Confessions of a new dad, vol. 14: Feeding the baby... and the soul

I remember the weeks leading up to the delivery of our child. I was pretty sure I was going to be bawling my eyes out when she came out, the emotional climax of quite a journey. As it turns out, there was a lot going on at the moment her birth, and it wound up being more a whirlwind. The surreality of it all didn't really give me the opportunity to have that cathartic moment, lost in tears of joy.

It did, however, come a little more than 24 hours later. While my wife's breast milk was still coming in, we decided along with the nurses we'd supplement the little one's feeding with a some formula. That gave me my first opportunity to feed our little wonder. She opened her mouth, started sucking on the bottle and our eyes locked. Well, I completely lost it. Tears galore. There was just something so intimate about the fact I was literally providing our child- this little girl who had been inside my wife not hours ago. Whom I had not met before yesterday, but somehow knew my whole life. And although she probably didn't know what or who she was looking at, her gaze catching mine made it all the more special and momentous.

Now that the process has been repeated and repeated, and will be repeated and repeated, again and again- it's easy to lose that feeling of connectedness. There's nothing like feeding your child, but it's that aha moment where everything in world makes sense and nothing else matters that can be missing. But the other night, both of us fighting to stay awake- me to feed her, she to eat- she reached up and grabbed my finger and just held on for the rest of her feeding. While there weren't tears, I was certainly taken back to that night in the hospital. Her little fingers grasping mine, is all it takes to change what can come to feel like a chore at times into something I'd rather do above all else. And as we start her on solid foods- a whole new ballgame- moments like those are going to come fewer and farther between before I know it. I've got to hold onto to those gazes, and those little fingers for as long I can.

Confessions of a new dad, vol. 13: Walking the plank(s)

Growing up in the city, our little girl has grown accustomed to the sounds of garbage trucks passing, sirens blaring, dogs barking, or the crunch of an occasional fender-bender floating up into the windows of our apartment. More often than not, if she's sleeping none of these sounds cause her to stir. Even summer thunderstorms have passed without rousing her. But there's one sound that seems to disturb her with great regularity: the squeaking floor boards in our apartment.

We are blessed with a good deal of space for a New York apartment, and don't pay anywhere near market value thanks to rent-stabilization, and the fact that my wife has been residing in it for well over a decade. But as the case in a lot of New York apartments, she came in as sublet, and the people that were there before her were there for a while- so when she finally was added to the lease, it was just a continuation of the previous tenants' lease agreements. Good news? Rent-stabilization. Bad news? There hasn't been any serious work done in our apartment for who knows how long, and, short of moving all of our stuff out of the place, it's not going to happen anytime soon.

We're not just talking about a creaky spot here or there. A good deal of the floors in our place squeak and groan when stepped on- in pretty much every room. In our little one's room we laid down a nice thick area rug, not only for decorative purposes, but in the hopes that it would muffle the creakiness of the floors. Well, it was a nice thought, anyway.

When putting our little girl down for a nap, or for the night- we have to choose our path out wisely so as not to hit a loud spot and stir her. Even more dicey a situation is when she is already asleep and we are going in to check on her, because that involves both an entrance and exit. And don't fool yourself into thinking just because you found a reasonably creak-free route on the way in it's going to be the same on the way out.  Tip-toeing doesn't really do the trick, either- that's good to mask a footfall, but once the weight of your foot goes into the floorboard, it's curtains... well, floorboards. I'm thinking maybe what we need is a simple zip-wire, or even a Tarzan rope which will allow entry into the room with having to put our feet on the floor... although that might pose a problem when putting her in the crib... I mean I suppose we could practice with a doll first... Okay, okay... maybe some sort of conveyor belt...

Until we have one of those devices installed , a very common conversation in our house will continue to be: "I'm going to go check on her." "Okay, don't wake her." We'll just have to count on the floorboard-gods to show us the us path as we enter the room to check on sleeping beauty... and then hope that a garbage truck smashes into a parked car outside when we do, so she won't be disturbed.

Confessions of a new dad, vol. 12: Other children's parents

Being a parent, one can't help but observe (and okay, maybe judge a little) the acts and practices of other parents. As a fellow parent, there is a level of sympathy and understanding when it comes to dealing with someone else's unruly or noisy child in a public situation- but there are limits. When I'm out in public trying to feed my little girl, or trying to calm her so as to avoid a melt down I'm not unrealistic in my desires. I understand that silence or even reasonable quiet is not going to happen, but when some reasonable facsimile of it is spoiled by the actions of another child- I have no patience. And while it's easy to find yourself annoyed at the offending party, the ire shouldn't directed at the child- who, let's face it, is only acting like a child- but at the parent, who can tend to be either encouraging the calamity or allowing it to take place by indifference.

I'm not talking about the parent with the crying baby. Or with the toddler who wants something and isn't getting his way. Those are situations where can be more or less out of the parents control and everyone around needs to just ride wave. No I'm talking about the parents oblivious to polite society- or at the very least oblivious to the presence of others in the world.

Like the parent who permits their child to ride around the store in perhaps the squeakiest- no, piercing-est sounding tricycle in the history of squeaky tricycles. Like really loud. And I'm across the store thinking- how is that not bothering you? How is is it you can continue to talk amongst yourselves as your child makes my ears bleed and disturbs my daughter's peacefulness. And maybe that's the only thing keeping their child from melting down, but you know what? It's not working for me. Don't "fix" your problem by potentially causing one for me. Not cool.

Same goes for the guy who's keeping his kid entertained to the point where it's annoying. He's either making too much noise himself, or getting his kid so riled up that the squeals and giggles start to resemble that tricycle.  I mean, I applaud your attentiveness to your child- but remember you are in a public place, and not everyone in the world needs to be reminded of just what sound a piggy makes over and over again.

But worst of all is the parent whose child can do no wrong. Who celebrates their child's behavior when there's no cause for it. Like the older brother of one of my little girl's day-care mates. Old enough to know better (I'm guessing 8 or 9), this kid was constantly sticking his face right up to my little one's face, and tossing her stuffed bunny into her stroller at her as if she was expected to catch it. "Oh let's not do that," I'm saying trying to sound as playful and non-threatening possible, all the while hoping for a little assistance from his mother. And although she was talking to the day-care lady, she she was not far away and could plainly see what was happening. All I got though was a smile, as if we were all playing some fun game. And when her kid proceeded to stick his dirty hands (no exaggeration, there was dirt caked under his nails) into my daughters my mouth I said much louder and sterner, "All right no hands in the mouth please," when what I really wanted to do was smack the kid into next week. All the while I am trying to make my way by the kid in the narrow hallway so I can get to the elevator and home. But to my dismay I am delayed long enough so we all have to share the elevator ride together. Me, my little girl, her day-care mate and his oblivious mom, and Dirty McFilthyhands the older brother. In the elevator he continues to lean over and stick his face into my daughter's stroller thereby encouraging his little brother to do the same. Keeping one eye on them and trying to fend them off, I look to the mom for some sort of reprieve but all she says is "Oh, he loves little babies- he's such a good big brother!" I want to scream. Are we riding the same elevator?!! Are we on the same planet??!!

Now I am certainly not telling anyone how to parent their own children- just as it pertains to and affects my little one. Do whatever you want in your home and your lives, as long as I don't have to compensate for your seeming lack of social perception. I just hope that I can impart to my daughter that a little respect of your surroundings goes along way.

Confessions of a new dad, vol. 11: I just might snap

You know who should win the Nobel Prize for cruel and unusual punishment? The person who invented/ designed the snap up pajamas that our little one wears. They have little snaps up and down the legs,
sometimes all the way up the front. They're great and all- they keep her toasty and she looks cute as a button in them- and it makes it easy to get them off for a quick diaper change, getting them snapped back up and
fastened and situated can prove to be quite challenging. Especially when the baby is cranky- kicking and thrashing about, and especially when it's three o'clock in the morning and dark and you are just trying to get her buttoned up and back in the crib after you've changed her wet diaper, before she really wakes up.

Half the time I think I am sailing along great- snap snap snap- only to realize I've missed a snap in the beginning somewhere and have to pretty much start all over again. That's when the snaps and holders
fail to match up again as they just had- let's face it, mainly due to operator error. And by the time my motor skills return to somewhat full function, and she's all snapped and ready- she's peed again, and I'm left standing
there pondering just how good a parent am I? Do I just put her back to bed wet? How long til she probably wakes up, and... of course I'm not putting her to bed wet, and the process begins again.

At which point she's wide awake, I'm cranky, and Osama bin Pajama-maker has won. Defeated, I think to myself- there has to be a better way! But seeing as though they've been around for years, and I haven't really seen any other handy options out there- it looks like we're stuck, or, all snapped-in as the case may be. Until a crack-team of scientists unearths a new methodology of baby PJ's, I will just have to continue to pray to the patron saint of digital dexterity and hope for the best.

Confessions of new dad, vol. 10: First born

Let's get one thing straight. There's always been a child living in our household, long before our little girl came into the picture. That child is me. And I am doing my darnedest  to keep my inner-child on full display, despite the fact that fatherhood is now upon me. I say why let the awesome responsibility of parenting rob me of my childishness!

There always seems to be a bottle or two to wash. All the time we're washing bottles.  Gotta keep it interesting, right? Well, I discovered that when cleaning the nipple, you can fill it half way with water then shove your thumb into it, thereby creating a pint-sized squirt gun, issuing a pretty impressive little stream of water. The cats are often the target of attack, but nothing beats when my wife unwittingly walks into the kitchen while I am on bottle duty. If it's a good one I can sometimes induce a little scream, although usually I get the sideways glance and a "Really?"

Even the in-ear thermometer has also surprisingly proved itself an excellent source of self-amusement. There's these little plastic covers that you place over the in-ear portion of the device, so as to keep things sterile, that then are released at the push of a button. Now, if you push the button quickly and with enough force- these little plastic covers become less sterile and more missile, bouncing off the arm or sometimes forehead of unsuspecting and decidedly less-amused wives. Even though the thermometer has barely been used so far, it's been used enough so that as soon as it comes out of the ear, my wife's reflex is to put her hand up and give a stern, "Don't." Yes, mother. (Then as soon as the hand goes down, it's fire away!)

Hmm. The above examples of my childishness seem to lend themselves to weaponry. Maybe it has to do with the fact my mom wouldn't let me play with gun-toys when I was younger. I don't know who to page, Sigmund Freud or Charlton Heston? In any case, my little girl's still too young for me to worrying about setting any sort of example- so my inner-child is living it up! I'd like to think that as soon is she is old enough to realize what goof her dad is, I'll have stopped doing childish things- but who are we kidding? Plus the toys and gadgets only get cooler as the kid gets older- so, who needs to grow up?