I Dig This Crazy Kid!

I want apologize to my readers for not keeping up the blog lately. I know both of you must have been disappointed. The truth is, I have been working a lot and when I get home all I want to do is hang out with my son.

Daycare is going well. I drop Max off around 6:30 in the morning on my way to work. I don’t mind driving him. We have some nice father/son conversations. Naturally, I do all of the talking. Right now it is still dark that early in the morning and I can’t tell if he is really listening. I can only hear Max jabbering in the backseat. (He is probably just mocking me.)

It is just a short drive to the daycare. We can usually make it in about 8-10 minutes. 99% of the time it is uneventful. There have been a couple of cranky mornings when Max needed a pacifier. On those mornings it didn’t take long for me to master the ability to find his pacifier and then his mouth without taking my eyes off the road and still having one hand on the wheel. I might poke him in the eye or the ear, but eventually the pacifier makes it into his mouth. Then he is usually quiet and content until I drop him off.

We did have kind of an exciting morning before daycare this past Wednesday.

It was about 5:30 am and I awoke to the sound of my son screaming and crying. I mean, red faced, losing his breath, tears streaming down his cheeks crying. I hadn’t heard him squall like that since Shannon clipped his finger while trimming his little nails. (That is a whole other story…he was sobbing, Shannon was sobbing…) Max doesn’t usually get upset like that so I hurried into his room to see what was wrong.

“What is the matter?” I said through bloodshot, sleepy eyes. “I don’t know,” said Shannon, “he has a clean diaper, he slept good. I think he is hungry but he won’t eat and I really need to feed him or pump.” I went in the kitchen to warm a bottle for Max so Shannon could “relieve some pressure”. (I don’t know what PSI her chest gets to, but I bet it is pretty high.)

So I am sitting in the chair holding my crying son. His eyes are red and his cheeks are wet from tears. I put the bottle in his mouth and his wailing softens to a sob. After about 20 seconds I hear a rumble in his little tummy. Just then he lets go with a phttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt in his diaper. I could feel the fabric pouch filling against my forearm. It was like the Old Faithful geyser. Within seconds a little odor wafted up to my nose. “Peww!” I said. “Buddy, you stink” . He stopped eating and a big smile came over his face. He was happy for the rest of the day.

If only life were always that simple.

Max Goes to Daycare

We reached a bittersweet milestone this week at our house. Max went to his first day of daycare.

The day started out like any other. Shannon was feeding our son in his bedroom while I walked the dogs and got ready for work. When Max was done eating, Shannon changed his diaper and got him dressed for his new “school”. He was wearing soft, terry cloth jammies with feet in them. They were red and tan striped with a fuzzy teddy bear patch on the front. It sure would be nice if we could all wear stuff like that to work and school. I bet people would be a lot happier.

When Max and I were both dressed for our day we began packing the supplies he would need at daycare. There were diapers, bottles, baby wipes, diaper cream and a couple changes of clothes (in case they go to a nice restaurant for lunch I guess). I began to wonder how long he would be at this daycare. We loaded the items in a bag and put our darling son into his car seat. Max was in a pretty good mood. If I were a weather man I would say he was mostly sleepy and partly happy. He would likely turn happier as the day went on. As always, there is a good chance of precipitation. Shannon and Max got in her car. Because I was on my way to work, I followed in mine.

Daycare is not what it used to be. Gone are the days of the sweet little old neighbor lady who would keep kids in her home for a few dollars. Now there are rules and regulations. Forms and procedures. Don’t get me wrong, I am thankful that they are so careful. You don’t want just anyone to have access to your children. It just feels strange to have to punch codes and keypads to drop your son off at daycare. So, as we were standing at the front door punching in the access code to open it, I expected to see Max’s grandmothers hiding in the bushes ready to “spring him” once the coast was clear. (Neither Alice or Ginny were too fond of putting the little man in daycare) I could just picture them in camouflage, faces blacked out like a couple of Navy SEALs.

By the time we finished dropping off the paperwork, learning the drop off/pick up procedure and talking to Max’s “teacher” Nancy, the poor little guy was almost asleep again. Shannon and I didn’t really want to leave. We just kind of stood there looking down at our cute little baby boy. I was thinking to myself, “I wish I would win the lottery so I could just stay home and hang out with Max”. After what seemed like a half hour (it was really about a minute) we left our son in the capable hands of the daycare staff. There was no crying or whining. Not even from Max.

From what I understand, he slept all morning. His Granny Alice showed up a couple hours later to “check on him” and ended up giving him his bottle. After that, I think Max slept until Shannon picked him up in the early afternoon.

All in all I would consider that a successful first day.

Saturday Morning with Max

Last Saturday morning, after Shannon had fed him, I put Max in the bathtub. His hands and feet were stinky and his second and third chin smelled like sour milk. He needed a good scrub. I ran warm water in the tub and stripped him naked. I lathered him up and scrubbed him clean. (He especially liked it when I was washing his little feet.) Max is happy in the tub as long as we keep warm water on him.

When I was done bathing him I put a clean diaper on him, greased him up with baby lotion and then put him in a new outfit. “Good as new,” I said. He was smiling from ear to ear.

We both went into the living room to hang out. The older Max gets, the more fun he is to hang out with. He is two months old (after 8 weeks you can start giving their age in months) and he is starting to enjoy “playtime”. Playtime is that magical, yet brief, period between breastfeeding, pooping, burping, baths and napping.

I put a soft blanket on the floor so Max and I could stretch our legs. The TV was playing music videos but we weren’t watching. We listened to the songs and Max would “dance” to the music. He would smile and laugh as I sang along to the lyrics. His favorite video of the morning was the song “Low” by the hip-hop artist Flo Rida (pronounced flow rider). He loves songs about big booty! Of course that is when his mother walked in the room.

“What on earth are you singing with my son?!” Shannon says. “Chill Mom,” I say, “that’s his jam. Max is just trying to get his groove on.”

Long story short. I decided we better stick to singing about the ABC’s.

8 weeks old!

In just the last couple of days, Max seems to have entered a whole new stage of development. He's starting to interact more, noticing everything. Last night, he actually paid attention when I read him his bedtime story. I'll have him writing book reports before long!

A Million Dollar Smile

Last night I came home from work a little bit late. When I walked in the house, Shannon was in the kitchen and Max was in his bouncy seat in the living room. I gave Shannon a kiss and walked into the other room to see my baby boy. He was just waking up from a nap. It was just about time for him to eat. He was starting to whimper a little bit.

I got down on the floor, right next to his seat and said “Hi Max!” He turned his wobbly little head towards me and got this big grin on his face. “Do you think he recognizes me or does he just have some gas?” I said to Shannon. “Of course he knows you,” she said. “He loves his Daddy”. She may have been humoring me. All I know is when he smiled at me, everything seemed right with the world.

Now, I love my wife very much. Our marriage is happy and healthy. We are supportive and make a good team. However, even Shannon will admit that being married to me hasn’t always been a bed of roses. I know that you are thinking, that is impossible, but it is true. Being my wife sometimes has its drawbacks. Early on in our marriage we did not “communicate” quite as well. It was only after I established myself as the head of the household that we were able to start working together. (Shannon wasn’t used to dealing with so much “passion”.) I never thought anything could compare to my feelings for Shannon.

Until my baby boy smiled at me.

What a difference six weeks makes!

I am not sure what started the conversation but last night Shannon chastised me for not taking any video of our son. Out of the blue she blurted out, “Have you been taking any movies of our son?” “We will be sorry in a few years when we forget how sweet and cute he is right now,” she followed. “I WEAR THE PANTS IN THIS FAMILY AND I WILL DECIDE WHAT AND WHEN I VIDEOTAPE!” I said. Of course, when the words actually left my mouth it sounded more like “yes, maam”. The truth is, although I have not filmed his every movement, I have done my fair share of taping. So when Shannon was putting Max down for the night I hooked the handycam up to the computer. I wanted to download and save what I had recorded. There were several small segments from Max’s entire life (so far). Until you see the images side by side like that, it is hard to believe how much Max has changed.

There is a short clip of Max the day after he was born. His Aunt Donna is holding him. His skin is wrinkly and pink and he is bundled up like a “baby burrito”. Fast forward a few weeks and we see little Max sitting on his GiGi’s lap in the library. He is smiling and looking around. You can tell it is the same baby, but WOW. He is growing so fast.

The other night I came home from work and Max was in the living room kicked back in his recliner ( aka bouncy seat). He was wearing a pair of light blue, footy jammies. As I stood there smiling down at him, something looked a little odd. “I know what you’re thinking…his clothes are getting a little small for him already” Shannon said. “Small?” I thought “if he raises his arms his little legs bend”. We better try a bigger size. “Four days ago the legs were too long” I said. Maybe we should stick to things that are open ended. I don’t want to stunt his growth.

If I can figure out how, I will post some video to the blog. You will see what I mean. For now you will have to live with pictures.

Wow! Five Weeks Old!

I can’t believe that Max is five weeks old already. Like they say, “Time flies when you’re having fun.” We sure have been having fun with him. It seems our baby has been smiling since he came home from the hospital. (I suspect some of that has been indigestion.) Like all southern babies he will “pitch a fit” now and again but, for the most part, he is a happy little fella. Hungry, too!

While Shannon was pregnant we had several discussions about breastfeeding versus formula feeding. There are pros and cons to both. I can’t say that we feel super strong either way. Ultimately the health benefits and cost made our decision easy. If Shannon was capable of nursing, we should at least give it a try. Besides, I was afraid that if we didn’t the La Leche League (or Boob Nazi’s as I call them) would protest in front of our house.

Cheaper has certainly turned out to be beneficial. Max eats like a champ. His table manners leave a lot to be desired, though. He squeaks and moans and grunts while he is breastfeeding. It borders on obscene. Shannon says “I can’t possible feed this kid in public”. We’ll have to work on that.

We have known all along that Max would go to daycare and Shannon would return to work. Shannon has been pumping and storing breast milk for when that happens. Watching my wife nurse my son is beautiful and natural. Opening the fridge to get a Pepsi and seeing bags and bottles of my wife’s milk is not. Don’t get me wrong, I am not repulsed or anything, just a little freaked out. I know that it is necessary. I also knew that we would have to make the boob to bottle transition soon.

I gave him his first bottle last Saturday. We were more than a little concerned. Everything we have read suggested that it would be difficult and it is important that he take a bottle. We asked the pediatrician about it. Dr. Wiley said that breastfed babies can be pretty particular. “Just try an ounce or so and see if he accepts it,” said the doctor.

So, we sterilize the bottles and nipples. Then we debated on which type, size, nipple and amount of milk we should try. “I read that it helps if the mother isn’t in the room when you try to introduce a bottle,” said Shannon. “No problem,” I said. “Just don’t get too far away in case we need a boob transfusion”.

It is a good thing Shannon was just in the other room. Max took that first ounce of milk like it was a shot of tequila. I was left sitting there with an empty bottle and a hungry, crying baby. “Shannon, you better bring me some more milk in a hurry!” I shouted. She came in with another bottle full of milk. Like the gas man in the NASCAR pit crew, I popped the empty one out and popped in the full one. Success.