thing. We finally moved in our place with the help of her parents and a bunch of friends (thanks everyone!) & we're now just sitting in parenting limbo. More posts will soon follow, & here's hoping they won't involve stories of me dropping the baby, allowing her to roll of the changing table, or straight up forgetting where I put her. That last one happens a lot with other things & I'm seriously considering putting one of those whistling key chains on the baby so I can clap & just follow the sound. Some of my spare time has been spent reading baby books, but I'm hoping Catie & I will just find a parenting groove that works with baby and we'll just go from there.
     Our church has been instrumental in helping us prepare for the new kiddo. I had no idea we needed so many things. How have people been doing this for thousands of years without this much stuff? There's just no way to comprehend it.
     Last thing: We haven't told ANYONE the baby's name. So here's the deal. I made an anagram that contains all the letters for her name. As soon as Catie's water breaks I'm going to post it on Fatherade & all of you can take a crack at it. Follow my tweets or subscribe to this blog so you won't miss it because I doubt I'll be able to call all of you when it's time. Thanks everyone, & I promise the adventures are just beginning.

The Takeover.

Have you ever heard of a corporate takeover? It's when someone buys more than 50% of corporate stock without announcing it, then they roll in and tell everyone to kiss up to the new boss. The kid isn't even here yet and her stuff has slowly, but surely, been taking up more than 50% of our space. It's crazy! Then people tell us all these things we're still missing... I don't get it! This is a private takeover. Well, as private as can be. No one else seems to be surprised. She's not even here and she has more clothes than me! Being a GQ reader, that's saying something.

The Thanksgiving.

     Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I have so much to be thankful for right now, it's not even funny. I know I don't promote the fact that I'm Christian, and this site isn't necessarily just for Christians, but today I'm reminded of how thankful I really am, all I have to be thankful for, and why I have been taken care of the way I have. The "golden rule" of scripture is couched in a framework of parenthood (Matthew 7:10-12) and parents are to be models of God here on earth. The closer I get to having this little girl, the more I realize how God would do anything to care for me. All the things Catie and I have been dealing with in these last few months have only proven how much we're really cared for. We've always been provided a place to live, food to eat, jobs to do, and just the right amount of money. This Thanksgiving, I'm grateful my (new) family has brought me a greater understanding of what it really means to be loved by God. My faith has been renewed and I can't wait to see what is in store for us in the next few years. Happy Thanksgiving everyone. May we wake up every morning with thanks on our mind.

The Lamaze.

     Went to Lamaze class today. While most of the stuff in the class I already knew, there was a couple of things it provided I found helpful and one thing I couldn't have gotten anywhere else. The breathing exercises seemed to help and our instructor was honest about what to expect and how well they actually worked. This helped to make our expectations a little more accurate. The one thing I couldn't have gotten anywhere else is witnessing other couples in the same situation as Catie and I. Even though we were all at different places in our lives, we had similar questions, fears, and general confusion. It sounds odd to say, but there was a certain sense of solidarity in that confusion; at least for me there was. I saw that several other men were just as anxious and felt just as powerless as I did. I guess that it's only been Catie and I for so long now, I've kind been sucked into a whirlpool of our life, our future, and our plans. Seeing other people go through similar situations helped keep it all in perspective.