Sometimes you know when it’s happening. That salesman who found all the right buttons and you went home paying way more than you expected. The spouse who knows you so well, that he/she says ‘jump’, and you say ‘to the moon!’

It’s just not fair, you can’t say no, but you know it’s happening. Well, my evil little sprite has his dad wrapped around his finger. I’m being manipulated by an eight month old. All he does is smile and I’m all like, oh, you cute little thing, sure you can stick the fork in the power socket.  Of course you can tip over the garbage, I’ll clean it up just for you.

Well, not any more, today I’m going to be tough. I’m going to use my favorite word. “NO.” No more waking up in the middle of the night. No more brownies for you Mister. Don’t you dare smile at me. Cute little smile. Stinkin cute smile.

Could there be anything more happy, than Cheerios. The mere name conjures images of joy and breakfast. Bowls full of smiles shine in the morning sun, and whole grain goodness peers up from the table. Baby has entered the land of the happy little O’s, finger food fun as he pinches delicious healthy snackers.
We eat breakfast together, we two. He in his high chair, and I in my morning stupor. And after breakfast, he plays merrily with the bright yellow box.
Which brings me to the gift. Every parent spends unrequited money on “the gift”. I’m talking about that toy, that special toy, that their child is going to enjoy so much. We picture our little one playing for hours on end with this wonderful distractor. Oh what joy it will bring into the life of one so small. We bring it home in high expectation, present it to our little one with pride, gusto, and a goofy grin. Only to encounter bitter disappointment as child promptly ignores “the gift”, and turns his attention back to, the cheerios box.

I bought the boy shoes. I did it because the basement is a cold dungeon and I wanted him to be downstairs with me and not have footsicles.
Great plan, right?
Well, first, I’d like to thank and cuss walmart. Buying shoes there was cheap, but in the baby section of the shoes there were a couple hundred choices for girls, and three choices for boys. One of the choices was a pair of crocs with tigger on them. They were impossible to put on. So that really doesn’t count as a choice now does it?
My wife was trying to convince me we should buy him some fluffy pink slippers, with hearts. Come on, seriously, with hearts. HEARTS! Her reasoning was that we could use them again when we have a girl.(no that was not an announcement) Despite my being the husband, I still managed to get my way on that one. She’s got to let me win sometimes so I feel good about myself.
Anyway, the plan was doomed to failure, I get him down here, and the Second thing he manages to do, after proving to me how NOT baby safe my basement is, is take the shoes off.
Oh well, best laid plans…

Duh duh duh.

Ode to teething. By Me.

Once he was a perfect child. A sleeping child.

Not a weeping child.

but those things seem but visions wild.

Now that teethings come.

We used to all catch peaceful dreams

on quiet, light, slow flowing streams.

But now we all awake to screams.

Now that teethings come.

And now we’re up, without delight,

before dawn’s crack, in middle night.

and soon the wife will suffer bite.

Now that teethings come.

Just so you know, you have it well

those who fear the morning bell

best stock your house with Orajel

for soon the teething comes.

End

After working a full 9 hours yesterday, and being a full time dad, I thought, maybe, just maybe I might be able to get some well deserved rest. At some point between midnight and 3 a.m. , I became completely oblivious to any sensation coming into my body. I would have slept through the noise of armageddon last night.

Around 3 in the morning, my eyes pop open to crying. Turns out that during that last 3 hour stretch, I had missed several bouts of crying and two baby snacks. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not upset. Especially since the broken comment from my wife was something to do with these middle of the night things being terrible. Yup, I know all about that one.

Today, she is even more appreciative than she is normally.

The holidays are over.

Here are the highlights.

Monday. Left. Drove 1.5 hours south to spend Christmas.

After a holly jolly christmas, we find our phone.

Message from tenants, “basement flooded Christmas Eve”.

After contacting said tenants, find out that it is now dry?

delay homecoming for another day.

Saturday. Drive 1.5 hours north to clean up and investigate.

Am informed by tenant that leaky pipe below valve is problem. Fact.

Happy to do no plumbing, spend entire day cleaning basement. Ripping out carpets, vacuuming up water, drying out furniture.

Sunday. Drive 4.5 hours north to spend time with family of wife.

Monday.7:30 a.m. Recieve telephone call from tenants. Pipe again leaking, in different place. No easy fix, I smell plumbing, and another long drive.

8:30 a.m. Rouse brother from sleep. Best brother in the world (and sister in law (bestest)) save the day by going and doing my plumbing for me, while I lay around a warm house a couple hundred miles away. Thanks guys. We owe you.

Spent next two days unexpectedly driving 1.25 east, then west,  to look at real estate. This means driving around the area, miles and time not recorded.  This was my vacation.

A Happy new year was had by all.

Friday. Same tenants call. Sink is plugged. Turns out I didn’t get out of plumbing after all. Drive 4.5 hours south ( I was going anyway). Fix sink. Lose tenant towel to bleach water.

Saturday. Put now dry house back together. At least I’m not driving.

Note; Despite fact that our basement was covered in two inches of water, we only lost one room of bad carpet, a couple cardboard boxes, and a couple dozen unimportant old drawings of mine. All said, we did pretty well.

Regrets; Holiday weight. Really packed it on this year.

Who is that sexy Santa anyway?

So I haven’t posted, because wordpress wouldn’t let me in, one day I can log on, the next day I can’t, and like magic, suddenly I can again.

anyway. Today he was teasing me. Yes, I did something, “unsafe”. I went and left him alone whilst he was awake and I showered. It’s mostly unsafe because they always pick that time to cry. The one moment when you can’t do anything about it. Let’s give you an example.

Say your peaceful babe is lying in a toy induced state of perpetual bliss, and has been for the last hour. You think, hey, I’ve got five minutes why don’t I go bench press my truck while lying on a bed of nails. Now for a joke, four of your friends remove the wheels of your vehicle while you’re holding it up for a ten count. You can’t set the truck down now, cuz then it would be lying on your chest, and you would be giving the words “multiple puncture wounds” a whole new level of meaning. Well, your otherwise pacified infant will pick that exact moment to send up a torrent of wailings which would give shudders to a post menopausal banshee. Leaving you in a perverbial pickle.

So what do I do.

First Step. Breathe.

Second Step. Identify the Cry; Is it the ” I lost my binky” or the “My Life is about to end” Cry.

Third Step. Finish whatever it is you are doing, cuz, unless it sounds really, really serious, crying is a sign that your child is alive and breathing. I’m just sayin’.

To get around to the teasing part. I hurried through my shower, dried off, got dressed, did my hair, put on some anti-sweat-and-smell, and then went and checked him. (My bathroom is a total of 3 feet from his crib, and why do I have to explain myself to you anyway.)

The twerp was messing with me, I come in and there is not a tear in sight, and he starts laughing at me. Laughing. I’ll get even, I’ve got 18 years to get even.

I say, if he’s asleep, for the most part, let him.

Parents, you know the dread, the fear. Yes, you want to go do something, but there the babe lies, peaceful in sleep. The one time when you truly believe we are close to the angels. But you are going to ruin it, aren’t you. You are going to wake him, her, it up and then where will you be, eh? Up a creek.

I’m ashamed of you, what could possibly be so pressing that you would be willing to wake that lovable baby bundle. Do you like it when he wakes you, well, Do you? Mothers, let the manicure go, and next time you even think about  waking that kid up, remember to ask yourself, “What would Baby Jesus Do?”

Normally, my it takes a bit to turn my stomach. I am not often found driving the porcelain bus, you might say. No sir, rarely do I find myself in the midst of the technicolor yawn. So recently when I found myself quite ready to blow chunks, I was mildly surprised.

Puke from a 4 month old is not the most hurlific of substances, when taken in by sight or smell. Baby Ralph is a daily occurence. In fact, the common de-fooding of my child is taken in stride. However, a recent experience with normally benign bob, nearly had me painting the walls.

Post feeding, my innocent and wonderful baby, we’ll call him Slimer, managed to aim his Dionysian offering directly onto the back of my hand, not so terrible in and of itself. However, as I rotated my hand to keep the putrid puke from soiling the carpet. I experienced infant indigestion in an all to clear fashion. Imagine with me, if you will, the feeling of warm, raw egg whites, mixed with cottage cheese, oozing slowly across the flesh of your hand. Sliding into your palm and leaking slowly into the crevasse between your fingers. I’ll admit, the description doesn’t do it justice. Of course, I was holding the child up, so it took some time to be able to rid myself of my handful of hurl.

So, of course, I took the occasion to document the event, in the photo above.

sick.

Why is it, when you are sick, that the baby decides to stay up til one in the morning?

Why does all the poo happen on my shift?

How is it that when it’s my turn to tend the baby, I hear everything, but when it’s the moms turn, I still hear everything?

How do these squirmy little things get so cute?

which brings up the point, before having one, they weren’t that cute, and admittedly, mine wasn’t as a newborn. He came out all wacky shaped and slimy red  with a head like an alien. I have proof of this.

I will add, that I fell in love, almost instantly. How does that happen?