Regret, mixed with a hint of humour of the “how could I have been so stupid” nature, is written all over Michele's face as she lays down on the floor, staring upwards at the ceiling. It's the quiet moment after the an action-packed sequence of events.
Kael was in crib, gregarious for well over half an hour: “What is it with these people, George? Can't they tell I don't want to sleep? I'm clearly letting the out the 'I'm not tired screech”. Grrr, my parents are so dumb!” Finally, the dialogue dimmed until it was silent. I had gone into his room stealthily to check out the situation and saw him twitching ever so slightly, eyes three-quarters closed. It is absolutely vital for him not to see you during this delicate phase of the nap process. If he does, it's game over. He's up and he's screeching with more vigour than you can possibly imagine coming from such a tiny little being. I tippy-toed back out of his room unnoticed, intending to close his door in a couple of minutes when there was no chance of a wake-up.
Unbeknowst by me, Michele reappears from our room and also decides to investigate the nap situation. She pokes her head in but cannot get a proper visual. She inches forward but still can't see as he is hidden from view at the front of the crib. She ventures further, risking much at this final stage before sleep. Suddenly, Kael perceives movement or hears something and with the quickness of gopher popping its head out of the hole, his head shoots up over the edge of the crib to see what's up. Michele panics, ducks and then lunges out of the room onto the floor as if she were an extra on A-team episode after Face had just launched a grenade nearby. Kael screams, as if to say, 'I saw you! I saw you!” “Merde”, is all Michele can say in a half-giggle/half-frustrated tone.
Later that afternoon, it's my turn to get caught. Kael has been in there about twenty minutes and there is the baby monitor expresses only the hum of the humidifier (used primarily to drown out other sounds). I sneak up to the doorway and bam! I'm dead in the water just like that. I didn't even get the chance to pretend I was a ninja tis time. It's like getting ambushed 1 minute into a paintball game. Splat! Hmm, that was fun. Kael happened to be positioned at the back of the crib, facing the doorway. In consolation, I never had a chance.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Mr Mom - Day 5
Groan. Quick glance at the clock. 6:02 .He has just been fed and should be going back to sleep like he does most every other morning. But he isn't. We gambled last night by staying up a little later so we could finally spend a little alone time together, and now we are being burned for it. No one ever said life was fair... Neither one of us is in the mood to officially get up and out of bed just yet so we decide to bend the rules a bit this morning by bringing him into our bed.
Not surprisingly, once sandwiched between us, he doesn't doze off instantly (he only sleeps in his crib now). He is too curious about his new surroundings – especially Daddy's hair, lips and cheeks. Gouging daddy's eyes is a particularly amusing activity, too. There is much staring at one another, like two people staring at the board wondering what their opponent's next move will be. His eyes are beautiful; they are oceans; mesmerizing; whirlpools I drown in over and over again. Yet, they hold no secrets as to what is going through that tiny, ever-growing seed of a brain. Poor Flea is jealous. Back in Taiwan, it used to be her that would be beckoned up on the bed to cuddle with us. Michele motions for her to come to the side of the bed, which Flea, the opportunist, interprets as an invitation to join the party on the bed. Ca y'est! The whole family is in bed. Fun, yes, but it won't satisfy that desire to sleep...
His schedule throughout the enire morning remains out of sync. He is uncharacteristically fussy and out of sorts. His teeth must really be bothering him. Great, only one more year of teething. It takes him 40 minutes of grappling with his bedmate, Curious George, interspersed with a few attempts at escaping, before he finally collapses from sheer exhaustion.
Our baby boy's day winds down after dinner with a daily bath. I think the purpose of the bath is to calm Kael down before sleep. That is not happening anymore. While he used to be content to lounge back, full stretch, sucking on a bath toy (all that was missing was some candles and a glass of wine) while papa held his head and momma wiped in all his nooks and crannies, he now uses bathtime as his aquafit session. Gone is the relaxed personna, having now been replaced by a much more animated K man who would rather march in the tub rather than lie down. Washing his hair, as you can imagine, becomes a challenging task to say the least. And the fact that he is getting stronger doesn't help matters either. There are times when I forcefully try to coax him to sit, but he just won't budge. I foresee trouble in the future...
After the bath, Kael is dried off and has his pj's put on, afterwhich he has a little feed. It is just about 8 pm. We perform the last leg of our nightly ritual - one which I have grown to adore - by forming a circle and singing him a gentle lullaby. Then we set him down in his crib, give him his blanky, tell him we love him and leave him to fall asleep on his own. After some talking and flailing - the duration varying by day – he finally lies peacefully in his world of vivid dreams. It's a sight beautiful enough to make this grown man cry.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Mr Mom - Day 4
We had our friend Steph come over to baby sit this morning so we could run an important errand for the wedding that we had to do together. Steph came precisely at the time she said she would. The problem with babies – in our adult minds anyways - is that they are inconsistent. To go one further, they are down right unpredictable. It makes it rather challenging in this world of schedules and time tables.
He had woken up in good enough spirits and happily eaten breakfast as usual. Afterwards however, he wasn't so interested in going back to sleep. He didn't look tired so I suggested maybe skipping a nap for once. Michele shook her head. “No way. If he starts making the rules, it's game over for us”. She's right, of course.
Miraculously, he fell asleep just prior to Steph's arrival. Predictably, it didn't last. Just as we were slipping our feet into our flip flops to head out, we heard the dreaded Kael wail come through loud and clear on the baby monitor. Sometimes those devices are just a little too good (ie cover your ears). Michele attempted to wield her most potent of mama magic to try to coax him back to sleep but it was no use. We decided to keep him up for another half hour and tried to put him back down again (as the author of Wiped noted, “put him down” is an awful term – springing to mind an old dog whose on its last legs - but I'm not sure how else to say it either). We warned Steph before we left that there was a definite possibility of a Kaelstorm brewing on the horizon. Sure enough, when we returned an hour later, our little guy was up and wired. Understandably, she could not handle leaving our baby boy screaming bloody murder in his crib. Steph felt bad. The truth is, she never stood a chance.
When his afternoon nap came around, he was out like a light. No wrestling with Curious George and no conversations with Sophie the giraffe. Bam! Out cold in seconds flat. Michele had just left for another appointment at 1 pm. When 2:30 came around, I started to get antsy. It's been an awfully long time, I thought to myself. I didn't really know what to do with myself at this point. I'd finished the important business and was hesitant to begin any new project because he'd be bound to wake up as soon as I begun. Should I just peek in to make sure he's ok? Just one quick glance? Thankfully I resisted all temptation and he finally rejoined the waking world at 3 o'clock much to my relief.
It seems like I just can't win. If he doesn't sleep long enough, I get frustrated by a lack of time to myself. On the other hand, if he sleeps too long, I miss him and want him to get up so bad that I get tempted to wake him up prematurely – something the books say never to do.
One final observation today ( I lied. I just thought of another one) has to do with his head whipping habit. When I'm holding him in my arms, he tends to look away. Everything and anything aside from me is most interesting to him. Or maybe he is hinting that I've got the dragon (listen to Biz Markie's classic song if you need schooling on what its meaning). Without warning, he'll often whip his gargantuan head around with the speed of a shot putter in full momentum just before release. Most of the time, if I'm paying attention, my reflexes are quick enough to move back just in time to hear the whoosh of his noggin fly right by the tip of my nose. But if I'm distracted, I have no chance and our heads collide. He doesn't even bat an eye. Meanwhile, I'm trying to hold back the tears. It friggin' hurts. I'll say it again: babies are tough, man.
Finally, something that'll make you go “awww”. It's something that happens outside. While playing in his playpen this afternoon, a sudden summer breeze swung through our patio that made Kael feel so fine that he stopped in mid-gum to absorb this scintillating natural phenomenon. At first, he couldn't understand what was making his thin hairs on his head dance in the air. But then he did was the majority of us adults don't do. He quit thinking about it and simply enjoyed it for what it was, letting the wind ruffle his hair in its heavenly way. Afterwards, he did not dwell on how amazing it felt either. He just continued playing like nothing even happened. He let it go. I thought that was amazing.
He had woken up in good enough spirits and happily eaten breakfast as usual. Afterwards however, he wasn't so interested in going back to sleep. He didn't look tired so I suggested maybe skipping a nap for once. Michele shook her head. “No way. If he starts making the rules, it's game over for us”. She's right, of course.
Miraculously, he fell asleep just prior to Steph's arrival. Predictably, it didn't last. Just as we were slipping our feet into our flip flops to head out, we heard the dreaded Kael wail come through loud and clear on the baby monitor. Sometimes those devices are just a little too good (ie cover your ears). Michele attempted to wield her most potent of mama magic to try to coax him back to sleep but it was no use. We decided to keep him up for another half hour and tried to put him back down again (as the author of Wiped noted, “put him down” is an awful term – springing to mind an old dog whose on its last legs - but I'm not sure how else to say it either). We warned Steph before we left that there was a definite possibility of a Kaelstorm brewing on the horizon. Sure enough, when we returned an hour later, our little guy was up and wired. Understandably, she could not handle leaving our baby boy screaming bloody murder in his crib. Steph felt bad. The truth is, she never stood a chance.
When his afternoon nap came around, he was out like a light. No wrestling with Curious George and no conversations with Sophie the giraffe. Bam! Out cold in seconds flat. Michele had just left for another appointment at 1 pm. When 2:30 came around, I started to get antsy. It's been an awfully long time, I thought to myself. I didn't really know what to do with myself at this point. I'd finished the important business and was hesitant to begin any new project because he'd be bound to wake up as soon as I begun. Should I just peek in to make sure he's ok? Just one quick glance? Thankfully I resisted all temptation and he finally rejoined the waking world at 3 o'clock much to my relief.
It seems like I just can't win. If he doesn't sleep long enough, I get frustrated by a lack of time to myself. On the other hand, if he sleeps too long, I miss him and want him to get up so bad that I get tempted to wake him up prematurely – something the books say never to do.
One final observation today ( I lied. I just thought of another one) has to do with his head whipping habit. When I'm holding him in my arms, he tends to look away. Everything and anything aside from me is most interesting to him. Or maybe he is hinting that I've got the dragon (listen to Biz Markie's classic song if you need schooling on what its meaning). Without warning, he'll often whip his gargantuan head around with the speed of a shot putter in full momentum just before release. Most of the time, if I'm paying attention, my reflexes are quick enough to move back just in time to hear the whoosh of his noggin fly right by the tip of my nose. But if I'm distracted, I have no chance and our heads collide. He doesn't even bat an eye. Meanwhile, I'm trying to hold back the tears. It friggin' hurts. I'll say it again: babies are tough, man.
Finally, something that'll make you go “awww”. It's something that happens outside. While playing in his playpen this afternoon, a sudden summer breeze swung through our patio that made Kael feel so fine that he stopped in mid-gum to absorb this scintillating natural phenomenon. At first, he couldn't understand what was making his thin hairs on his head dance in the air. But then he did was the majority of us adults don't do. He quit thinking about it and simply enjoyed it for what it was, letting the wind ruffle his hair in its heavenly way. Afterwards, he did not dwell on how amazing it felt either. He just continued playing like nothing even happened. He let it go. I thought that was amazing.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Mr. Mom - Day 3
Kael is so close to crawling it's scary. After rolling onto his stomach, he gets himself into the scorpion yoga position, craning his neck up as far as he can, and then tries to grunt himself forward. He gets nowhere fast. I'm quite sure he's not into yoga yet, despite the fact that everyone is in to yoga around here, as the severe grunting tells me he is not concentrating on his breathing whatsoever.
The fact that is on the verge of crawling is exciting, yes, but equally petrifying for we are not remotely close to having our little capsule that we call our apartment (think of one of those Japanese rent-a-room capsules filled to the brim with crap) ready for the epic day when he tears around the living room. All that is stopping him at this stage is sheer mass – he's carrying a little heavy at the moment. But make no mistake, it's coming.
They say you should get down on all fours to get the child's perspective when baby-proofing your place. I asked for Flea's input, as she's just about the same height, but she said there was nothing worth chewing on. After crawling around and repeatedly banging my head on the corner of the table, I was able to get a good handle on the possible hazards for out little ball of kinetic energy ready to burst. Tomorrow's mission then, is to start babyfying the pad.
Speaking of hazards, I was reading a book called Wiped! that Michele passed on to me during one of his morning naps (gee, tiring business being carried everywhere, having your food prepared for you, have someone dressing you and then playing). It's about a writer who shares her experience as the Mom of a newborn. It's very O.T.T. (over the top) and hyper dramatic for effect, but all in all I can sympathize with some of it and empathize with Michele for the rest of the more womanly aspects of it all,
At one point, she relates how she accidentally bumped her child's head against a projector on an airplane – hard. Afterwards, she stakes the claim that everyone unintentionally hurts their baby at least once. Well, I'll tell you that I would never... oh wait a second, I already got mine out of the way.
It happened a few weeks back when we were in the bath. I was struggling to hold him as he was standing up in his mini tub because he's not into the whole maxin' an' relaxin' in the bath while his servants scrub him down like he used to be. And if he had just stood there quietly, with relatively little motion, it wouldn't have happened. But the K man likes to wriggle as if someone was secretly sending mini shocks of electricity through his body at all times. Take a wild guess at what goes down next. Kael is leaning forward with all his strength, reaching for a toy, and my hand loses grip on his slick, slimy from soap frame. He tumbles forward, head colliding not so gently with the metal nozzle where the water comes out.
To her credit, Michele did not freak out even though she was sitting right there. Instead, she calmly snatched him, consoling him with soft words. Kael is crying but thankfully there are no piercing screams. I feel awful. Once safe in momma's arms, we hold him up for inspection. Oh yeah, we definitely have indentation. And is it just me, or does our nozzle have a funny shape? So it appears to be true. It's all about our reaction. If we remain calm, then so does he. Although babies may be fragile, they are also tough, man. Meanwhile, I remained mortified by the “slip up” for several minutes, apologizing profusely. “Sorry buddy. Is it really bad?”, I kept asking, “He'll be ok, won't he?” Of course he was and still is. Just glad I got mine over with early..
The fact that is on the verge of crawling is exciting, yes, but equally petrifying for we are not remotely close to having our little capsule that we call our apartment (think of one of those Japanese rent-a-room capsules filled to the brim with crap) ready for the epic day when he tears around the living room. All that is stopping him at this stage is sheer mass – he's carrying a little heavy at the moment. But make no mistake, it's coming.
They say you should get down on all fours to get the child's perspective when baby-proofing your place. I asked for Flea's input, as she's just about the same height, but she said there was nothing worth chewing on. After crawling around and repeatedly banging my head on the corner of the table, I was able to get a good handle on the possible hazards for out little ball of kinetic energy ready to burst. Tomorrow's mission then, is to start babyfying the pad.
Speaking of hazards, I was reading a book called Wiped! that Michele passed on to me during one of his morning naps (gee, tiring business being carried everywhere, having your food prepared for you, have someone dressing you and then playing). It's about a writer who shares her experience as the Mom of a newborn. It's very O.T.T. (over the top) and hyper dramatic for effect, but all in all I can sympathize with some of it and empathize with Michele for the rest of the more womanly aspects of it all,
At one point, she relates how she accidentally bumped her child's head against a projector on an airplane – hard. Afterwards, she stakes the claim that everyone unintentionally hurts their baby at least once. Well, I'll tell you that I would never... oh wait a second, I already got mine out of the way.
It happened a few weeks back when we were in the bath. I was struggling to hold him as he was standing up in his mini tub because he's not into the whole maxin' an' relaxin' in the bath while his servants scrub him down like he used to be. And if he had just stood there quietly, with relatively little motion, it wouldn't have happened. But the K man likes to wriggle as if someone was secretly sending mini shocks of electricity through his body at all times. Take a wild guess at what goes down next. Kael is leaning forward with all his strength, reaching for a toy, and my hand loses grip on his slick, slimy from soap frame. He tumbles forward, head colliding not so gently with the metal nozzle where the water comes out.
To her credit, Michele did not freak out even though she was sitting right there. Instead, she calmly snatched him, consoling him with soft words. Kael is crying but thankfully there are no piercing screams. I feel awful. Once safe in momma's arms, we hold him up for inspection. Oh yeah, we definitely have indentation. And is it just me, or does our nozzle have a funny shape? So it appears to be true. It's all about our reaction. If we remain calm, then so does he. Although babies may be fragile, they are also tough, man. Meanwhile, I remained mortified by the “slip up” for several minutes, apologizing profusely. “Sorry buddy. Is it really bad?”, I kept asking, “He'll be ok, won't he?” Of course he was and still is. Just glad I got mine over with early..
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Mr Mom - Day 2
The morning passed uneventfully – that's a good thing these days. No Kaelstorms, only sunny skies blessed our apartment as it is did our city.
Our little guy is teething though. Aside from his chubby cheeks which are the colour of poppies, there was also another not so subtle sign when we put him down for a nap. Basically, he would square his jaw in such a way that it made him look like a grumpy old senior with constant arthritis. I couldn't figure out what was going on. “What's he doing?”, I wondered aloud. “His teeth, the ones we can't see yet on top, that are bothering him.” Sure enough, upon closer inspection, he was gnawing rhythmically on his upper gums with his two recent and sharp-edged bottom teeth. I guess it's like having a sore tooth, you keep wanting to touch it, just to make sure it still hurts (Ow!, yep). Babies don't think that way yet, do they? To help him out, Michele initiates what she calls the teething dance, alternating between a wet cloth, his teething ring (not to be confused with his preciouses that he gums when he eats) and a carrot every five minutes or so to soothe them until he tires out enough to doze off.
I was left in charge pretty much the whole afternoon as Michele took advantage of me being home to go to the mall to buy some things in preparation for the wedding. I did not want to go to the mall. In fact, I hate the mall. I don't hate many things, but the mall is one of them. If you ever want to see me grumpy, take me to the mall, on a Saturday, when it's a beautiful sunny day outside.
Lord K and I had lunch date on the patio, rolled around together on the floor, sang French songs, ate books, drooled lots, stared off into space together (he certainly picked up that personality trait from daddy) and did all that other every day normal stuff.
The big outing for the day consisted of a jaunt out to the local park to do something real summery: a trip to the water park. I was real good, remembering to apply baby sunscreen, bring his water bottle, put on his sun hat and even Flea-proof the house (she rummages through the garbage just to spite us when go out without her) before going. When we parked in the shade at the park, I stripped off his pants and beelined towards the screeching kids and spraying water. I anticipated a refreshing splash, but we both received a shock instead. The water felt like it was sourced directly from one of the melting ice caps. And if I found it freezing, I can only imagine that Kael's sensitive skin had his nervous system ringing the alarm bells. So instead of getting right in there, something I tend to be overly fond of doing, we hung out on the periphery, standing in a 2 mm deep puddle, happily watching the other kids play.
I was surprised that Michele still wasn't home when we returned. I felt mildly panic-stricken as I knew he needed another nap, but was also keenly aware that a nap is pretty much out of the question without momma's milk. Since he was already seemingly content in the stroller, I made a quick decision to grab Flea and keep moving. There was a time when he would fall asleep in the stroller, but those days are long gone. There's a whole world of sensory pleasures to explore now.
And then it happened, the one thing I dreaded most. He began to cry. What I thought was just his gangsta lean was more like the result of having squirmed himself into an uncomfortable sideways position that even a contortionist would have found awkward.
Can I tell you that nothing – no thing – stresses me out more than my baby crying? Can you tell I'm a new parent? I try to console him by putting on my happy voice and telling, “Hey little buddy, there's nothing to worry about. It's a beautiful day and all is right in the Universe”. He doesn't buy it. Apparently my Universe and his are in different galaxies. So I quicken the pace to an almost jog to try to get home as fast as possible while cooing “almost there, almost there”. Poor Flea doesn't even have a chance to poop. We make it home without incident, He is fussy but at least there is no storm to blemish this lovely afternoon. Mommy is home and it isn't long before he is suckling. All is well.
You know, it's funny. A several hundred thousand dollar transaction goes awry at work and it doesn't stress in my least, but when my baby boy lets out one single wail and my whole body, from head to toe, starts to panic.
Our little guy is teething though. Aside from his chubby cheeks which are the colour of poppies, there was also another not so subtle sign when we put him down for a nap. Basically, he would square his jaw in such a way that it made him look like a grumpy old senior with constant arthritis. I couldn't figure out what was going on. “What's he doing?”, I wondered aloud. “His teeth, the ones we can't see yet on top, that are bothering him.” Sure enough, upon closer inspection, he was gnawing rhythmically on his upper gums with his two recent and sharp-edged bottom teeth. I guess it's like having a sore tooth, you keep wanting to touch it, just to make sure it still hurts (Ow!, yep). Babies don't think that way yet, do they? To help him out, Michele initiates what she calls the teething dance, alternating between a wet cloth, his teething ring (not to be confused with his preciouses that he gums when he eats) and a carrot every five minutes or so to soothe them until he tires out enough to doze off.
I was left in charge pretty much the whole afternoon as Michele took advantage of me being home to go to the mall to buy some things in preparation for the wedding. I did not want to go to the mall. In fact, I hate the mall. I don't hate many things, but the mall is one of them. If you ever want to see me grumpy, take me to the mall, on a Saturday, when it's a beautiful sunny day outside.
Lord K and I had lunch date on the patio, rolled around together on the floor, sang French songs, ate books, drooled lots, stared off into space together (he certainly picked up that personality trait from daddy) and did all that other every day normal stuff.
The big outing for the day consisted of a jaunt out to the local park to do something real summery: a trip to the water park. I was real good, remembering to apply baby sunscreen, bring his water bottle, put on his sun hat and even Flea-proof the house (she rummages through the garbage just to spite us when go out without her) before going. When we parked in the shade at the park, I stripped off his pants and beelined towards the screeching kids and spraying water. I anticipated a refreshing splash, but we both received a shock instead. The water felt like it was sourced directly from one of the melting ice caps. And if I found it freezing, I can only imagine that Kael's sensitive skin had his nervous system ringing the alarm bells. So instead of getting right in there, something I tend to be overly fond of doing, we hung out on the periphery, standing in a 2 mm deep puddle, happily watching the other kids play.
I was surprised that Michele still wasn't home when we returned. I felt mildly panic-stricken as I knew he needed another nap, but was also keenly aware that a nap is pretty much out of the question without momma's milk. Since he was already seemingly content in the stroller, I made a quick decision to grab Flea and keep moving. There was a time when he would fall asleep in the stroller, but those days are long gone. There's a whole world of sensory pleasures to explore now.
And then it happened, the one thing I dreaded most. He began to cry. What I thought was just his gangsta lean was more like the result of having squirmed himself into an uncomfortable sideways position that even a contortionist would have found awkward.
Can I tell you that nothing – no thing – stresses me out more than my baby crying? Can you tell I'm a new parent? I try to console him by putting on my happy voice and telling, “Hey little buddy, there's nothing to worry about. It's a beautiful day and all is right in the Universe”. He doesn't buy it. Apparently my Universe and his are in different galaxies. So I quicken the pace to an almost jog to try to get home as fast as possible while cooing “almost there, almost there”. Poor Flea doesn't even have a chance to poop. We make it home without incident, He is fussy but at least there is no storm to blemish this lovely afternoon. Mommy is home and it isn't long before he is suckling. All is well.
You know, it's funny. A several hundred thousand dollar transaction goes awry at work and it doesn't stress in my least, but when my baby boy lets out one single wail and my whole body, from head to toe, starts to panic.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Mr. Mom - Day 1
It's Monday and I'm at home. Weird. Kael is taking his afternoon nap so I am taking advantage of these precious few moments to write a few words about my first day on parental leave. Before making the decision, we debated about whether or not we could afford it as you only receive 55% of your salary – already meager earnings in the expense trap of Vancouver. But then I thought of it this way: how can I afford not to? Kael will only be a baby once so if I can find a way to spend some extra time with him now, while he is soaking it all in, then I've got to do it. Might as well use the sytem. And hey, if there is ever a time to be off work in Canada, it's in the summer.
When I told people at work that I was going to take time off to be with my son, reactions were mixed. Many of the women thought it was a wonderful idea; most of the guys saw it as an extended vacation.
Tell you what fellas, a vacation it is not. It's work. I never fooled myself for a second by thinking it would be cakewalk. Taking care of an 8 month old mini-me is in fact tireless work that never ceases. You can't take breaks when you want or take an extended lunch. Nope, one thing Michele has made abundantly clear is that it's all about the baby's schedule. He's my new boss.
Following a stormy 6 am wake up where only the boob would do, Kael's morning chatter began at 8 am, which was my cue to wake up. I think it translates to something along the lines of, “Hey, I'm up now. Should we get some breakfast? This plastic giraffe just isn't doing it for me anymore. Hey, I'm up now...”, whereas the 6 am screaming was more like, “I'M STARVING MY ASS OFF OVER HERE. I WANT SOME MILK NOW!” I have to say that I much prefer the 8 am Kman's morning show than my alarm going off at 4 am like it did when I was on the early shift. I sang the good morning song while I changed his diaper - weighing the equivalent of a bowling ball following a night of urination - and then brought him into the kitchen for breakfast.
I put on some baby French music, and then got his breakfast ready while he munched on his plastic rings in his highchair, which we have come to dub the “throne”. That then, makes Kael the Lord of the Rings. This is a duty I am comfortable with, by the way, as I have previously prepared his meals on weekends. So far, paternity leave feels like an extension of the weekend. I added water to his brown rice cereal and poured some prunes from a jar into a bowl et voilà, le petit déjeuner est prêt.
Eating is messy business. Perhaps I should have changed his white shirt beforehand... He is good eater, my little bruiser, ingesting all that we offer him in between breaks from chewing on his beloved rings. I noticed that he enjoys the blunt part of the spoon more than the end where we put the food. When the feeding session is over, he starts to get tired. I can tell because he rubs his eyes , without taking into account that his fingers are sticky and slushy from a mixture of pureed prunes and cereal mash, and he is still holding the rings with their serrated edges. That can't feel too good.
When breakfast is done, it's time to wake Mamma up so he can get a little milk before going straight back to bed. It seems odd behaviour for anyone who is not a teenager to sleep all night, wake up, eat and then go right back to sleep. When I questioned the logic, I was told that this is how it's done and that I should read the book baout sleep patterns (ie Sleeping Baby = Happy Mother ) before making any more comments.
So be it. I take advantage of my free time to take the dog out for a walk and enjoy the summer morning, repeating to myself the entire time, "Jeez, this sure does beat sitting at my computer, staring out the window wishing I was outdoors.”
As I enter through the gate leading to the front door after the stroll, I hear the familiar sound of baby crying. These days, it is the sound emanating from my apartment and not some other poor sucker's place like it used to. We are right in the middle of a Kaelstorm. Our wee man is teething and he is not so enthusiastic about it. It takes him an hour before he stops hiccuping from wailing so intensely in protest and calms down enough to fall asleep.
An hour and half later, Lord Kael awakens happy as a clam, as if the torture before slumber had never occurred. It's playtime. We let him roll around on the floor until his troglodyte grunts get very deep, which is his way of telling us to change up the program. I prop him up on his feet. He sways and staggers, reminding me of myself back in my univeristy days.
"Hey, what are you doing?", Michele suddenly yells from the bathroom, "It's lunchtime! We have baby group at 1 PM." Work, work, work. We all know who the real boss is. I tell Kael he is getting the prix fixe menu consisting of: mashed turkey, with mashed potatoes, mashed green beans and for dessert, you guessed it, mashed blueberries. Oops. Forgot to change that white top again before feeding him blueberries.
I get 15 minutes to myself after lunch to shave, shower and eat my own lunch. I guess that's my break.
At baby group, there a host of Moms sitting on mats watching over their fellow mini humans as they crawl clumsily around. Oh look, little Mary just accidentally gave little Ahmed a swift kick to the temple as she zoomed past. This is the cruiser group, that is, 6-12 months. I am the only man there, yet I am comfortable enough with my metrosexuality not to feel awkward. There are babies of all shapes and sizes enjoying each other's company, playing with toys, as new mother's chat away about the various calamities of caring for their respective cruiser. While the mother's converse, so do the babies, only their conversations consists of loud groans, squeals and squawks, something the mother's have all learned to ignore. I find it all very dizzying.
The guest speaker at baby group is a nutritionist here to enlighten us on finger foods. Similar to life, the key to learning how to eat for babies is by play and experimentation. We also learned that all food does not necessarily have to be mashed up into sludge and that giving Kael a third of a banana is fine, too. He acts as the test baby that all the other mothers observe. The nutritionist offers him the banana. which he accepts rather unenthusiastically. He admires its gushiness as he squishes it with his fingers. Then he hastily decides to shove into his mouth rather barbarically. “See”, the nutrtionist proudly exclaims, “he loves it!” Perhaps instead of his beloved rings, we will now start to give him finger foods to gnaw on instead.
By the end of baby group, Kael is overtired and needing of a nap. The rest of the day goes by smoothly, as dinner and bath time are old hat for me. Where did the time go? It's been constant, rewarding work so far. But I'm not doing it completely alone as my wife-to-be has done this entire time. And, the fact that I do not breastfeed makes my new job ten times easier. Kudos to all women who do it. Day 1 has been great. Let's see if I still feel the same way after Day 30.
When I told people at work that I was going to take time off to be with my son, reactions were mixed. Many of the women thought it was a wonderful idea; most of the guys saw it as an extended vacation.
Tell you what fellas, a vacation it is not. It's work. I never fooled myself for a second by thinking it would be cakewalk. Taking care of an 8 month old mini-me is in fact tireless work that never ceases. You can't take breaks when you want or take an extended lunch. Nope, one thing Michele has made abundantly clear is that it's all about the baby's schedule. He's my new boss.
Following a stormy 6 am wake up where only the boob would do, Kael's morning chatter began at 8 am, which was my cue to wake up. I think it translates to something along the lines of, “Hey, I'm up now. Should we get some breakfast? This plastic giraffe just isn't doing it for me anymore. Hey, I'm up now...”, whereas the 6 am screaming was more like, “I'M STARVING MY ASS OFF OVER HERE. I WANT SOME MILK NOW!” I have to say that I much prefer the 8 am Kman's morning show than my alarm going off at 4 am like it did when I was on the early shift. I sang the good morning song while I changed his diaper - weighing the equivalent of a bowling ball following a night of urination - and then brought him into the kitchen for breakfast.
I put on some baby French music, and then got his breakfast ready while he munched on his plastic rings in his highchair, which we have come to dub the “throne”. That then, makes Kael the Lord of the Rings. This is a duty I am comfortable with, by the way, as I have previously prepared his meals on weekends. So far, paternity leave feels like an extension of the weekend. I added water to his brown rice cereal and poured some prunes from a jar into a bowl et voilà, le petit déjeuner est prêt.
Eating is messy business. Perhaps I should have changed his white shirt beforehand... He is good eater, my little bruiser, ingesting all that we offer him in between breaks from chewing on his beloved rings. I noticed that he enjoys the blunt part of the spoon more than the end where we put the food. When the feeding session is over, he starts to get tired. I can tell because he rubs his eyes , without taking into account that his fingers are sticky and slushy from a mixture of pureed prunes and cereal mash, and he is still holding the rings with their serrated edges. That can't feel too good.
When breakfast is done, it's time to wake Mamma up so he can get a little milk before going straight back to bed. It seems odd behaviour for anyone who is not a teenager to sleep all night, wake up, eat and then go right back to sleep. When I questioned the logic, I was told that this is how it's done and that I should read the book baout sleep patterns (ie Sleeping Baby = Happy Mother ) before making any more comments.
So be it. I take advantage of my free time to take the dog out for a walk and enjoy the summer morning, repeating to myself the entire time, "Jeez, this sure does beat sitting at my computer, staring out the window wishing I was outdoors.”
As I enter through the gate leading to the front door after the stroll, I hear the familiar sound of baby crying. These days, it is the sound emanating from my apartment and not some other poor sucker's place like it used to. We are right in the middle of a Kaelstorm. Our wee man is teething and he is not so enthusiastic about it. It takes him an hour before he stops hiccuping from wailing so intensely in protest and calms down enough to fall asleep.
An hour and half later, Lord Kael awakens happy as a clam, as if the torture before slumber had never occurred. It's playtime. We let him roll around on the floor until his troglodyte grunts get very deep, which is his way of telling us to change up the program. I prop him up on his feet. He sways and staggers, reminding me of myself back in my univeristy days.
"Hey, what are you doing?", Michele suddenly yells from the bathroom, "It's lunchtime! We have baby group at 1 PM." Work, work, work. We all know who the real boss is. I tell Kael he is getting the prix fixe menu consisting of: mashed turkey, with mashed potatoes, mashed green beans and for dessert, you guessed it, mashed blueberries. Oops. Forgot to change that white top again before feeding him blueberries.
I get 15 minutes to myself after lunch to shave, shower and eat my own lunch. I guess that's my break.
At baby group, there a host of Moms sitting on mats watching over their fellow mini humans as they crawl clumsily around. Oh look, little Mary just accidentally gave little Ahmed a swift kick to the temple as she zoomed past. This is the cruiser group, that is, 6-12 months. I am the only man there, yet I am comfortable enough with my metrosexuality not to feel awkward. There are babies of all shapes and sizes enjoying each other's company, playing with toys, as new mother's chat away about the various calamities of caring for their respective cruiser. While the mother's converse, so do the babies, only their conversations consists of loud groans, squeals and squawks, something the mother's have all learned to ignore. I find it all very dizzying.
The guest speaker at baby group is a nutritionist here to enlighten us on finger foods. Similar to life, the key to learning how to eat for babies is by play and experimentation. We also learned that all food does not necessarily have to be mashed up into sludge and that giving Kael a third of a banana is fine, too. He acts as the test baby that all the other mothers observe. The nutritionist offers him the banana. which he accepts rather unenthusiastically. He admires its gushiness as he squishes it with his fingers. Then he hastily decides to shove into his mouth rather barbarically. “See”, the nutrtionist proudly exclaims, “he loves it!” Perhaps instead of his beloved rings, we will now start to give him finger foods to gnaw on instead.
By the end of baby group, Kael is overtired and needing of a nap. The rest of the day goes by smoothly, as dinner and bath time are old hat for me. Where did the time go? It's been constant, rewarding work so far. But I'm not doing it completely alone as my wife-to-be has done this entire time. And, the fact that I do not breastfeed makes my new job ten times easier. Kudos to all women who do it. Day 1 has been great. Let's see if I still feel the same way after Day 30.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
amazing feets
“Oh my God, did you see that!? He actually picked it up. He must be the smartest baby in the world...” Michele
They say that love is blind. Based on my short foray into parenthood, I cannot argue. Why, just the other morning, while propping Kael up on his feet like a marionette, he stooped forwards and picked up his beloved peacock, then had to let go of it immediately upon standing erect again to retain balance. Astounding, non? Non? Well, believe it or not, it is to us. Minor and perfectly natural developments such as picking something up off the floor, become minor miracles highlights of the day to a new parent - especially when they are your child's first.
Another, um, more solid example, is pooing. Most of us, if we are lucky, spend several minutes of each day on the porcelain throne getting rid of food previously ingested. But Kael's digestive system, which is not yet running at full capacity, drops the kids off at the pool on a somewhat alarmingly irregular basis. In fact, he sometimes goes almost 12 days without excreting that excess waste festering in his young colon, which Doctor J assures us is not abnormal behaviour for breastfed babies*. Sure, it makes for less stink and mess to clean up, but on other hand, notre petit trésor is obviously uncomfortable during those periods when he's all bunged up. He gets cranky when he hasn't pooed in a while, as do you and I. So when at last I get that text message from Michele announcing “Poop there it is!” or something along those lines, a mix of elation and pride prompts me to involuntarily emit a boisterous “woohoo”. Afterwards, I must of course explain to my curious co-workers that I haven't won the lottery, but that my son has just defecated. Their blank, confused stares hint that they just aren't as impressed as I am.
I'm quickly finding out that parenthood, such as life, is all about the small victories.
Spring arrived early here in BC and the signs of blossoming and joy were everywhere, including our wee man. He is now fully awake and those big, blue eyes of his that even I can't help get lost in, reflect the tremendous growing curiosity he has for his surroundings. Just as Dr Karp had assured us, it took him a full three months to accept that he can't retreat back into the womb and that this outside world is here to stay. Besides, maybe he's starting to realize that his parental units aren't that evil after all...The hair dryer was officially retired in March, though it still sits in the same spot, gathering dust, reminding us of trying times past. But we haven't forgotten its integral contribution to our keeping us somewhat sane. We are even considering encasing and donating it to the museum of colic as a former war hero.
The latest trend continues to be putting anything and everything within grasp into his mouth. (“Kael, be careful, you don't know where Papa's fingers' have been!” warns Michele. She's right of course). And I'm talking anything within range of those chubby little fingers he clearly had the misfortunes of inheriting from Daddy’s genes. He also enjoys chomping on his own feet. It's really quite impressive. He discovered his feet while lounging on the changing table. The insert-into-mouth reflex immediately sprung into action as he instinctively grabbed onto the heel of his foot and proceeded to shove it into his mouth like a Popsicle. His fans, ogling over him, went mad with excitement, egging him on for more, and finally daring him to stick them both in at the same time - which he eventually succeeded in doing thanks to some great persistence. What talent! What a feat! Ah, definitely another perk to being a new Dad is to finally have licence to get away with the dad jokes...
Even though the colicky period is officially done (big sigh of relief), that doesn't stop us from still having a Scorpio to deal with. He knows what he wants and he finds a, shall we say, very direct way to let us know when he doesn't get it. His vocabulary for expressing disgust is quickly evolving, as screeches are longer lasting and higher pitched while grunts grow angrier and deeper resounding; and yet, at the other end of the gamut of emotions, his grins also spread wider and his eyes sparkle with joy. Indeed, for the vast majority of the time, he is a healthy, happy baby. Who would have thunk after the trials of those first three months? You really do think it’s going to last forever. If you know any expecting parents, do be sure to let them know that even if their little bundle of scream doesn't seem to enjoy the outside world in the beginning, to persevere to show love and patience. The transformation will happen eventually, no matter how improbable it seems when he prefers the drone of the dryer over your own kisses.
At six months, he began to wear his own food. I mean, he started eating solid foods. Let's face it, more of it winds up on his face, bib, seat, floor and dog than in his mouth. Just prior to his first feed, he'd been anxiously watching us at the table while we ate dinner as if to say, “Yo, that looks good, hook me up!” So we did, though not exactly with the same shit as we ate. My favourite part is watching his reaction when introducing a new food. It catches him off guard initially so it begins with a look of bewilderment, which is closely followed by a scrunching of the face similar to the look you get when biting into a lemon. Finally, you get his verdict. If the face stays sour and he cries, it means that he's not crazy about this time around but maybe he'll find it more pleasurable next time. And if his regard remains neutral, it means he adores it. He also likes to suck up the water, too, gulping it down as if he had just spent 40 days and nights crossing the Gobi. He often ends up gasping and panting, or more commonly gagging to the point of his face almost turning blue. It's all or nothing with this kid – or, to use Michele's code, he's very intense - which is what I love about him already.
********************************************************************************
A little while back, I was waiting outside La Grotta del Fromaggio while Michele went in to purchase some mate and cheese – standard achat n'est-ce pas? - rocking a dozing baby and keeping a jittery Flea out of trouble with other canine and miniature humans alike. A couple with a young baby about half the size of Kael were sitting outside on the patio enjoying a coffee in the spring-like warmth. The Dad, noticing my load, struck up a conversation. We agreed on the miraculous nature of parenthood and learned that our respective offspring were born just four days apart.
- “How is he?” I inquired, expecting to hear of a string of long sleepless nights and intense battles to put him to bed.
- “He's an absolute joy”, the jolly man in the Montreal Canadians cap responded as his boy smiled from ear to ear, “he's been like this from the very beginning.
- “Yeah, fine, but what about the lack of sleep?, I probed, beginning to become suspicious of this new dad's relaxed and much too well-rested vibe.
- “11 hours a night, from the day he was born”, he answered proudly, with a touch of nonchalance – as if it were standard behaviour.
- “Pardon? As in1-1 eleven? As in 7-11? Here's a free a piece of advice that could save you from an evil glare, don’t tell Michele what you just told me when she comes out!” I warned.
Kael does not sleep eleven hours a night. Not even close. In fact, he continues to wake up two or three times a night, out of habit rather than necessity at this stage of the game. Michele faithfully stammers out of bed to take care of his mammary needs. He only wants one thing, and daddy is not equipped to supply it. But that will all change, we hope, when I take my parental leave from work in July. Not the booby part, but him not needing the booby... hey, come to think of it, I could get that contraption De Niro was wearing in Meet the Fockers. Anyways, while I'm on leave it will be my turn to wake up every three or fours - something I haven't done since his colicky days - to soothe him back to sleep and, with any luck, out of the night-time feeding habit.
If you're wondering why it took so long for me to write, it's because I've been busier than a colony of ants that just had their mound knocked over by a clumsy child. In an attempt to make up for the half of the salary I will be lacking, I took an extra part-time job as a soccer coach to make up the amount I won't be getting. In order to pull it off however, it also required me to work the 6-2 shift at my main job for the 2 ½ months I coached. That's a 6 am start incidentally. And a dog to walk before work. And the Vancouver Whitecaps to cover on weekends. And a travel writing course to take. And spending as much time as I can with my son. And hey, why not sprinkle a few dj gigs in there to really ensure maximum busy-ness. One day I did all three: work, coaching then djing. I kept thinking of the In Living Colour skit with the hardest working West Indian family. What? Only 3 job!? Oh, and there's Michele, my bride to be, my spiritual partner, waiting in the wings, wondering when I'd make some time for her. A jack of all trades and master of none, it's long been my vice. I want to do it all NOW. Unfortunately, Michele is often the one who gets put on the backburner and I don't thank her enough for being so patient with me and for being the best thing that ever happened on planet earth.
The thing is: the corporate environment is getting to me. Don't get me wrong, as far as financial company's go, my work is decent. The people are very nice, my bosses are supportive and not in the least bit overbearing, and the company's benefits are excellent. For that I am grateful. It's just that, I don't care for what I'm doing. I go through the motions. I accept my situation, but I can’t bring myself to be enthusiastic about it. They (the royal they) will try to spread the word that you can’t be doing what you love and make money, but there are those who ignore them and do it anyway. I believe I can be one of those, too. Why not? What I do need to bear in mind is that it probably won't happen overnight and that I will have to be more patient. As relaxed and tolerant as I am with most things, I'm not a patient person at all when it comes to me not having things go as I deem they should.
Overall, everything is wonderful as we celebrate one year in Vancouver. Summer took its sweet ass time arriving, but now that its here, it has put the whole city in a good mood. The other day I took Flea out to Mt Seymour to do some hiking while Michele and Kael were away visiting grandma and grandpa on the island. From the time we left our apartment to the time we were frolicking among the giant, moss covered cedars was twenty minutes max. Later this afternoon, we'll be bbqing at the beach. You just can't beat this city – when it's nice.
Coming home after work is still the best part of my day. Flea and her oversized ears, having heard the distinct sound of my bicycle from 2 km away, is there to greet me at the gate. Amazingly, she hasn't lost one ounce of enthusiasm in all the years I've known her. And when I walk in the door, Kael, who is as elated to see me as I am him, never fails to break out into that beautiful smile, showing off his single bottom tooth. And then I get a soft kiss from Michele to top it all off. At this point, all is perfect in the universe, even if for just one fleeting moment, every single day. And while we may not live in the biggest apartment, or have a fancy car, I sure am thankful for what we've got.
Viva espana! Viva Torres!
oj
* This was started a few months back, before things got a bit crazy, which is pretty much ancient history as fast as the Kman's developments go. He has now joined the realm of regulars since he began eating solids.
Final word: George Carlin passed away recently. The man was not only funny and witty, he was able to break down social behaviour with the intelligence of of a Phd. Case and point, check this video out: http://www.jibjab.com/view/87283
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)