If you would have asked me, before Addie was born, to speculate on what I would enjoy most about being a father, I certainly would not have guessed it would be waking up in the middle of the night. But now, as I've grown into my new role as father, it is absolutely one of favorite things about having a daugher. Now let me qualify here, so that I don't get myself a permanent job of waking up in the middle of the night. I don't desire to wake up--in fact, I would prefer to stay in the bed, and I appreciate the fact that Anna and I trade off on waking-up duty. However, it is when Addie does wake up, and it is when I go to her room, that I have some of the best experiences with her.
As Addie has grown, her waking up in the middle of the night is not an indication of hunger. Rather, as I have read, she has reached the end of a sleep cycle, so a great deal of effort is not required to get her back to sleep. When Addie cries in the middle of the night, pretty much all we have to do is put her pacifier back in her mouth, which leads her--almost directly--back to sleep.
When I wake up with Addie crying, and I make my way into her room, she will invariably have woken herself up and rolled on her stomach (I think she's a little disoriented after being asleep--although I don't have any proof of that). I'll step up to her crib, and with my left hand cradling her head and my right hand gently holding her stomach, I'll roll her over onto her back. It's that moment, right after she's rolled over as I grab her pacifier and her lovey (blanket, for the uninitiated), that I see in her eyes that she recognizes my face, and she immediately calms down, and her crying stops. Every time that she has the look of recognition in her eyes, it melts my heart, because it is immediately followed by a look of complete contentment. Then I see that Addie knows that she is safe because her daddy is there.
I don't claim to know if Addie is really awake enough during these late-night moments to truly recognize that her daddy is there, but I hope she does. Even so, if she thinks it's only a dream, I'm glad that she falls back asleep dreaming of me.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
Dancing queen!
So, Addie likes to dance. Well, let me qualify that by saying that she likes to sit up and bounce up and down semi-rhythmically to music--but she seems to be having a blast. The problem we have with Addie's proclivity to dance, however, is that we have yet to figure out how to get her to do it for the camera. Anna and I have both seen her get down, so to speak, but we have been chronically without recording device when she chooses to do so.
So Saturday night, Anna and I tried to catch lightning in a bottle with Addie, our camera, and iTunes. We tried several songs in order to get her moving. First, we played her "In the Jungle," which she liked, but decided she didn't really want to boogie to it. Moving on, we tried a couple of other songs--some Stevie Wonder, some unnamed techno, and, I hate to say it, some rap. I remembered that episode of Friends where the only way Ross and Rachel could get their daughter to smile was by singing "Baby Got Back."
Unfortunately, I'm not immune to the siren song of cute baby videos, and as a result, I played a little Sir Mix-a-lot for her. As an aside, please don't judge me for my "Baby got back" ownership, as I'm sure you have your own black sheep mp3 (feel free to add a comment with your track of shame). Thankfully, Addie didn't dance, but I suspect, that even if she had, I would have been too ashamed to post that video on the Internet. Then, after a little bit more thought, we got a few moments of furtive dancing to the Knack's "My Sharona." I imagine that we'll have plenty of days ahead of our daughter dancing to novelty chart-topping hits, but I'm glad we can avoid it for now.
So Saturday night, Anna and I tried to catch lightning in a bottle with Addie, our camera, and iTunes. We tried several songs in order to get her moving. First, we played her "In the Jungle," which she liked, but decided she didn't really want to boogie to it. Moving on, we tried a couple of other songs--some Stevie Wonder, some unnamed techno, and, I hate to say it, some rap. I remembered that episode of Friends where the only way Ross and Rachel could get their daughter to smile was by singing "Baby Got Back."
Unfortunately, I'm not immune to the siren song of cute baby videos, and as a result, I played a little Sir Mix-a-lot for her. As an aside, please don't judge me for my "Baby got back" ownership, as I'm sure you have your own black sheep mp3 (feel free to add a comment with your track of shame). Thankfully, Addie didn't dance, but I suspect, that even if she had, I would have been too ashamed to post that video on the Internet. Then, after a little bit more thought, we got a few moments of furtive dancing to the Knack's "My Sharona." I imagine that we'll have plenty of days ahead of our daughter dancing to novelty chart-topping hits, but I'm glad we can avoid it for now.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
I totally understand the Wiggles now.
Before Addie was born and I spent significantly less time with infants, I had a hard time understanding how musical groups catering to children really functioned. I mean, how can you sing their songs without going insane? I'm not one who looks down upon artists like the Wiggles or Raffi--I don't think that they're freaks or sell-outs or anything like that. Obviously they make a great living, and they have to have some musical talent to do what they do; but, like I said above, it's the precariously traveling along the razor's edge of madness that I didn't get. Seriously, how many times can you sing "Get ready to wiggle" or "Go Captain Feathersword, Ahoy!" before you completely lose it.
But tonight, everything changed, and I had a moment of complete clarity akin to the clouds parting and the single beam of sunlight illuminating my sky-turned face. I caught myself, while feeding Addie (Anna's at a class tonight), singing a song that, as far as I can remember, was entirely about the mixture of foodstuffs that made up Addie's dinner. It's not that weird that I sang a song that consisted of the lyrics "You got your chicken and your fruit, and it's good enough for me!" to the tune of "You put the lime in the coconut"--the weird part is that I sang it for the better part of five minutes before I realized it.
As soon as I knew that I had been singing an impromptu song about baby food, I stopped and audibly laughed at myself. But here's the kicker--as soon as I stopped singing, Addie got upset. What I didn't notice is that my singing had transfixed her into eating like a champ. Then it hit me--silly songs are the pied piper ballads that cause babies to immediatley calm down and listen focusedly. So, obviously, I started singing again, and Addie ceased her fusiness and finished eating.
So there you have it--Raffi, the Wiggles, and others of their ilk aren't annoying--they're geniuses that have songs that you might as well call "Baby, be quiet as I make funny noises for your parents benefit." And it works. Stand in awe.
But tonight, everything changed, and I had a moment of complete clarity akin to the clouds parting and the single beam of sunlight illuminating my sky-turned face. I caught myself, while feeding Addie (Anna's at a class tonight), singing a song that, as far as I can remember, was entirely about the mixture of foodstuffs that made up Addie's dinner. It's not that weird that I sang a song that consisted of the lyrics "You got your chicken and your fruit, and it's good enough for me!" to the tune of "You put the lime in the coconut"--the weird part is that I sang it for the better part of five minutes before I realized it.
As soon as I knew that I had been singing an impromptu song about baby food, I stopped and audibly laughed at myself. But here's the kicker--as soon as I stopped singing, Addie got upset. What I didn't notice is that my singing had transfixed her into eating like a champ. Then it hit me--silly songs are the pied piper ballads that cause babies to immediatley calm down and listen focusedly. So, obviously, I started singing again, and Addie ceased her fusiness and finished eating.
So there you have it--Raffi, the Wiggles, and others of their ilk aren't annoying--they're geniuses that have songs that you might as well call "Baby, be quiet as I make funny noises for your parents benefit." And it works. Stand in awe.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Another show of massive greed in the financial crisis
An interesting story surfaced today that may be under your radar with all of the other negative economic news. Apparently, after receiving an $85 billion bailout from the American taxpayer, AIG decided it was a good idea to take its executives on a $440,000 retreat at a resort in California. You can read the details here, but you don't need to know much to have your stomach turn.
Rarely do I write to congress, but this story pushed me over the edge. I wrote the following letter to Senator Richard Shelby, who represents Alabama. But if you, like me, want to register your disgust with these executives, you may also want to contact Senator Shelby, as he is a ranking member of the Senate Banking Committee. You can send him a letter from his senatorial website: http://shelby.senate.gov/public/index.cfm?FuseAction=Home.Home. Feel free to copy my words verbatim if you like (change your state, though)--just make your voice heard.
Senator Shelby,
As you no doubt noted today, it has come to light that several AIG executives, after receiving a bail-out to the tune of $85 billion of taxpayer money, decided to take a lavish week-long retreat in California. As the events of the last two weeks have unfolded to the incredible detriment to most American taxpayers, it is an absolute slap in the face for those who have directly contributed to this crisis to take a lavish vacation to reward themselves for a job obviously not well done.
As an Alabamian, I appeal to you, a ranking member of the Senate Banking committee, to please take action on this issue. If the government is to ever restore the American investor's faith, it absolutely cannot allow the brazen actions of individuals who, apparently, lack any remorse for the havoc their reckless corporate decisions have caused the American people.
I, for one, would gladly greet the news that every executive who attended this retreat were summarily terminated from their position. Now that I am a part owner of AIG by virtue of my tax dollars, why should I allow these executives to retain their positions? What have they done to show that they understand the financial crisis facing this nation or that they have the ability to assist in leading out if it? Please, sir, don't allow this to stand. Instead, take action, and contribute to the restoration of American confidence in the economy. Thank you.
Paul Wamsted
Rarely do I write to congress, but this story pushed me over the edge. I wrote the following letter to Senator Richard Shelby, who represents Alabama. But if you, like me, want to register your disgust with these executives, you may also want to contact Senator Shelby, as he is a ranking member of the Senate Banking Committee. You can send him a letter from his senatorial website: http://shelby.senate.gov/public/index.cfm?FuseAction=Home.Home. Feel free to copy my words verbatim if you like (change your state, though)--just make your voice heard.
Senator Shelby,
As you no doubt noted today, it has come to light that several AIG executives, after receiving a bail-out to the tune of $85 billion of taxpayer money, decided to take a lavish week-long retreat in California. As the events of the last two weeks have unfolded to the incredible detriment to most American taxpayers, it is an absolute slap in the face for those who have directly contributed to this crisis to take a lavish vacation to reward themselves for a job obviously not well done.
As an Alabamian, I appeal to you, a ranking member of the Senate Banking committee, to please take action on this issue. If the government is to ever restore the American investor's faith, it absolutely cannot allow the brazen actions of individuals who, apparently, lack any remorse for the havoc their reckless corporate decisions have caused the American people.
I, for one, would gladly greet the news that every executive who attended this retreat were summarily terminated from their position. Now that I am a part owner of AIG by virtue of my tax dollars, why should I allow these executives to retain their positions? What have they done to show that they understand the financial crisis facing this nation or that they have the ability to assist in leading out if it? Please, sir, don't allow this to stand. Instead, take action, and contribute to the restoration of American confidence in the economy. Thank you.
Paul Wamsted
Monday, October 6, 2008
Debate fever!
Since my last post, we've had our first and only Vice Presidential debate, and we are soon to experience our second, completely impromptu, absolutely extemporaneous, totally off-the-cuff town hall style debate. I can't wait to hear the questions read in the style of a Brave New World automaton--it's gonna be awesome. And it's the relative safety and ability to avoid the question built into our debate system that has gotten me thinking about some ways we could improve our debates, or at least make them more entertaining. Here are three of the best:
1. Instead of having debates in auditoriums in colleges around the country, the Citizens' Debate Commission could buy some land in the Nevada desert and build a debate Thunderdome. When the debates are conducted, pundits, journalists, and handlers can scale the outside of dome and bang the metal girders with their weapons to register their approval or displeasure of the debate. The Thunderdome will be available for any political race (how awesome would the local school board race be then) and televised via a closed circuit station. Also, all candidates will have to dress in post-apocalyptic Australian fetish gear, and all of the debates will be moderated by Tina Turner.
2. Since the candidates really don't answer the questions they are asked (or at least, they dodge the main question and find a way to answer the one they want to), why don't we make them adopt rhetorical styles of our choosing? The audience members will write down a pairing of a hero and a villain from literature or pop culture and drop it into a hat. Then, the candidates will have to answer in the styles randomly selected before each question. In the interest of fairness, the candidates will have to alternate being the villain. Such a debate system could lead to these classic match-ups:
-He-man vs. Skeletor (military policy)
-Papa Smurf vs. Gargamel (domestic policy)
-Yoda vs. the Emperor (foreign policy and Jedi rights)
-Optimus Prime vs. Megatron (technology)
-Ferris Bueller vs. Mr. Rooney (education)
-KITT vs. KARR (the economy)
-Storm Shadow vs. Snake-eyes (the silent ninja threat)
3. We could ask the candidates original, thought-provoking questions and demand that they be answered with honesty and candor. And immediately after the question is asked, the candidates will fight Medieval Times style with nerf weapons to determine who will answer it. The candidates will trade off as to who gets to choose the implements of the nerf dual. Then whoever is defeated in single, nerf combat must answer the question (as everybody knows that honesty is candidates' kryptonite). I think nerf would be more entertaining then paint-ball or lasertag, but I'm open to suggestions here.
So tomorrow night, while you watch the candidates try to one up each other on not screwing up, just think what might have been. And please, if you have any good hero/villain match-ups, please add 'em to the comments. Cheers!
1. Instead of having debates in auditoriums in colleges around the country, the Citizens' Debate Commission could buy some land in the Nevada desert and build a debate Thunderdome. When the debates are conducted, pundits, journalists, and handlers can scale the outside of dome and bang the metal girders with their weapons to register their approval or displeasure of the debate. The Thunderdome will be available for any political race (how awesome would the local school board race be then) and televised via a closed circuit station. Also, all candidates will have to dress in post-apocalyptic Australian fetish gear, and all of the debates will be moderated by Tina Turner.
2. Since the candidates really don't answer the questions they are asked (or at least, they dodge the main question and find a way to answer the one they want to), why don't we make them adopt rhetorical styles of our choosing? The audience members will write down a pairing of a hero and a villain from literature or pop culture and drop it into a hat. Then, the candidates will have to answer in the styles randomly selected before each question. In the interest of fairness, the candidates will have to alternate being the villain. Such a debate system could lead to these classic match-ups:
-He-man vs. Skeletor (military policy)
-Papa Smurf vs. Gargamel (domestic policy)
-Yoda vs. the Emperor (foreign policy and Jedi rights)
-Optimus Prime vs. Megatron (technology)
-Ferris Bueller vs. Mr. Rooney (education)
-KITT vs. KARR (the economy)
-Storm Shadow vs. Snake-eyes (the silent ninja threat)
3. We could ask the candidates original, thought-provoking questions and demand that they be answered with honesty and candor. And immediately after the question is asked, the candidates will fight Medieval Times style with nerf weapons to determine who will answer it. The candidates will trade off as to who gets to choose the implements of the nerf dual. Then whoever is defeated in single, nerf combat must answer the question (as everybody knows that honesty is candidates' kryptonite). I think nerf would be more entertaining then paint-ball or lasertag, but I'm open to suggestions here.
So tomorrow night, while you watch the candidates try to one up each other on not screwing up, just think what might have been. And please, if you have any good hero/villain match-ups, please add 'em to the comments. Cheers!
Monday, September 29, 2008
I'm back to blogging, with a quick note on the economy
Well, if you look at the gap in time between my last post and this one, it's been several months since I last posted. I have been quite lax, and I hope to return to a more regular blog-updating schedule. Here's to hoping I can keep to a better schedule, but today's events in Washington seem to be prime for commentary; so on that note I thought that I would begin again.
No matter your opinion on the Bush administration's proposed bail-out that was voted down today in the House of Representatives, you probably have been detrimentally affected by the fallout after the vote and the precipitating economic crisis. Unfortunately, I don't think anyone (much less myself) has a crystal ball that can provide the best way forward to get us out of this mess, but I think that the market's reaction to uncertainty provides ample opportunity for reflection.
As I've been pondering today's events, I've been reminded of a couple verses of scripture. Most notably Ecclesiastes 5:10 - "Whoever loves money never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income. This too is meaningless"; and 1 Timothy 6:10 - "For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs." I can't help but think that God is using this situation to remind us all that the world is an evil place, and that above all else, it has an insatiable greed for money and the power that it brings.
I'm not one to advocate that this is God bringing some sort of karmic comeuppance upon us. I think to proffer such a position shows a fundamental misunderstanding of the gospel; for if God were a cosmic accountant waiting for us to fail, we all would have been eliminated long ago. I just think that times like these, when hardships are on the forefront of many minds, it is worthwhile to remember that God will continue to preserve those who look to Him, and that "[we] are not of the world, even as [He] is not of it." (John 17:16).
I guess the best way forward for those of us on the fringes looking in is to pray for wisdom for both our leaders and ourselves. Thanks for sticking with me on the blog, and I'll get back to Addie soon.
No matter your opinion on the Bush administration's proposed bail-out that was voted down today in the House of Representatives, you probably have been detrimentally affected by the fallout after the vote and the precipitating economic crisis. Unfortunately, I don't think anyone (much less myself) has a crystal ball that can provide the best way forward to get us out of this mess, but I think that the market's reaction to uncertainty provides ample opportunity for reflection.
As I've been pondering today's events, I've been reminded of a couple verses of scripture. Most notably Ecclesiastes 5:10 - "Whoever loves money never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income. This too is meaningless"; and 1 Timothy 6:10 - "For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs." I can't help but think that God is using this situation to remind us all that the world is an evil place, and that above all else, it has an insatiable greed for money and the power that it brings.
I'm not one to advocate that this is God bringing some sort of karmic comeuppance upon us. I think to proffer such a position shows a fundamental misunderstanding of the gospel; for if God were a cosmic accountant waiting for us to fail, we all would have been eliminated long ago. I just think that times like these, when hardships are on the forefront of many minds, it is worthwhile to remember that God will continue to preserve those who look to Him, and that "[we] are not of the world, even as [He] is not of it." (John 17:16).
I guess the best way forward for those of us on the fringes looking in is to pray for wisdom for both our leaders and ourselves. Thanks for sticking with me on the blog, and I'll get back to Addie soon.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Writer's Block
Since my last blog entry a few weeks ago, I've been suffering through a stupendous, jaw-dropping lack of motivation to do much aside from going to work and helping Anna with Addie. Yesterday, after being mocked by my Mother-in-law for the dearth of blog posts that have been appearing on Blogsted, I have made a commitment to start over again. Therefore, as you read this, the blog is transforming from Blogsted to Blogsted 2.0! Huzzah!
In order to properly inaugurate Blogsted 2.0, I think it would be appropriate to give you a brief recap as to what has happened over the past few weeks. Imagine the following list coming across your computer screen like the crawl of text before the Star Wars movies. Go download the soundtrack, and prepare to play the first track. I'll wait.
Okay, are you ready? Press play, and then slowly scroll through the below list. Here goes:
Okay, you can stop the music. That's about the long and the short of it. My writer's block has effectively dissipated with the writing of this post, so I'm planning on writing more often. Thanks for sticking with me.
In order to properly inaugurate Blogsted 2.0, I think it would be appropriate to give you a brief recap as to what has happened over the past few weeks. Imagine the following list coming across your computer screen like the crawl of text before the Star Wars movies. Go download the soundtrack, and prepare to play the first track. I'll wait.
Okay, are you ready? Press play, and then slowly scroll through the below list. Here goes:
- Addie smiles, a lot.
- Addie is quite vocal, and she is fascinated by the ceiling.
- Addie rolled over, but I was not around to see it.
- I've decided that Anna is the best new mother I've ever seen. I'm in awe of how she relates to Addie and how good she is with her.
- I change diapers pretty regularly.
- The diaper genie has been replaced with another, superior diaper disposal contraption.
Okay, you can stop the music. That's about the long and the short of it. My writer's block has effectively dissipated with the writing of this post, so I'm planning on writing more often. Thanks for sticking with me.
Monday, May 5, 2008
She smiles!
Up until recently, I've been telling people, when they ask about Addie, that she's healthy. Now, due to recent evidence, I can claim she's happy, because she's started smiling. It's easy to question whether or not said smiles are actual expressions of happiness or expressions caused by an excessive quantity of gas. My first questionable joy/gas smile was a few weeks ago, so I was willing to let that one pass. But last week--when Addie heard me talking to her after I walked into the room--she looked at my and gave me an honest-to-goodness smile. And my heart melted. It's weird how that happens, but the moment I knew that she was pleased with me as her daddy, I was the happiest I've ever been.
Although Anna (in full disclosure) has received the lion's share of Addie's smiles, she still seems to smile at me every now and again. I'm wondering what it is that she finds so entertaining, but I'm trying not to delve too deeply into the infant psychology, as it would probably be a misshapen facsimile of me that would speak with my voice (which, now that I think about it, would be awesome. I hope that's what she imagines me to be--amorphous daddy-blob). No matter what I'm just glad she's happy. But I must confess that I've been furtively trying to recreate the circumstances that led to the initial smiling. As far as I can tell, just talking to her seems to trigger the smiles, but I'm not sure what else. So, until further notice, I'm talking to her like nobody's business. I just hope that I can crack the code--unless it's gas.
Although Anna (in full disclosure) has received the lion's share of Addie's smiles, she still seems to smile at me every now and again. I'm wondering what it is that she finds so entertaining, but I'm trying not to delve too deeply into the infant psychology, as it would probably be a misshapen facsimile of me that would speak with my voice (which, now that I think about it, would be awesome. I hope that's what she imagines me to be--amorphous daddy-blob). No matter what I'm just glad she's happy. But I must confess that I've been furtively trying to recreate the circumstances that led to the initial smiling. As far as I can tell, just talking to her seems to trigger the smiles, but I'm not sure what else. So, until further notice, I'm talking to her like nobody's business. I just hope that I can crack the code--unless it's gas.
Monday, April 28, 2008
My dog ate my blog posts!
It's been far too long since I last updated the blog. Unfortunately, I am without proper excuse. Sure, I could say, "I have a baby, give me a break!" Or I could say, "I was in Atlanta last week in training, and you try blogging when you're in class all day!", but that would be pretty stand-offish of me, and I really don't want to do that. I've come to realize that I couldn't keep up the break-neck pace that I originally started this blog with, as I was fueled by adrenaline, sleep deprivation and Mountain Dew.
I promise, from here on out, I'll try my best not to leave you hanging. Instead, I'll try to settle in to a more realistic updating schedule. And seriously, Abbey ate my blog posts. I had, like, dozens.
I promise, from here on out, I'll try my best not to leave you hanging. Instead, I'll try to settle in to a more realistic updating schedule. And seriously, Abbey ate my blog posts. I had, like, dozens.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Could I really have expected less?
Although Anna and I have been taking pictures of Addie since the day she was born, today we had a session with a professional photographer in our home. This was a fantastic opportunity, as we are acquainted with the photographer, and this initial session was a gift. All seemed well at first. Addie was in a good mood, I had just changed her diaper--which I'm changing now (not well mind you, as I still get Anna to approve every change. I'm the roadkill remover to her foreman)--and she was awake and alert. Time to take some pictures!
The very first pictures we were to take we're going to involve Addie without a diaper, and in order to not show too much, we had to do some creative positioning. Remember, we had just changed her, so clearly, we were not flirting with disaster, right? Well, the first thing that Addie does when Anna puts her up to her chest (while wearing black, no less) was spit up, and then, immediately, she peed. Anna took being a human diaper in stride, and she and Addie took some great pictures. Then, Addie was handed off to me to take some daddy/daughter pictures--which I think turned out pretty well, and somehow, I avoided the consequences of a diaperless infant. Then, as soon as I gave Addie back to Anna, and--boom!--she poops down Anna's shirt.
The rest of the picture taking exercise went fine, save Addie getting a little upset toward the end. But Anna wanted me to make absolutely clear, that for some reason, Addie only used her as a toilet. We're not really sure why I didn't have target on my back for the logical end of Addie's meals, but I escaped for now. I'm sure that's not a permanent condition--but I'll take it when I can get it.
The very first pictures we were to take we're going to involve Addie without a diaper, and in order to not show too much, we had to do some creative positioning. Remember, we had just changed her, so clearly, we were not flirting with disaster, right? Well, the first thing that Addie does when Anna puts her up to her chest (while wearing black, no less) was spit up, and then, immediately, she peed. Anna took being a human diaper in stride, and she and Addie took some great pictures. Then, Addie was handed off to me to take some daddy/daughter pictures--which I think turned out pretty well, and somehow, I avoided the consequences of a diaperless infant. Then, as soon as I gave Addie back to Anna, and--boom!--she poops down Anna's shirt.
The rest of the picture taking exercise went fine, save Addie getting a little upset toward the end. But Anna wanted me to make absolutely clear, that for some reason, Addie only used her as a toilet. We're not really sure why I didn't have target on my back for the logical end of Addie's meals, but I escaped for now. I'm sure that's not a permanent condition--but I'll take it when I can get it.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
My world, turned upside down
For the last eight years of my marriage, I have slept on the right side of our bed. There has never been any dispute as to who's side of the bed is whose. Anna has always liked to sleep on the left side, and I enjoy the right. However, since Addie has arrived home, we have run into a problem. As Addie is still very young, Anna and I have been having her sleep in our room in the pack 'n' play (for those not familiar, a pack 'n' play is a portable crib/baby jail--you've probably seen one before, as a baby looks to you, the tallest individual available, for freedom). The sleeping in the pack 'n' play is not the issue--it's the positioning of the pack 'n' play (hereinafter the pnp, as I'm tired of typing pack 'n' play) in our bedroom.
In order for Anna to be as close to Addie as possible during the night (as Anna gets up with her so that I can sleep as much as possible before work), we've positioned the pnp next to her side of the bed. The problem is, this positioning of the pnp blocked our closet, making clothing retrieval a little complicated. So, yesterday, Anna proposed a solution--we switch sides of the bed, so that the pnp can be moved to where it would no longer block the closet. As a result of this bold proposition, last night--for the first time in nearly eight years--I slept on the left side of the bed. For those of you that are single, you're thinking: "so what's the big deal? I sleep on both sides all the time." While those of you who are married are thinking: "Switching sides of the bed must be grounds for institutionalization, right? Why would I switch? I mean it's my side." Married folks, I'm there with you--but I'm willing to sacrifice for the good of my wife and daughter.
But that doesn't mean that it wasn't one of the weirdest nights of sleep I've had in a while. Anna was genuinely concerned (as I occasionally sleepwalk--I locked myself out of a hotel room a couple of years ago at 2 a.m., but that's another story) that I would wake up in utter confusion as to why I would be sleeping on the left side of the bed. I didn't sleep all that well, but I consider the night a success as I didn't get up and leave the house in my sleep. I'll take waking up in my bed, albeit a little sleepy and slightly unnerved as to the left-sidedness of my bedded position, over waking up on the lawn. Until further notice, I'll continue to sleep on the left side of the bed. So, if you see me sleepwalking down the Interstate, please give me a ride--I'll thank you when I wake up.
In order for Anna to be as close to Addie as possible during the night (as Anna gets up with her so that I can sleep as much as possible before work), we've positioned the pnp next to her side of the bed. The problem is, this positioning of the pnp blocked our closet, making clothing retrieval a little complicated. So, yesterday, Anna proposed a solution--we switch sides of the bed, so that the pnp can be moved to where it would no longer block the closet. As a result of this bold proposition, last night--for the first time in nearly eight years--I slept on the left side of the bed. For those of you that are single, you're thinking: "so what's the big deal? I sleep on both sides all the time." While those of you who are married are thinking: "Switching sides of the bed must be grounds for institutionalization, right? Why would I switch? I mean it's my side." Married folks, I'm there with you--but I'm willing to sacrifice for the good of my wife and daughter.
But that doesn't mean that it wasn't one of the weirdest nights of sleep I've had in a while. Anna was genuinely concerned (as I occasionally sleepwalk--I locked myself out of a hotel room a couple of years ago at 2 a.m., but that's another story) that I would wake up in utter confusion as to why I would be sleeping on the left side of the bed. I didn't sleep all that well, but I consider the night a success as I didn't get up and leave the house in my sleep. I'll take waking up in my bed, albeit a little sleepy and slightly unnerved as to the left-sidedness of my bedded position, over waking up on the lawn. Until further notice, I'll continue to sleep on the left side of the bed. So, if you see me sleepwalking down the Interstate, please give me a ride--I'll thank you when I wake up.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Pictures!
Due to the high demand for pictures of Addie that we have received from family and friends, Anna has started a photo blog at http://www.thewamsteds.blogspot.com. Take a look...
Doctor, Doctor, give me the news. I've got...
...an eye infection. Not me--sorry to confuse--but Addie. Saturday night, Addie's eye starting crusting over with gunk. This is not the first eye-gunk incident that Addie has experienced. Her first couple of days in the world, Addie generated a couple of sizable eye boogers. I thought that this second bout of eye trouble was more of the same, but just to be safe, Anna called the pediatrician, and she told us that this more-prominent eye issue was more than likely a clogged tear duct which had led to an eye infection (the gunk was greenish-yellow, which according to Crayola is the color of infection). So Addie is now on antibiotic eye drops. Bummer.
Unfortunately, we had to call the on-call doctor on Saturday night, after we had just been at the doctor on Friday for Addie's two-week checkup--which was a shocking event. Get this, I met Anna at the doctor's office for Addie's two-0'clock appointment. I arrived exactly at two, and somehow, against all the laws of the Universe that I have yet to encounter when it comes to doctors, Anna and Addie were called back exactly at two--the precise time of their appointment. This was a tremendous shock to me. I imagine that the small cadre of doctors who meet at the AMA's Annual Conference to Determine Suitable Wait Times (the AMAACDSWT! Mark your calendar!) are now quaking in their collective boots, knowing that one doctor's office, against all protocol has allowed a patient to come back on time and be treated immediately. This does not bode well for the company that delivers the five-year old magazines that are placed in medical waiting rooms. How, if I don't have to wait in the waiting room for at least half an hour, will I ever catch up on who will win the World Series in the 2002 season (Go Brewers!)?
Well, it turns out that Addie's appointment went really well. She's gained a pound and grown three-quarters of an inch since she was born. Also, her little umbilical stump (the kryptonite to my changing diapers--I have yet to change on, as that little black thing of dead skin really freaked me out) fell off. So, besides the eye-gunk flare up on Saturday, Addie seems to be healthy. As much as I can make light of it now, I was really relieved to get her through her first appointment relatively unscathed. I say unscathed, because they had to prick Addie's heel, which led to the saddest moment of my life--seeing my daughter in pain. I can't wait for shots...
Unfortunately, we had to call the on-call doctor on Saturday night, after we had just been at the doctor on Friday for Addie's two-week checkup--which was a shocking event. Get this, I met Anna at the doctor's office for Addie's two-0'clock appointment. I arrived exactly at two, and somehow, against all the laws of the Universe that I have yet to encounter when it comes to doctors, Anna and Addie were called back exactly at two--the precise time of their appointment. This was a tremendous shock to me. I imagine that the small cadre of doctors who meet at the AMA's Annual Conference to Determine Suitable Wait Times (the AMAACDSWT! Mark your calendar!) are now quaking in their collective boots, knowing that one doctor's office, against all protocol has allowed a patient to come back on time and be treated immediately. This does not bode well for the company that delivers the five-year old magazines that are placed in medical waiting rooms. How, if I don't have to wait in the waiting room for at least half an hour, will I ever catch up on who will win the World Series in the 2002 season (Go Brewers!)?
Well, it turns out that Addie's appointment went really well. She's gained a pound and grown three-quarters of an inch since she was born. Also, her little umbilical stump (the kryptonite to my changing diapers--I have yet to change on, as that little black thing of dead skin really freaked me out) fell off. So, besides the eye-gunk flare up on Saturday, Addie seems to be healthy. As much as I can make light of it now, I was really relieved to get her through her first appointment relatively unscathed. I say unscathed, because they had to prick Addie's heel, which led to the saddest moment of my life--seeing my daughter in pain. I can't wait for shots...
Friday, April 4, 2008
Facebook - The wave of the future!
I now have my feet firmly planted in the information age--I have a Facebook page. Anna's had one for a while now, and she's told me several times that it is a worthwhile pursuit that has allowed her to connect with several people she hasn't seen in years. True to her word, within a few hours of having a Facebook page, I was able to get in touch with several people I hadn't seen in a while. It's exciting, first because I'm glad to catch up with people that I haven't seen in a while, and second because it allows Anna and me to have another forum to share Addie and what a blessing she's been. It's a great forum for pictures, but apparently, it can lead to trouble.
It seems that my dad, after being sent a link to Anna's Facebook page to view pictures of Addie's nursery, set up a Facebook account against his will. Anna, my brother (who originally recounted the tale), and I have been trying to forensically determined how my father, a well-educated successful attorney, could somehow follow a simple link and then walk away with a Facebook account. The best thing is not just that my dad somehow ended up with an account, but he invited everyone in his address book to be his friend. My dad tried to foist the responsibility of creating the account to Anna, telling my brother that Anna had told him that he had to set up a Facebook account to view the pictures. While absolutely wrong in this assertion, my dad did make me realize that he cannot outpace me when it comes to technology.
So now, I have an account. The only catch with Facebook is that I feel a little bit like Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer when I'm logged in: "Your honor, I'm just a caveman. I don't understand this 'writing on your wall,' adding friends, and updating my status. The bright light of the computer screen frightens and confuses me." I normally don't feel behind the curve when it comes to technology. I work with computers, and I'm pretty gadget oriented in general. But somehow, I've allowed myself to become a social networking Luddite. I'm slowly catching up, though. However, my late entry in Facebookdom has allowed me to observe some devious goings on that I now feel obligated to expose.
Coming into the game late, I can clearly see that Facebook is rife with blatant friend whoring. What is friend whoring you ask? Well, it's when somebody requests to be friends with everyone they've ever known, even if the relationship was superficial, or blatantly full of animosity. Case in point, a friend of mine (who will remain nameless) just recently received a friend request from a a former classmate that my friend has stated--on multiple occasions--is his nemesis. To quote my friend, "My nemesis friending me - what was I supposed to do? Should I have ignored his friend request?" That is the true question. Should the friend whore be called out on his behavior so that he will perhaps be shamed into no longer sending friend requests to everyone, including the person he sat next to at a stoplight? I have yet to be faced directly by a blatant attempt to increase one's friend count--all of the friend requests I have received are legitimate. But beware friend whores! I will not allow you to continue with your nefarious schemes! You are now on notice!
It seems that my dad, after being sent a link to Anna's Facebook page to view pictures of Addie's nursery, set up a Facebook account against his will. Anna, my brother (who originally recounted the tale), and I have been trying to forensically determined how my father, a well-educated successful attorney, could somehow follow a simple link and then walk away with a Facebook account. The best thing is not just that my dad somehow ended up with an account, but he invited everyone in his address book to be his friend. My dad tried to foist the responsibility of creating the account to Anna, telling my brother that Anna had told him that he had to set up a Facebook account to view the pictures. While absolutely wrong in this assertion, my dad did make me realize that he cannot outpace me when it comes to technology.
So now, I have an account. The only catch with Facebook is that I feel a little bit like Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer when I'm logged in: "Your honor, I'm just a caveman. I don't understand this 'writing on your wall,' adding friends, and updating my status. The bright light of the computer screen frightens and confuses me." I normally don't feel behind the curve when it comes to technology. I work with computers, and I'm pretty gadget oriented in general. But somehow, I've allowed myself to become a social networking Luddite. I'm slowly catching up, though. However, my late entry in Facebookdom has allowed me to observe some devious goings on that I now feel obligated to expose.
Coming into the game late, I can clearly see that Facebook is rife with blatant friend whoring. What is friend whoring you ask? Well, it's when somebody requests to be friends with everyone they've ever known, even if the relationship was superficial, or blatantly full of animosity. Case in point, a friend of mine (who will remain nameless) just recently received a friend request from a a former classmate that my friend has stated--on multiple occasions--is his nemesis. To quote my friend, "My nemesis friending me - what was I supposed to do? Should I have ignored his friend request?" That is the true question. Should the friend whore be called out on his behavior so that he will perhaps be shamed into no longer sending friend requests to everyone, including the person he sat next to at a stoplight? I have yet to be faced directly by a blatant attempt to increase one's friend count--all of the friend requests I have received are legitimate. But beware friend whores! I will not allow you to continue with your nefarious schemes! You are now on notice!
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Sleep...sweet sleep
One of the biggest struggles of my new fatherhood has been my relationship to sleep. Anna is nursing Addie, so there's a clearly defined limit of how much I can do to actually help her when Addie wakes up in the middle of the night. (Although, Addie did try to eat from my shirt when I was holding her the other day, but that's another story.) Basically, I want to help Anna, but, given the fact that I'm back at work full time, I also want to sleep. Essentially, I'm torn between how much I should sleep and how much I should help Anna.
To her credit, Anna has been fantastic about this. She's not gotten frustrated with me at all about my inability to wake up--even when I want to. Case in point, one night last week, as she was feeding Addie, I looked at Anna and said something akin to: "I'm gonna stay awake while you feed jasdferljkasdf;k;lk...snore." The next morning, Anna only asked me if I remember trying to talk to her with my eyes closed. I don't know if other new dads face this same issue--I want to be helpful, but I also want to be cognizant tomorrow morning.
To complicate things, when I do get to sleep, I have crazy dreams. There's really no need to clean the cobwebs out of my subconscious on the Internet (it's not that kind of blog!). To sum it up, I wake up every morning slightly rested and very confused. I've been spending the better part of the morning, while getting ready for work, trying to deconstruct my dreams. I'm kind of wondering why it is that in one dream, I'm visiting Colonial Williamsburg (I wonder if I would be a good blacksmith?), and then in the next I'm just watching TV. That's right, I had a dream where I just watched TV. I hoped, for a moment, that my brain was functioning as some sort of biological Tivo, recording over-the-air TV transmissions (I hope my brain can make the switch to digital next year--maybe I'll need an adapter). But no luck--I don't remember anything that I dream watched. It was probably just infomercials.
According to everyone I talk to, sleep will be a constant struggle over the next few months. One of my co-workers told me that this lack of sleep leads to a good tired. I only wish this good tired led to a sleep with less crazy dreams.
To her credit, Anna has been fantastic about this. She's not gotten frustrated with me at all about my inability to wake up--even when I want to. Case in point, one night last week, as she was feeding Addie, I looked at Anna and said something akin to: "I'm gonna stay awake while you feed jasdferljkasdf;k;lk...snore." The next morning, Anna only asked me if I remember trying to talk to her with my eyes closed. I don't know if other new dads face this same issue--I want to be helpful, but I also want to be cognizant tomorrow morning.
To complicate things, when I do get to sleep, I have crazy dreams. There's really no need to clean the cobwebs out of my subconscious on the Internet (it's not that kind of blog!). To sum it up, I wake up every morning slightly rested and very confused. I've been spending the better part of the morning, while getting ready for work, trying to deconstruct my dreams. I'm kind of wondering why it is that in one dream, I'm visiting Colonial Williamsburg (I wonder if I would be a good blacksmith?), and then in the next I'm just watching TV. That's right, I had a dream where I just watched TV. I hoped, for a moment, that my brain was functioning as some sort of biological Tivo, recording over-the-air TV transmissions (I hope my brain can make the switch to digital next year--maybe I'll need an adapter). But no luck--I don't remember anything that I dream watched. It was probably just infomercials.
According to everyone I talk to, sleep will be a constant struggle over the next few months. One of my co-workers told me that this lack of sleep leads to a good tired. I only wish this good tired led to a sleep with less crazy dreams.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Al Gore is gonna be mad...
I've never intended this blog to be a forum to discuss the merits or detriments of global warming and the green movement. However, since having a baby, I have learned that diapers are anything but earth friendly. A single diaper, I'll give you, isn't really that bad. It's not going to push the landfill over the edge or anything. But, as Addie goes through at least--I'm estimating here--a thousand diapers a day, I don't think we're helping all that much. Don't worry, I'm trying to offset Addie's prolific poopage by exhaling additional carbon dioxide on plants and watching Ferngully. (Who knew that fairies lived in the rainforest? Why was that not in An Inconvenient Truth?)
Thankfully, our friends in the baby industry are looking out for the average Joe like me. They're aware that after only a day or two, it's possible that your house can be swallowed in an avalanche of dirty diapers. This is why the Diaper Genie was invented. If you've never heard of the Diaper Genie--once you have a baby, you will. For the uninitiated, though, let me give you a brief description. The Diaper Genie is a two-foot plastic tower with a hinged lid, hiding a device that whisks diapers away to some nether realm where no smell molecule can escape. Basically, having a Diaper Genie is like having the most useful droid from Star Wars ever. Yeah, R2-D2 was pretty cool, but until R2 can dispose of diapers in addition to his (its?) regular duties of beeping and hanging out with C3P0, the Diaper Genie has the edge.
I know what you're thinking. "Paul, this Diaper Genie you're talking about sounds like the best invention ever! I bet I could dispose of lots of smelly things in there, like roadkill or old VHS tapes of CHiPs. Where can I get one?" Well, slow down there, Speed Racer. The Diaper Genie's not all rainbows and bubble-gum. It's great...until you have to change it. Turns out, the nether realm that the Diaper Genie transports Addie's dirty business is not an alternate dimension where down is up and black is white--it's just a garbage bag, closed by a clamp. Don't get me wrong, prior to its having to be changed, the Diaper Genie does do a good job of locking the smell away. But when you pull that oblong bag of nastiness out of the base of the Diaper Genie, you're immediately reminded of the fact that your baby has pooped her weight several times over.
Thankfully, the usefulness of the Diaper Genie easily outweighs the unpleasantness of changing it. It holds like thirty dirty diapers or so, which is great, because that means the current bag should last us until, maybe, tomorrow.
Thankfully, our friends in the baby industry are looking out for the average Joe like me. They're aware that after only a day or two, it's possible that your house can be swallowed in an avalanche of dirty diapers. This is why the Diaper Genie was invented. If you've never heard of the Diaper Genie--once you have a baby, you will. For the uninitiated, though, let me give you a brief description. The Diaper Genie is a two-foot plastic tower with a hinged lid, hiding a device that whisks diapers away to some nether realm where no smell molecule can escape. Basically, having a Diaper Genie is like having the most useful droid from Star Wars ever. Yeah, R2-D2 was pretty cool, but until R2 can dispose of diapers in addition to his (its?) regular duties of beeping and hanging out with C3P0, the Diaper Genie has the edge.
I know what you're thinking. "Paul, this Diaper Genie you're talking about sounds like the best invention ever! I bet I could dispose of lots of smelly things in there, like roadkill or old VHS tapes of CHiPs. Where can I get one?" Well, slow down there, Speed Racer. The Diaper Genie's not all rainbows and bubble-gum. It's great...until you have to change it. Turns out, the nether realm that the Diaper Genie transports Addie's dirty business is not an alternate dimension where down is up and black is white--it's just a garbage bag, closed by a clamp. Don't get me wrong, prior to its having to be changed, the Diaper Genie does do a good job of locking the smell away. But when you pull that oblong bag of nastiness out of the base of the Diaper Genie, you're immediately reminded of the fact that your baby has pooped her weight several times over.
Thankfully, the usefulness of the Diaper Genie easily outweighs the unpleasantness of changing it. It holds like thirty dirty diapers or so, which is great, because that means the current bag should last us until, maybe, tomorrow.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Okay, that's gross...
Prior to Addie being born, multiple experienced parents told me something akin to this: "You think it's gross now, but when it's your baby, it just doesn't bother you." Saturday night, Addie marked a first in her life. Shortly after we laid her down in her crib, Addie let loose her first (of many, probably) bazooka barf. Fortunately (or unfortunately, as it must have been spectacular), I did not see Addie unleash this targeted missile of goo. I discovered the evidence when I tried to lift Addie out of the crib only moments after the event.
Doing my best CSI:Montgomery, I was quickly led me to the conclusion that Addie was the culprit, as she was the only person in the room with the equipment (and motive?) required for a decent bazooka barf. Contrary to the wisdom provided to me from the parents above, and despite the fact that I love Addie dearly, running my fingers through a pool of half-digested milk was pretty grody. And Addie had it all over her. It was in her hair, all over her nightgown, and it soaked through the sheet and down through the mattress pad. Really, I'm rather impressed with her ability to empty the contents of her stomach in one triumphant spasm, but still--gross.
I would like to say that my first reaction to running my fingers through baby vomit was to whisk Addie out of the crib and take charge in Operation: Infant Hose Down. However, as soon as I processed that Addie had thrown up an entire stomach contents' worth of milk, I panicked and called Anna for help. Fortunately, Anna knows what she's doing, and easily took care of cleaning Addie. I took over the role of post-bazooka barf clean-up crew. After I put up the biohazard tape, drew some chalk outlines, and took applicable witness statements, I had all the dirty laundry in the wash.
Thankfully all evidence of the vomiting incident is now behind us, and Addie has not thrown up again, so she seems to be fine. She is clean and happy--but looking into her eyes, I'm afraid she's a recidivist. So now, I have to live with the knowledge that it's only a matter of time before she blows again. To all of you who told me these events aren't gross--I can hear you snickering.
Doing my best CSI:Montgomery, I was quickly led me to the conclusion that Addie was the culprit, as she was the only person in the room with the equipment (and motive?) required for a decent bazooka barf. Contrary to the wisdom provided to me from the parents above, and despite the fact that I love Addie dearly, running my fingers through a pool of half-digested milk was pretty grody. And Addie had it all over her. It was in her hair, all over her nightgown, and it soaked through the sheet and down through the mattress pad. Really, I'm rather impressed with her ability to empty the contents of her stomach in one triumphant spasm, but still--gross.
I would like to say that my first reaction to running my fingers through baby vomit was to whisk Addie out of the crib and take charge in Operation: Infant Hose Down. However, as soon as I processed that Addie had thrown up an entire stomach contents' worth of milk, I panicked and called Anna for help. Fortunately, Anna knows what she's doing, and easily took care of cleaning Addie. I took over the role of post-bazooka barf clean-up crew. After I put up the biohazard tape, drew some chalk outlines, and took applicable witness statements, I had all the dirty laundry in the wash.
Thankfully all evidence of the vomiting incident is now behind us, and Addie has not thrown up again, so she seems to be fine. She is clean and happy--but looking into her eyes, I'm afraid she's a recidivist. So now, I have to live with the knowledge that it's only a matter of time before she blows again. To all of you who told me these events aren't gross--I can hear you snickering.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Digression 1: Face!
When you have a new baby, you're awake a lot more than you would normally prefer. While I don't wish this state of sleeplessness to continue forever, it does have a certain hallucinatory, creative effect upon the mind. I find myself going down strange paths of thought as I sit with Addie, trying to rock her to sleep while Anna is catching a nap. Coleridge claims that Kubla Kahn was the product of an opium-induced dream; similarly, this blog has thus far been a product of sleeplessness and Mountain Dew (probably illegal in Utah!). This (and my writing about jams and ALF yesterday) has led me to today's digressive topic: renewing the use of the word face as a potent insult/categorical conversation ender.
This renewal of face began a few months ago at work, when one of our many divergent discussions ended with the coup de grâce: "Face!" I hadn't heard face used as an insult since middle school--but let me tell you, it is uncomebackable. As a result of its one-time usage, face is now a regular part of our lexicon, and I would be remiss if I did not pass it on. If you are not using face in day-to-day conversations, start now! You will be the envy of your friends and co-workers, as you will always have the last word. Don't believe me? Need some examples? I've written a short playlet to demonstrate (feel free to perform it out loud for full face! effect):
Friend A - "I think that the movie we just saw was pretty good."
You - "Yeah, pretty good at sucking! Face!"
Awesome, no? Who exactly got faced in the above dialog? Your friend? The movie? I don't know...but you win either way! Can Friend A come back with a cogent argument as to the aforementioned movie's quality after such an enthusiastic face? I submit that Friend A most certainly cannot! Start using face today, and thank me later.
And, for those of you thinking, "Paul, I thought this blog was about Addie?" My response to such a spurious accusation is this: I mentioned Addie at the beginning, or can you not draw inferences? Face!
This renewal of face began a few months ago at work, when one of our many divergent discussions ended with the coup de grâce: "Face!" I hadn't heard face used as an insult since middle school--but let me tell you, it is uncomebackable. As a result of its one-time usage, face is now a regular part of our lexicon, and I would be remiss if I did not pass it on. If you are not using face in day-to-day conversations, start now! You will be the envy of your friends and co-workers, as you will always have the last word. Don't believe me? Need some examples? I've written a short playlet to demonstrate (feel free to perform it out loud for full face! effect):
Friend A - "I think that the movie we just saw was pretty good."
You - "Yeah, pretty good at sucking! Face!"
Awesome, no? Who exactly got faced in the above dialog? Your friend? The movie? I don't know...but you win either way! Can Friend A come back with a cogent argument as to the aforementioned movie's quality after such an enthusiastic face? I submit that Friend A most certainly cannot! Start using face today, and thank me later.
And, for those of you thinking, "Paul, I thought this blog was about Addie?" My response to such a spurious accusation is this: I mentioned Addie at the beginning, or can you not draw inferences? Face!
Friday, March 28, 2008
One week down...
Addie has been home for a week as of this afternoon. It's been great, but I'm mostly nervous around her. She's so small, and I'm so uncoordinated. By my math, that's a poor equation that comes out with all sorts of bad remainders. So, I'm letting Anna do most of the Addie holding. For now, Addie and I have an agreement. I'll work to be more comfortable holding her, and she'll get some stronger neck muscles.
While watching Anna hold Addie, though, I've been thinking about what the next several years will hold. For the most part, I've been thinking about how to help her avoid the uncomfortable and embarrassing moments that I had, but I fear that there is nothing I can do, as it may just be a rite of passage. I know that middle school is several years off, but I already love Addie so much that I don't want her to have to go through that cesspool. Let me give you an example. Between 6th and 7th grade, my family moved from West Point, New York (I was an Army brat), back to Augusta, Georgia, where we had been stationed before. Being that it was 1990, and West Point was by and large a transient community, jams (Remember jams--long shorts/short pants...?) were still popular. So, the first day of school rolls around, and I show up wearing jams. I learned, very quickly, that jams were no longer popular in Augusta, as everyone had moved on to Duck Heads (freakin' Duck Heads). As a 7th grader, being the only kid wearing jams registered somewhere between catastrophically embarrassing and cataclysmically embarrassing.
So the question is, how can I prevent Addie from having her "I wore jams to the first day of 7th grade" moment? How can I prevent her from having to deal with the "cool" kids? You remember the cool kids, right? The kids that nobody really liked but wanted to hang out with anyway? (Note: if you were a cool kid, you probably do not remember this. Sorry to break it you this way.) That same 7th-grade year, I somehow found myself sitting at the cool kids lunch table for a few months. What I most remember about that time was that I "lent" Chuck Long a dollar just about every day. The sarcastic quotation marks should clue you in that I functioned as a lunch-time ATM. Perhaps that near-daily dollar was really a cool kid tax that I had to pay--which is too bad, because I could have used that money to buy some cool ALF merchandise.
I know my parents wanted to help me avoid things like the jams incident, yet they were powerless in the face of 7th grader who was sure that jams were the long shorts (short pants?) of choice. So, Addie, as you make your way forward in life, just try to listen to me when I tell you that jams are not cool (unless you wear them ironically, then they're awesome). Good luck, kiddo!
Oh, and since you were going to look it up anyway:
While watching Anna hold Addie, though, I've been thinking about what the next several years will hold. For the most part, I've been thinking about how to help her avoid the uncomfortable and embarrassing moments that I had, but I fear that there is nothing I can do, as it may just be a rite of passage. I know that middle school is several years off, but I already love Addie so much that I don't want her to have to go through that cesspool. Let me give you an example. Between 6th and 7th grade, my family moved from West Point, New York (I was an Army brat), back to Augusta, Georgia, where we had been stationed before. Being that it was 1990, and West Point was by and large a transient community, jams (Remember jams--long shorts/short pants...?) were still popular. So, the first day of school rolls around, and I show up wearing jams. I learned, very quickly, that jams were no longer popular in Augusta, as everyone had moved on to Duck Heads (freakin' Duck Heads). As a 7th grader, being the only kid wearing jams registered somewhere between catastrophically embarrassing and cataclysmically embarrassing.
So the question is, how can I prevent Addie from having her "I wore jams to the first day of 7th grade" moment? How can I prevent her from having to deal with the "cool" kids? You remember the cool kids, right? The kids that nobody really liked but wanted to hang out with anyway? (Note: if you were a cool kid, you probably do not remember this. Sorry to break it you this way.) That same 7th-grade year, I somehow found myself sitting at the cool kids lunch table for a few months. What I most remember about that time was that I "lent" Chuck Long a dollar just about every day. The sarcastic quotation marks should clue you in that I functioned as a lunch-time ATM. Perhaps that near-daily dollar was really a cool kid tax that I had to pay--which is too bad, because I could have used that money to buy some cool ALF merchandise.
I know my parents wanted to help me avoid things like the jams incident, yet they were powerless in the face of 7th grader who was sure that jams were the long shorts (short pants?) of choice. So, Addie, as you make your way forward in life, just try to listen to me when I tell you that jams are not cool (unless you wear them ironically, then they're awesome). Good luck, kiddo!
Oh, and since you were going to look it up anyway:
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Advertisers are nothing but a bunch of liars!
Brace yourselves folks--my experience with Addie this week has led me to some unbelievable news. Get this--advertising is not always genuine!!! (Note: the level of shock is directly proportional to the number of exclamation points used; so three is quite high on the shockitude scale.) How did I draw this conclusion, you ask? It was after I saw this ad from E*Trade:
Note that the baby in the ad talks, makes pithy comments about how you are no better than an infant if you don't use E*Trade, and uses a PC (and a Webcam!) with relative ease. Addie can do none of these things! I know because I checked. To be scientific about it, I sat her down in front of the computer with me, and I allowed her to try to type/trade stocks on the Internet. You know what--she can barely type! To illustrate, here's an example of what she typed for me: afguiwe10u9n. That took her two hours! I hoped that if I opened www.afguiwe10u9n.com, it would backdoor me to E*Trade. It turns out that the Internet is unfamiliar with said URL.
How can Addie trade stocks if she can't type? (And don't get me started on using the mouse.) Why would E*Trade want to imply that my child should be a financial baron by now? Am I to worry that Addie doesn't speak with attitude to spare, mocking those who don't like to trade online? Why E*Trade, why?
On a happier note, Addie can spit up equally as well as the E*Trade baby; so at least I know we're on the right track. Maybe, if given time, Addie will be a regular John D. Rockefeller, trading stocks with the best minds on Wall Street. I expect this will happen in the next couple of weeks--if not, my faith in advertising will be irrevocably shaken. Next thing I'll hear is that Sonny is not actually "Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs," and this I cannot abide.
How can Addie trade stocks if she can't type? (And don't get me started on using the mouse.) Why would E*Trade want to imply that my child should be a financial baron by now? Am I to worry that Addie doesn't speak with attitude to spare, mocking those who don't like to trade online? Why E*Trade, why?
On a happier note, Addie can spit up equally as well as the E*Trade baby; so at least I know we're on the right track. Maybe, if given time, Addie will be a regular John D. Rockefeller, trading stocks with the best minds on Wall Street. I expect this will happen in the next couple of weeks--if not, my faith in advertising will be irrevocably shaken. Next thing I'll hear is that Sonny is not actually "Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs," and this I cannot abide.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
The menagerie approves...I think
One of the infant-centered features of our house is that Addie has five built-in playmates in our pets. I can say playmates now, but before we came home, I was afraid that these five playmates were going to be fur-covered missiles of doom. While I know that none of our animals (three cats and two dogs) are nefarious feline/canine super-villians bent on the destruction of children, I do know that they are all incredibly curious as to the contents of the little bundle we brought home on Friday, and that makes them slightly unpredictable.
The cats have been a similar story. Like you would expect with cats, their interest in Addie lasts for a moment, and then they don't really care anymore. Our oldest cat, the diabetic Miles, was the first to walk up to Addie to check her out. Anna and I prepared to intervene to protect Addie if necessary, but it turns out that Miles sniffed Addie for a moment and then promptly proceeded to step right over her like she wasn't there. Winston, our 14-pound fatso, is really only a concern if he accidentally sits on Addie. Despite any potential danger he may pose, Winston is pretty freaked out by Addie's crying. He maintains his distance, and I don't really see him approaching Addie for a while. It took Winston at least two years to let me pet him, so I think Addie will probably be a teenager before Winston makes up his mind about her. The offender I was most worried about was Fuzz, our Persian/Siamese mix. Since we set up the baby furniture, Fuzz has taken a liking to sleeping in the crib. Naturally, Anna and I were concerned, as we didn't want Fuzz to sleep on Addie accidentally. Fuzz seems to be okay--again, just mostly curious. I hope that all three warm up to Addie, so that they'll be alright when Addie's old enough to inadvertently torment them.So, all seems well with our animals, which is definitely a good thing. Looking back, I'm just glad that we didn't bring Addie home to our pet situation a couple of years ago. When she was at Churchill Academy, Anna starting raising gerbils and rabbits with her science students. While it was a great learning experience for her students, we ended up taking care of a boatload of gerbils, most of whom were quite evil (trust me, one of them was named Spawn of Satan--long story--but that gerbil was beyond mean). Additionally, all of the individual gerbils required different care--some had to be alone, some could not be with others, some couldn't be with members of the opposite sex. It was like running a nursing home for the criminally insane. Given our pet history, I'm glad that Addie won't have the opportunity to become a modern-day Willard, commanding an unholy army of gerbils. Instead, all she'll command is a five-animal army of uncoordinated doofuses. The world is safe.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Babies cry a lot
Prior to Addie's arrival, I knew that babies cried a lot. However, I knew that as soon as a baby started crying, I could count on their parents to take care of them. Now that I am a parent, I know that I have no idea how to stop Addie from crying--save hand her to Anna. Anna seems to have a better grasp of this than I do, but I'm slowly picking it up. From my reading on the Internet, and what everyone told us at the hospital, apparently Addie is crying either because she is: a) hungry, b) needs a new diaper, or c) wants to sleep.
I know I'm a new parent, and I'm probably in no position to reintrepret thousands of years of parenting wisdom--but I think that Addie is not hungry, in need of a new diaper, or tired. I think that she's worried about the economy. When she says "wah"--I hear "Dad, with the economy in turmoil, the dollar weakening against the Euro, and the presidential race becoming more vitriolic by the day, how am I to have assurance that my economic future is accounted for?"
This question, again, phrased as "wah," troubled me. I tried to tell Addie that the dollar strengthened against the Euro on Friday, that new home sales were up two percent during the first quarter of 2008, and Bear Sterns is being reevaluated at a higher buyout price. Surely, I said to Addie, this must raise your spirits, as many experts believe that these factors point against an economic recession--isn't that great?
Again, she responded with "wah," and her cries continued unabated. How could I respond to Addie when she laid forth such a strong rebuttal? Given the fact that I couldn't convince her that downs are a natural foil to the ups of a market economy, I decided that she probably wanted Anna. I hope that she can better explain the free market. Or, Anna will feed her, change her diaper, and put her to sleep--which is probably what Addie wanted in the first place. Give me a break; I'm learning.
I know I'm a new parent, and I'm probably in no position to reintrepret thousands of years of parenting wisdom--but I think that Addie is not hungry, in need of a new diaper, or tired. I think that she's worried about the economy. When she says "wah"--I hear "Dad, with the economy in turmoil, the dollar weakening against the Euro, and the presidential race becoming more vitriolic by the day, how am I to have assurance that my economic future is accounted for?"
This question, again, phrased as "wah," troubled me. I tried to tell Addie that the dollar strengthened against the Euro on Friday, that new home sales were up two percent during the first quarter of 2008, and Bear Sterns is being reevaluated at a higher buyout price. Surely, I said to Addie, this must raise your spirits, as many experts believe that these factors point against an economic recession--isn't that great?
Again, she responded with "wah," and her cries continued unabated. How could I respond to Addie when she laid forth such a strong rebuttal? Given the fact that I couldn't convince her that downs are a natural foil to the ups of a market economy, I decided that she probably wanted Anna. I hope that she can better explain the free market. Or, Anna will feed her, change her diaper, and put her to sleep--which is probably what Addie wanted in the first place. Give me a break; I'm learning.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Addie comes home
It's Friday night, and I'm back in the living room where, on Tuesday, Anna sat in the recliner, thirty-eight weeks pregnant. Everything is approximately the same, except now Anna is holding Addie, who has been released entirely into our care. While I'm now thrilled that Addie is at home, my thought process this morning ran as such: Oh good, Addie's coming home. --to-- Oh God, Addie's coming home! Given the fact that most of my knowledge of child raising comes from ABC's early-90's TGIF lineup--I'm afraid I'm in trouble. But, I have confidence in Anna, and if Full House taught me anything, Addie will a toddler at least by the end of the first season.
Well until Uncle Jesse shows up (have mercy!), I'll tell you a little bit about how the hospital deviously deprives you of sleep after you have a baby. Don't get me wrong--it's nice to have the help that the nursing/hospital staff provides, but, man, they never stop coming into the room. It doesn't matter what's going on at the time, it's just one staff member after another. And they seem to come at the most inopportune times. Last night, finally, Anna and Addie are asleep in the bed; I'm falling asleep in my recliner (That's right, I slept in a chair--I just pretended that I was flying, and I had an awesome, first-class seat.) and in walks a tech to draw Anna's blood...at 4:30 in the morning. I'm no doctor (at least in the traditional sense), but I'm pretty sure Anna would have still had an ample supply of blood to provide a few hours later. Oh well, sleep's overrated anyway. Nitey nite.
Well until Uncle Jesse shows up (have mercy!), I'll tell you a little bit about how the hospital deviously deprives you of sleep after you have a baby. Don't get me wrong--it's nice to have the help that the nursing/hospital staff provides, but, man, they never stop coming into the room. It doesn't matter what's going on at the time, it's just one staff member after another. And they seem to come at the most inopportune times. Last night, finally, Anna and Addie are asleep in the bed; I'm falling asleep in my recliner (That's right, I slept in a chair--I just pretended that I was flying, and I had an awesome, first-class seat.) and in walks a tech to draw Anna's blood...at 4:30 in the morning. I'm no doctor (at least in the traditional sense), but I'm pretty sure Anna would have still had an ample supply of blood to provide a few hours later. Oh well, sleep's overrated anyway. Nitey nite.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
So, I have a daughter now
It's Wednesday night, March 19th, which for me, will forever be known as my daughter's birthday. I'm simultaneously thrilled, exhausted, apprehensive, and incredibly overwhelmed. I find it hard to believe that I'm now responsible for every facet of the life and care of the little person sleeping in our hospital room.
And while the new-found responsibility is humbling and awesome, probably the most lasting impression of the day is that I now know that I was woefully unprepared for the visuals that childbirth would present to me. Some things do not need to be blogged about in detail, and I will not do so here. But, as I need to report my impressions of the event, I will sum it up in one word--ew. The fact that something so beautiful can come from something so nasty is absolutely amazing...but really--ew. Anything I have ever seen in any horror movie to date does not compare to the reality of childbirth. Perhaps the next Saw movie will feature a torture victim escaping from the womb, because--ew. Seriously...ew.
All kidding aside, though, I wanted to devote a paragraph to Addie in the hope that she will one day read this. Addie, you have torn down my life as I understood it, and rebuilt it in a way that I never could have imagined. All of this, you did in a matter of seconds when you first looked into my eyes, and I saw the glimmer of recognition in yours. I love you more than I could have possibly understood yesterday, and I know that, somehow, I will love you more tomorrow. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you are the greatest accomplishment of my life.
Cheers to all.
And while the new-found responsibility is humbling and awesome, probably the most lasting impression of the day is that I now know that I was woefully unprepared for the visuals that childbirth would present to me. Some things do not need to be blogged about in detail, and I will not do so here. But, as I need to report my impressions of the event, I will sum it up in one word--ew. The fact that something so beautiful can come from something so nasty is absolutely amazing...but really--ew. Anything I have ever seen in any horror movie to date does not compare to the reality of childbirth. Perhaps the next Saw movie will feature a torture victim escaping from the womb, because--ew. Seriously...ew.
All kidding aside, though, I wanted to devote a paragraph to Addie in the hope that she will one day read this. Addie, you have torn down my life as I understood it, and rebuilt it in a way that I never could have imagined. All of this, you did in a matter of seconds when you first looked into my eyes, and I saw the glimmer of recognition in yours. I love you more than I could have possibly understood yesterday, and I know that, somehow, I will love you more tomorrow. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you are the greatest accomplishment of my life.
Cheers to all.
Umm...I didn't mean I was actually ready for this.
Right now, I'm sitting on a couch in Anna's labor and delivery room. She is resting post-epidural, and it appears that it will still be a few hours before Addie will be born. So, I thought it's as good a time as any to update the blog. As I've sat in the room with Anna this morning, I've come up with a new entry to add to the list of old wives tales that will bring about labor. It appears that starting a blog about your soon-to-be-born child will most definitely do it. Post number 1 goes up at 8:00 PM yesterday, and then, lo and behold, Anna's water breaks at 2:45 AM this morning. This can only mean one thing. With the awesome power of my blogging, I can cause labor.
I know what you're thinking--"Paul, are you only going to use this new-found power to generate labor via the Internet for good?" Fear not readers, I will not bring about labor with my blogging skills for profit or fame--I will only act in the best interest of humanity. Perhaps I will be featured in the next X-men movie as: The Blogger, the super-hero that can cause labor at will and has a preternatural understanding of web-based programming languages! (I'm not sure how I would use HTML to fight crime, but I think it would be a useful power to have, say if Spider-Man ever wants to start up an e-commerce site.)
Man, I'm tired. More to come...
I know what you're thinking--"Paul, are you only going to use this new-found power to generate labor via the Internet for good?" Fear not readers, I will not bring about labor with my blogging skills for profit or fame--I will only act in the best interest of humanity. Perhaps I will be featured in the next X-men movie as: The Blogger, the super-hero that can cause labor at will and has a preternatural understanding of web-based programming languages! (I'm not sure how I would use HTML to fight crime, but I think it would be a useful power to have, say if Spider-Man ever wants to start up an e-commerce site.)
Man, I'm tired. More to come...
Monday, March 17, 2008
Entry the first...
As I sit typing this, my wife, Anna, sits in our living-room recliner, thirty-eight weeks pregnant. She is carrying our daughter, Addison Marie, due on the 28th of March. Addie (that's what we are going to call her) is my first child. If modern medicine is to be trusted, she will be living in my house within the next two weeks. To me, this knowledge is both awe-inspiring and panic-inducing. I've held approximately two newly born infants, and I don't feel as though I have this integral part of child rearing down. My knowledge of holding babies, prior to a week ago when I held a five-week-old, was limited to how a pastor will hold a baby during an infant baptism. Apparently, the pastoral grip at the baptismal font is not a particularly natural or nurturing way to hold a baby. One hand under the head and the other hand under the rear, thrust out in front of yourself holding on as if you were involved in a go-for-broke red rover game is--so it seems--not entirely comforting to a baby. My wife tells me that I probably don't want to hold our daughter that way. I think that she is slightly concerned about my lack of baby-centered experience. So am I.
With Addie soon to arrive, I've decided to start a blog dedicated to her and my sure-to-come foibles with new parenthood. I've flirted with the blogosphere in the past. At one point, probably a year ago or so, I wrote an entire first entry that I was quite proud of. Blogspot did not have a save now feature at that time, so naturally, I lost my entire post. I guess I didn't really feel like recreating my entry, so I dropped it, and haven't thought about it again until recently. Now, on the eve of my genes being able to look at me, I'm starting again. Maybe Addie will look back at this and be able to see a window into her childhood, or maybe she'll be horrified when I read these entries out loud to her first boyfriend (same diff)...either way, I think this should be fun (for you at least, apparently I won't be sleeping much). Stay tuned for more.
With Addie soon to arrive, I've decided to start a blog dedicated to her and my sure-to-come foibles with new parenthood. I've flirted with the blogosphere in the past. At one point, probably a year ago or so, I wrote an entire first entry that I was quite proud of. Blogspot did not have a save now feature at that time, so naturally, I lost my entire post. I guess I didn't really feel like recreating my entry, so I dropped it, and haven't thought about it again until recently. Now, on the eve of my genes being able to look at me, I'm starting again. Maybe Addie will look back at this and be able to see a window into her childhood, or maybe she'll be horrified when I read these entries out loud to her first boyfriend (same diff)...either way, I think this should be fun (for you at least, apparently I won't be sleeping much). Stay tuned for more.
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