Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Surely my son who was rocking out an awesome schedule proudly, like a teenager proudly displays the new tattoo under his sleeve hidden from his parents, wouldn't cause me or Mrs. Awesome any trouble.
Surely, we were special...
Surely, we were different.
Well, we're not... we're really not.
Little Awesome has certainly been awesome in the "Look how much formula I can guzzle" department. Or the ever popular, "Abstract wall painting with my own pee" has a nice distinguished vibe to it. Or perhaps he watched "The Voice" one too many times and thought, "Louder surely must be better."
Don't get the wrong idea. I am, and always will be a silver lining kind of guy. I find it great that the panic attacks are subsiding when I pick up my son. Slightly ever more confident that his neck isn't going to snap like a dry twig. I can't carry that burden that I've caused some irreparable harm to my son, and not to mention that the grainy videos that play in my brain of countless scenarios of how I would be the catalyst that my son would lose a finger or scar or whatever. I am thankful that the video library in my head is drastically reducing in size each day. Feeding shmeeding, I got this.
I'm taking comfort in the everyday "awesome" stuff that would otherwise not get noticed. I'm thankful for my ability to help my bride in the home as much as I can. Doing laundry, fixing bottles, catering to the ever increasing needs of our spoiled dogs.
In the moments when we're both tired and frazzled because Little Awesome has been up teaching Death Metal Bands from Norway how to scream, there comes a moment when he makes a different sound, or stretches a different way than he did yesterday, that I'm reminded that it's only been two weeks. Every day is new to him and every little movement, or sound, or today's bout of gas is different than yesterday. He's hoping that in some way, we will help him figure it out. That even though he can't talk, and we don't understand what he's saying - he doesn't understand "English" either... He just might understand patience, understanding, and love.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
My son, however, apparently creates his own magnificence, quite like one would spin a symphony out of a muse's behind. Somehow though - he is unable to unleash that magnificence with the rest of the world. Which, in turn, leads to teenage angst in a 7 day old. Screaming... lots and lots of screaming. No amount of back-patting will help, which sadly, means that all-niter's are no longer fun.
At this point, I am learning that my son needs a few things:
- A Clean Diaper at all times, and please utilize your ESP to know when it is happening so that I do not have to ask you to do it. Wherein I would have to invoke the "Waah Waah Waah" broken record until you finally give me what I want.
- A good burp or fart at all times.
- A warm bath.
- Dog kisses, but not on my face.
- Mommy - because she is awesome.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
I always joked that wife was and is part machine, part Russian immigrant with an attitude. I figured her pregnancy would progress something like this: Push, Push, Birth, Send Thank you notes, make breakfast, and be awesome.
Alas, things did not turn out that way - but darn close. After our son was born and she rested for about 30 minutes. She proceeded to stand up and walk to her wheelchair to be transferred to her new room. Epidural Smepidural. My wife. My beautiful, bad-ass wife. No Super Bowl winning touchdown could have compared to the look on the nurses' faces.
My son is beautiful. I'm biased. Incredibly so. How it's possible to fall instantly and completely in love with something that looks like a cross between a California Raisin and a Smurf that took a shower under Gene Simmons' blood spitting routine I'll never know. But I don't care. Future dads, take note... your child does not come into this world wiped off. But somehow a midst all of the crying, and smurfedy smurfness, you find a way to discover that unconditional love for your child. With any luck it will follow them the rest of their days.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
It is a rule in our home that we live in it - and that entails that things aren't perfect, they just are. We do what we can and we never apologize if things don't appear like a magazine shot. However, sometimes we get overwhelmed and we become best friends with our good friend, Mr. Crastinator.
Case in point, our hospital bags. We have been waiting and waiting to pack them and truthfully just been putting it off. So, exasperated, I asked my lovely wife, "If this was a cookbook this would be easy, isn't there a list of what we need to take?"
"Why, yes there is." she replied, "It's in the hospital paperwork."
So, here I was half expecting this novel of things to take to the hospital... bzzz! wrong!
Everything we needed fit into two diaper bags, much to the chagrin of our dogs. Surely we would be taking them with us! Alas, earwax.
So it took about ten minutes... Thankfully a good portion of the entertainment items had been utilized by our phones. Way to go smartphones!
Thank you hospital for spelling it out for us, otherwise we would have arrived with half the closet, I am certain of this. It's the little things that matter.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
My wife and I have been stuck in the waiting room at the OB for quite some time now. We have been surrounded by children who have parents and guardians who do not believe in discipline. We are sitting next to a military couple who are just a few days ahead of us. We spent the time discussing music choices and what would be appropriate choices in dressing. We have about a week left.
I was reminded that it is part of our duty as parents to be invested in our children and their development. It is our duty to look after them even when they begin to flex their independence muscle. I look forward to meeting my son.