Well, not too much to report at the root household. The biggest news is that Grandma C left yesterday. Pretty tearful event.
Let me just tell you that I have no clue how single parents do it. It has taken all three of us to keep everything going around here for the past 2.5 weeks. However, a GREAT deal of the load was born by Grandma C. She took care of the baby in the early morning (and sometimes all night and day), she cleaned, cooked, went grocery shopping, on and on and on. We're very thankful that she could be up here for the past month.
In other news, I'm convinced that we didn't really give birth to a full human. We just gave birth to a digestive system with lungs. I took over baby duties at 5 AM. He had just taken 4 ounces of food at 4 AM. I determined he was hungry at 5:30 AM b/c I'm a smart dad...well, I was actually just looking for any way to shut him up and he was acting like he was hungry so I figured, "What the hell."
By 6:30 AM he had taken 4 more ounces. I thought, "Well, that should tide him over until...oh, I don't know....he's 18." Wrong I was.
He never really got settled after that feeding. First it was poo. Then it was gas. Then it was poo and pee. Then it was general crankiness. Then it was 7:30 and he started acting like he was hungry again. By this time, Pappa, who is not a very patient person, is having delusions of sitting on a barstool with nobody bothering him and drinking a cold, cold, Bud Light. That or pulling a Bugs Bunny and putting Junior in a box bound for Antartica.
However, since no bars are open at 7:30 AM, I was fresh out of boxes, and postage to Antartica has got to be expensive, I decided to try to feed him again. Praise Jesus, Mary, and Leroy Jenkins.....it worked! He took another ounce and he was out like a prom date on Mad Dog.
OK, so that's a happy ending. However, let's look back at this. In the span of 3.5 hours he took NINE FREAKING OUNCES! I'm going to have to start fixing him steak and he can fight with Bailey over the bones after he's through with the meat.
Break....baby crying again....
Well, 8:30 rolls around and we had another poo and we took another ounce.
...back to your regularly scheduled exercise in blogging futility....
Random thought for the day: Chest hair and baby hands don't mix well. I'm going to look like I have mange pretty soon. If I could get him to lay on my back and take care of that jungle, I'd be set. Although it wouldn't be the most painless way to have back hair removed.
I can just see Junior laying on my back, pulling out tufts of back hair by the handful while he's wailing his head off and throwing the hair up in the air. Then the hair descends back to Earth, lands on him, adheres to whatever sticky substance is covering his entire body at that exact moment, and he winds up looking like some circus wolfboy.
Pappa out.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Friday, December 29, 2006
Mamma and Pappa
Last night Grandma C took care of Junior for a few hours while Mamma and Pappa went out to eat and to a movie. We saw "The Good Shepherd". Good flick if you're into spy movies.
Grandma C also took 3rd shift last night. She's a brave woman.
Unfortunately, Grandma C is leaving tomorrow!
It would be nearly impossible for us to have made it through the last 3 weeks without her. We're all going to miss her.
Best,
Pappa
Grandma C also took 3rd shift last night. She's a brave woman.
Unfortunately, Grandma C is leaving tomorrow!
It would be nearly impossible for us to have made it through the last 3 weeks without her. We're all going to miss her.
Best,
Pappa
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Last Night and Random Thought
Mamma took care of Junior last night. They didn't get to sleep until 5 AM. As Buford T. Justice would say, "Ooof!"
Random thought for the day: Is a mongoose just a male, Jamaican version of a female-goose?
Much like how many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Roll Pop, the world may never know.
Best,
Pappa
Random thought for the day: Is a mongoose just a male, Jamaican version of a female-goose?
Much like how many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Roll Pop, the world may never know.
Best,
Pappa
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Christmas Pics
I'm gradually figuring out this whole digital camera phenomenon. I'm the last person with an annual income above $15,000/yr to not have an mp3 player and I'm the last person of similar status to not have figured out how to properly do this digital camera stuff. Anyway, progress is being made.
Here are our pics from Christmas. Everyone had a good time. Ate too much food. Brother C came up to MI for Junior's first Christmas. Enjoy!
Pappa
Here are our pics from Christmas. Everyone had a good time. Ate too much food. Brother C came up to MI for Junior's first Christmas. Enjoy!
Pappa
"My Uncle C has armpit stains."
"Mom, why did you and Grandma C have to dress me up like a ballet dancer on A&E's 'Little People, Big World'?"
"My breath puts Grandma C to sleep." 
"After a while, my breath got so bad that it caused Grandma C to wake up and the air in the room to turn yellow"
"Did you see the size of that chicken?"
"Here I am with my Dad, Mom, Grandma C and our pet ferret on my head. Dad told me it was just a hat. I think it's a ferret. I named it Riki Tiki Tavi but dad told me that was a mongoose. I asked him what a mongoose was and he told me it was a ferret. I think my dad failed science in high school."
"OK, Riki Tiki Tavi, on the count of three bite dad's belly. It's a big target. You can't miss."
"SOMEONE STOLE RIKI!!! OHHHH THE HUMANITY!!!!"
"Someone get that fly outta my face!"
"I'm crossing my arms like a rap star." 
First family photo
Snooze hounds
"This is my gang sign."
"Psst! Mom..hey, listen. I don't have any clothes on and there are people here. Could you just throw a jock strap on me or something? Geez. How embarassing. Trust me, if you keep me naked, you'll pay the price of pee in places you don't want it. I can hit the eye out of a bird flying with that stuff."
Sunday, December 24, 2006
She's baaaaack
Grandma C is back among the living today. That's good for many reasons. Not the least of which is the quality of Christmas dinner.
Thanks for your prayers.
Best,
Pappa
Thanks for your prayers.
Best,
Pappa
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Habits
Junior's at a stage where he doesn't have a whole lot of personality yet. That'll change soon. He has begun smiling a little, although there's not really a cause for it.
One thing he does that cracks me up is that when you first put a bottle in his mouth he shakes his head back and forth like a dog and he even growls a little while he's doing it. Hi-larious I tell you.
I was talking to a colleague of mine about how it would be interesting if habits/traits we have as babies correlate to habits/traits we have as adults. I don't know if they do or not, but that would be interesting to know. If you would like to take a stab at what the head shaking and growling means and what it will translate into as an adult, leave a comment. I'd be interested.
On another note: Grandma C has come down with a bug and selflessly refused to stay with us until she's better. She's staying at a hotel close by. Keep her in your prayers.
On another another note: Mamma's brother is up here for Christmas. Hopefully we can get Grandma C well by Christmas day.
On another another another note: Grandma C being sick and Mamma still recovering most likely means that Pappa has to cook Christmas dinner. This could be interesting/smokey.
Best,
Pappa
One thing he does that cracks me up is that when you first put a bottle in his mouth he shakes his head back and forth like a dog and he even growls a little while he's doing it. Hi-larious I tell you.
I was talking to a colleague of mine about how it would be interesting if habits/traits we have as babies correlate to habits/traits we have as adults. I don't know if they do or not, but that would be interesting to know. If you would like to take a stab at what the head shaking and growling means and what it will translate into as an adult, leave a comment. I'd be interested.
On another note: Grandma C has come down with a bug and selflessly refused to stay with us until she's better. She's staying at a hotel close by. Keep her in your prayers.
On another another note: Mamma's brother is up here for Christmas. Hopefully we can get Grandma C well by Christmas day.
On another another another note: Grandma C being sick and Mamma still recovering most likely means that Pappa has to cook Christmas dinner. This could be interesting/smokey.
Best,
Pappa
Friday, December 22, 2006
Pics and 2nd dr's appt
We had our 2nd doctors appt today and the little guy is back up to 8lbs 1 ounce. He was born at 8lbs 2ounces, then dropped to 7lbs 4ounces, and is now back up in the heavyweight division.
Junior is starting to show a little personality. He'll lay there and look around. He breaks a kind of half-hearted smile sometimes. I'm sure he doesn't know that, or why, he's smiling...but he's kind of smiling none the less.
Here are some pics of the little guy. You can see in the first pic that his upper lip is getting dark. That's his mustache coming in......not really (obviously).
Junior is starting to show a little personality. He'll lay there and look around. He breaks a kind of half-hearted smile sometimes. I'm sure he doesn't know that, or why, he's smiling...but he's kind of smiling none the less.
Here are some pics of the little guy. You can see in the first pic that his upper lip is getting dark. That's his mustache coming in......not really (obviously).
Thursday, December 21, 2006
That's what I've been trying to tell you
Anyone out there a fan of South Park? I used to be. Don't watch it anymore. Not becuase I have some sort of bent against the show, I just don't ever think about it and/or there are things I would rather watch when it's on.
Whether you're a fan of South Park or not, you've probably heard/seen the character named Cartman. Cartman is a fat, grumpy little kid who makes fun of Kenny the poor kid and hippies. While I don't subscribe to making fun of poor people, hippies have always been, and always will be, fair game.
(Side note: I was told by my freshman english professor that I use too many commas when I write. I'm sure that's the case as evidenced by the last sentence of the above paragraph, but I don't really care. Now that I think about it, my freshman english professor kind of looked like Cartman....but then again, I do too.)
Cartman has a very distinctive and humorous voice. In one South Park episode I remember, Cartman had spent the whole show (I think I remember this right) trying to convince his friends that aliens had put an anal probe in him. His friends didn't believe him but everytime they would turn their back flames would shoot out of Cartman's butt eliciting a scream from my man Cartman. He kept trying to tell them and trying to tell them and trying to tell them until finally this big satellite dish came out of his butt and his friends said something to the extent of, "Holy crap, Cartman! You've got an anal probe!" Cartman responded, "THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU!!!"
Well, last night Pappa got some sleep because Grandma C volunteered to take 3rd shift with Junior (THANK YOU GRANDMA C!!!). Grandma C got about 3 hours sleep b/c Junior is red hot and ready ALL NIGHT LONG. Even the baby swing thing didn't work last night.
Now, I've been trying to tell everyone that this sweet little bundle of coos and joy that they see during the day is a completely different animal at night. I'm not saying they DIDN'T believe me, I'm just saying that sometimes you have to try things for yourself. Kind of like, "Hey, try this milk. It's sour." Or, "Hey, look at the sun. It's bright." Or, "Hey, taste this belly button lint..." OK, nobody has every really said that last one.
So I wake up this morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and my wife tells me that Junior must be having tummy problems.
"Why do you say that?", I ask.
"Because he was up all night and mom didn't get any sleep."
Well spit twice and call me Sally. No shemp, Sherlock. I could have told you that was going to happen. THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU!!! That kid has tummy troubles about like I've got a craving for fish head soup (read: I do not have a craving for fish head soup).
Even with him IN the baby swing thing the best I've ever done is four hours sleep (MAYBE!) in two naps combined. The kid is nocturnal. He's a hamster. He jumps on his wheel about 10:30 PM every night and doesn't stop running on that thing until 8 AM the next day. I think he's going to grow up and be a night watchman or a DJ at a strip club.
Whether you're a fan of South Park or not, you've probably heard/seen the character named Cartman. Cartman is a fat, grumpy little kid who makes fun of Kenny the poor kid and hippies. While I don't subscribe to making fun of poor people, hippies have always been, and always will be, fair game.
(Side note: I was told by my freshman english professor that I use too many commas when I write. I'm sure that's the case as evidenced by the last sentence of the above paragraph, but I don't really care. Now that I think about it, my freshman english professor kind of looked like Cartman....but then again, I do too.)
Cartman has a very distinctive and humorous voice. In one South Park episode I remember, Cartman had spent the whole show (I think I remember this right) trying to convince his friends that aliens had put an anal probe in him. His friends didn't believe him but everytime they would turn their back flames would shoot out of Cartman's butt eliciting a scream from my man Cartman. He kept trying to tell them and trying to tell them and trying to tell them until finally this big satellite dish came out of his butt and his friends said something to the extent of, "Holy crap, Cartman! You've got an anal probe!" Cartman responded, "THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU!!!"
Well, last night Pappa got some sleep because Grandma C volunteered to take 3rd shift with Junior (THANK YOU GRANDMA C!!!). Grandma C got about 3 hours sleep b/c Junior is red hot and ready ALL NIGHT LONG. Even the baby swing thing didn't work last night.
Now, I've been trying to tell everyone that this sweet little bundle of coos and joy that they see during the day is a completely different animal at night. I'm not saying they DIDN'T believe me, I'm just saying that sometimes you have to try things for yourself. Kind of like, "Hey, try this milk. It's sour." Or, "Hey, look at the sun. It's bright." Or, "Hey, taste this belly button lint..." OK, nobody has every really said that last one.
So I wake up this morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and my wife tells me that Junior must be having tummy problems.
"Why do you say that?", I ask.
"Because he was up all night and mom didn't get any sleep."
Well spit twice and call me Sally. No shemp, Sherlock. I could have told you that was going to happen. THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU!!! That kid has tummy troubles about like I've got a craving for fish head soup (read: I do not have a craving for fish head soup).
Even with him IN the baby swing thing the best I've ever done is four hours sleep (MAYBE!) in two naps combined. The kid is nocturnal. He's a hamster. He jumps on his wheel about 10:30 PM every night and doesn't stop running on that thing until 8 AM the next day. I think he's going to grow up and be a night watchman or a DJ at a strip club.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
There's a reason women have the babies
First of all, let me point out a fundamental flaw in the female psyche. For their entire lives, many women look forward to an object the size of a watermelon shooting out of their hind end. That seems strange and sadomasichistic to me but women look forward to the act, or at least the end result of it. I'm sure readers of the female persuasion are saying, "HELL NO we don't look forward to it!"...
However, there's a reason that God decided that women should give birth and not men. He knows that women can handle it and we can't.
If men had to give birth there would have been countless inventions created to make birth easy. For example, someone would have invented a prosthetic orifice to replace whatever orifice we would use in the process (I shudder to even think of using an orifice for that purpose...much less having that orifice replaced with another orifice but I'll continue b/c I'm too deep into this horror to turn back now). This prosthetic orifice would function much like a crescent wrench. First, it would have no nerves. I mean really, why subject yourself to the pain if you don't have to? Second, it would expand and contract with the movement of a lever thus allowing the successful "exit" of said baby.
Also, there would be a kind of fiber pill to make the birth more (dare I say) regular. I don't know how that would work but it sounds better than the alternative.
At any rate, let me just say that I have always had the utmost respect for moms, but I REALLY have the utmost respect for moms after seeing what this whole process entails. Not just the birthing process but the fact that women have MUCH more patience than men when the baby arrives.
The other night Junior was balling his head off because he was hungry. I went to the kitchen to heat up a bottle and returned to the bedroom to give it to him. He's lying on the bed wailing away when I walk in. I sit down, he's still wailing, and the following words honestly came out of my mouth: "Junior, is all this really necessary? Isn't there a better way to get your point across?" Now granted this is at 3 AM and my mind isn't working very clearly (you may argue that my mind isn't working very clearly now or I wouldn't have proposed the prosthetic orifice above...and you'd be right).
Further, let me clue you in on another thing that makes my liver quiver (that rhymes and that's the only reason I use the phrase). Are you ready? BREAST PUMPING! Those are two words that should never be placed side by side. I mean, "pumping" should never come before "breast" and "breast" should never come before "pumping".
Holy Cow Udders, Batman! Really!?!?! I'm not a violent man, but if someone tried to put a suction device on my nipple I'd give them a one way ticket to a hospital in Wisconsin. They can get all the milk they want there.
Just another reason that women are better suited for "mothering". I know. I know. Women don't like breast pumping either. Many prefer the formula route or letting the baby serve as the pump. Well, that opens up a whole other can of worms. Ain't nothing sucking on my boob. I mean nothing. Those are there for decoration and that is ALL. Mine serve no purpose other than to make me conform and to do so symmetrically.
I read the other day about a dad who wanted to experience what it was like to breast feed his kid. This doofus took hormones so that his body could produce milk. He succeeded. He succeeded in producing milk and forever being banished from Man-ville. Now I'm sure this guy is a real piece of work, and probably one of those metro-sexual types (he's actually probably a college professor b/c those guys are a bunch of weirdos), but if you are a guy you should take advantage of any and all benefits that come with being a guy. One of those is that you don't have to be the Dairyland of America for your offspring.
As a guy I take pride in being simple. I need beer, food, sex, a comfortable place to do my business with something to read while I'm engaged in said act, family, and my wife. I choose to not add complication to my life any more than I have to. That includes taking hormones so that another being, even my kid, can feed off me.
All this said, I do think that breastfeeding is a beautiful thing. I'm glad that we have taken that route (pumping) because there are a lot of physical benefits for the baby. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't (dare I say "wouldn't") give birth even if I had the option. Moms are here for a reason and we should all love and respect them for their willingness to perform the above acts without the assistance of power tools or sending anyone to the great cheese curd in the sky. Men couldn't/wouldn't handle it.
I think I need a nap.
However, there's a reason that God decided that women should give birth and not men. He knows that women can handle it and we can't.
If men had to give birth there would have been countless inventions created to make birth easy. For example, someone would have invented a prosthetic orifice to replace whatever orifice we would use in the process (I shudder to even think of using an orifice for that purpose...much less having that orifice replaced with another orifice but I'll continue b/c I'm too deep into this horror to turn back now). This prosthetic orifice would function much like a crescent wrench. First, it would have no nerves. I mean really, why subject yourself to the pain if you don't have to? Second, it would expand and contract with the movement of a lever thus allowing the successful "exit" of said baby.
Also, there would be a kind of fiber pill to make the birth more (dare I say) regular. I don't know how that would work but it sounds better than the alternative.
At any rate, let me just say that I have always had the utmost respect for moms, but I REALLY have the utmost respect for moms after seeing what this whole process entails. Not just the birthing process but the fact that women have MUCH more patience than men when the baby arrives.
The other night Junior was balling his head off because he was hungry. I went to the kitchen to heat up a bottle and returned to the bedroom to give it to him. He's lying on the bed wailing away when I walk in. I sit down, he's still wailing, and the following words honestly came out of my mouth: "Junior, is all this really necessary? Isn't there a better way to get your point across?" Now granted this is at 3 AM and my mind isn't working very clearly (you may argue that my mind isn't working very clearly now or I wouldn't have proposed the prosthetic orifice above...and you'd be right).
Further, let me clue you in on another thing that makes my liver quiver (that rhymes and that's the only reason I use the phrase). Are you ready? BREAST PUMPING! Those are two words that should never be placed side by side. I mean, "pumping" should never come before "breast" and "breast" should never come before "pumping".
Holy Cow Udders, Batman! Really!?!?! I'm not a violent man, but if someone tried to put a suction device on my nipple I'd give them a one way ticket to a hospital in Wisconsin. They can get all the milk they want there.
Just another reason that women are better suited for "mothering". I know. I know. Women don't like breast pumping either. Many prefer the formula route or letting the baby serve as the pump. Well, that opens up a whole other can of worms. Ain't nothing sucking on my boob. I mean nothing. Those are there for decoration and that is ALL. Mine serve no purpose other than to make me conform and to do so symmetrically.
I read the other day about a dad who wanted to experience what it was like to breast feed his kid. This doofus took hormones so that his body could produce milk. He succeeded. He succeeded in producing milk and forever being banished from Man-ville. Now I'm sure this guy is a real piece of work, and probably one of those metro-sexual types (he's actually probably a college professor b/c those guys are a bunch of weirdos), but if you are a guy you should take advantage of any and all benefits that come with being a guy. One of those is that you don't have to be the Dairyland of America for your offspring.
As a guy I take pride in being simple. I need beer, food, sex, a comfortable place to do my business with something to read while I'm engaged in said act, family, and my wife. I choose to not add complication to my life any more than I have to. That includes taking hormones so that another being, even my kid, can feed off me.
All this said, I do think that breastfeeding is a beautiful thing. I'm glad that we have taken that route (pumping) because there are a lot of physical benefits for the baby. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't (dare I say "wouldn't") give birth even if I had the option. Moms are here for a reason and we should all love and respect them for their willingness to perform the above acts without the assistance of power tools or sending anyone to the great cheese curd in the sky. Men couldn't/wouldn't handle it.
I think I need a nap.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Greatest Invention Ever
There have been a number of great inventions in the history of mankind. The wheel is right up there certainly. Fire...couldn't do without fire for a long time. The car, computer, and other mechanical devices are crucial to our day to day lives. The advances man has made in medicine are nothing short of mind boggling. One invention stands head and toes above all of these: Those baby swing things.
I don't even know what they're called. I just know that someone we know up here gave us a used one and, in all the hustle and bustle around here, we had forgotten that we had it...until yesterday.
Well, Junior falls asleep faster in that thing than a narcoleptic dog on Ruhipinol (there really are narcoleptic dogs....I saw a show on them on TV the other night....funny stuff...One minute this dog is booking it down the hall...The next minute he/she slows down with a drunk look and then just plops down on the floor for a good nap). The best thing is that Junior STAYS asleep in this thing. Even stays asleep AT NIGHT. I discovered that last night and felt like I just discovered penicillian.
Here's a couple of shots of Junior in his swing:
The dog (not the narcoleptic ones mentioned above, but our dog Bailey, and no we do not give Bailey Ruhipinol) is happy about this too. Here's Bailey before the baby:
You'll notice that she's upright and looking chipper. Well, here's Bailey almost 1 week after Junior's arrival at home:
Here's all the reaction I could get out of her shortly thereafter:
That's one tired pooch.
So, Bailey and Pappa send our warmest regards to the inventor of those baby swing things and have composed the following modeled after the "Real Men of Genius" Bud Light advertisements:
Pappa and Bailey salute the inventor of the baby swing thing (female voice sings: Real Men of Genius)
You could have cured cancer but you chose to invent a baby sized swing (You've got your priorities straight)
Parents and dogs everywhere sleep more soundly because you rock their babies to sleep (Don't need to drug that dog)
So, here's to you Mr. Inventor of the baby swing thing.
I don't even know what they're called. I just know that someone we know up here gave us a used one and, in all the hustle and bustle around here, we had forgotten that we had it...until yesterday.
Well, Junior falls asleep faster in that thing than a narcoleptic dog on Ruhipinol (there really are narcoleptic dogs....I saw a show on them on TV the other night....funny stuff...One minute this dog is booking it down the hall...The next minute he/she slows down with a drunk look and then just plops down on the floor for a good nap). The best thing is that Junior STAYS asleep in this thing. Even stays asleep AT NIGHT. I discovered that last night and felt like I just discovered penicillian.
Here's a couple of shots of Junior in his swing:
The dog (not the narcoleptic ones mentioned above, but our dog Bailey, and no we do not give Bailey Ruhipinol) is happy about this too. Here's Bailey before the baby:
You'll notice that she's upright and looking chipper. Well, here's Bailey almost 1 week after Junior's arrival at home:
Here's all the reaction I could get out of her shortly thereafter:
That's one tired pooch.
So, Bailey and Pappa send our warmest regards to the inventor of those baby swing things and have composed the following modeled after the "Real Men of Genius" Bud Light advertisements:
Pappa and Bailey salute the inventor of the baby swing thing (female voice sings: Real Men of Genius)
You could have cured cancer but you chose to invent a baby sized swing (You've got your priorities straight)
Parents and dogs everywhere sleep more soundly because you rock their babies to sleep (Don't need to drug that dog)
So, here's to you Mr. Inventor of the baby swing thing.
Sleep strategy
A buddy of mine, and a fine upstanding gentleman, proposed a novel idea for all of those new dads out there who want to get some sleep. Go to conferences/on business trips. Now, I know that none of you would ever stoop as low as to schedule trips solely for sleeping purposes, but consider this as advice as to what you should do while you are on TRIPS YOU HAVE TO MAKE ANYWAY (wink wink).
Mom: "Honey, what did you do while you were in Vegas? I know some wild stuff goes on out there and I wasn't there to supervise your activities."
Dad: "I went to Wendy's, bought a triple cheeseburger, went back to the hotel room, crawled up in the rack, picked the burger apart and ate it piece by piece then fell asleep for 12 hours with a half eaten patty on my chest. I feel sorry for whomever sleeps on those sheets next."
I'll take some pictures of Junior tonight and post them later. The digital camera is full and I have to delete the ones I stored.
Best,
Pappa
Mom: "Honey, what did you do while you were in Vegas? I know some wild stuff goes on out there and I wasn't there to supervise your activities."
Dad: "I went to Wendy's, bought a triple cheeseburger, went back to the hotel room, crawled up in the rack, picked the burger apart and ate it piece by piece then fell asleep for 12 hours with a half eaten patty on my chest. I feel sorry for whomever sleeps on those sheets next."
I'll take some pictures of Junior tonight and post them later. The digital camera is full and I have to delete the ones I stored.
Best,
Pappa
3rd Shift Pappa
You know, the best part about taking 3rd shift around the Root household is that Junior and I get to spend a lot of time together. The worst part about taking 3rd shift around the Root household is that our time usually begins with a feed call, a poo call, a pee call, or a "Dad, I've got enough air in my belly to float the Hindenburg" call.
Thankfully, he's a quiet baby after you figure out what his need is and satisfy that need. I've heard that many babies are derned near impossible to get to sleep after they're upset about something. This is where the "best part of 3rd shift" comes in. Once you get him calmed down, he's a pretty cool little guy and is content to sit there and watch Sportscenter until he falls asleep.
Speaking of different baby calls: how do babies differentiate the different calls when they communicate with each other? OK, I know babies don't communicate with each other, but if a bunch of babies are all sitting around a nursery crying, can one tell the difference between a feed call and a poo call? Yeah, I don't think so either. I think babies are pretty much like Bob Knight: they don't give a crap what other babies think or have to say. If babies could communicate it would probably go something like this:
Baby 1: HUUUUUNNNNNGGRRRRRYYYYY!!!!!
Baby 2: I HAVE TO BURRRRRRPPPP!!!
Baby 3: POOOOOOOOOP!
What if there was locker room conversation between the male babies?
Male Baby 1: Hey, did you see that chick over in cradle 2?
Male Baby 2: Yeah, man! She's hot. I love those girls with chubby legs. Do you see the way her leg fat hangs over her ankles?
Male Baby 1: Heck yeah. How about the way her bald head glistens? Nothing gets me going like a chick with a bald head.
Or maybe the girl babies would discuss completely different matters than what they discuss as adults:
Female Baby 1: So, I was pooping my diaper the other day and...
Female Baby 2: Really?!?!? That's like totally cool, because, like....I poop my diaper too!
Female Baby 1: NO WAY!! You poop your diaper too? What color?
OK, you get the picture.
However, babies do care about getting the attention of their parents to solve whatever dilemma they might have. I think that's part of the reason that a baby's cry sounds so shrill. It has to be some genetic thing that is part of adults and babies. Babies are designed such that their cry sounds like Rosanne Barr singing the National Anthem. Adults, and for many of us parents that term only applies in its most basic form, are designed such that we would sell a limb to get that cry to cease.
I'm also convinced that Junior is more awake at night than during the day. He was that way in the hospital and he's that way at home. During the day he's a bum. As soon as 10:30 PM rolls around, the disco ball drops from the ceiling and it's time to get it on! Looks like a lot of 3rd shifts are coming my way when he turns 16 as well.
Thankfully, he's a quiet baby after you figure out what his need is and satisfy that need. I've heard that many babies are derned near impossible to get to sleep after they're upset about something. This is where the "best part of 3rd shift" comes in. Once you get him calmed down, he's a pretty cool little guy and is content to sit there and watch Sportscenter until he falls asleep.
Speaking of different baby calls: how do babies differentiate the different calls when they communicate with each other? OK, I know babies don't communicate with each other, but if a bunch of babies are all sitting around a nursery crying, can one tell the difference between a feed call and a poo call? Yeah, I don't think so either. I think babies are pretty much like Bob Knight: they don't give a crap what other babies think or have to say. If babies could communicate it would probably go something like this:
Baby 1: HUUUUUNNNNNGGRRRRRYYYYY!!!!!
Baby 2: I HAVE TO BURRRRRRPPPP!!!
Baby 3: POOOOOOOOOP!
What if there was locker room conversation between the male babies?
Male Baby 1: Hey, did you see that chick over in cradle 2?
Male Baby 2: Yeah, man! She's hot. I love those girls with chubby legs. Do you see the way her leg fat hangs over her ankles?
Male Baby 1: Heck yeah. How about the way her bald head glistens? Nothing gets me going like a chick with a bald head.
Or maybe the girl babies would discuss completely different matters than what they discuss as adults:
Female Baby 1: So, I was pooping my diaper the other day and...
Female Baby 2: Really?!?!? That's like totally cool, because, like....I poop my diaper too!
Female Baby 1: NO WAY!! You poop your diaper too? What color?
OK, you get the picture.
However, babies do care about getting the attention of their parents to solve whatever dilemma they might have. I think that's part of the reason that a baby's cry sounds so shrill. It has to be some genetic thing that is part of adults and babies. Babies are designed such that their cry sounds like Rosanne Barr singing the National Anthem. Adults, and for many of us parents that term only applies in its most basic form, are designed such that we would sell a limb to get that cry to cease.
I'm also convinced that Junior is more awake at night than during the day. He was that way in the hospital and he's that way at home. During the day he's a bum. As soon as 10:30 PM rolls around, the disco ball drops from the ceiling and it's time to get it on! Looks like a lot of 3rd shifts are coming my way when he turns 16 as well.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Feeding
Eating is now an intregral part of the day (and night) around the Root house. The dog has to be fed. The cat has to be fed. Mom has to be fed. Mom-in-Law has to be fed. Dad has to be fed. Junior has to be fed. Every two days that pale guy we keep in the basement has to be fed...oh wait...
There are two parties in our house that demand to be fed on THEIR schedule more than any other party. The first is Misty the Cat.
The last time we went to the vet we were told that Misty is actually two cats. The vet was referring to Misty's weight (she's 20 lbs...her gut actually "swishes" back and forth when she runs) but in actuality Misty has undiagnosed schizophrenia as well (Get it? Two cats?...crowd groans here).
Misty is a great cat around Mamma (my wife/Junior's mom) and I. Really an all around good animal and I'm not a cat person. Misty was not a good animal until she spent 6 months alone in MI with Pappa while Mamma was still in AR. During this time, Misty got put through boot camp. It was not pretty. Let's just say that PETA wouldn't be happy. The end result was a pretty good cat....most of the time.
However, when anyone other than Mamma and I is around, Katie bar the door. She goes from Misty the mild mannered house cat to some animatronic character off a B rate horror flick. I blame this part of her personality on Mamma's side of the family, but I digress.
Misty is quite vocal about receiving her breakfast AS SOON as Mamma gets out of bed in the morning. Meow this. Meow that. Meow, Meow, Meow. She used to be vocal about getting breakfast as soon as I got out of bed in the morning, but a few whacks upside the head solved that problem. We'll call this "boot-camp continuation therapy". Look for my pet care book to be out in June.
The other party in our house that demands to be fed on schedule is Junior and whacking him upside the head ain't going to do any good. Let's go through the many faces of junior as feeding time approaches, occurs, and passes.
First we begin with a happy baby and Mamma. No troubles. No worries. Life is good.
Second, Junior begins to squirm a little. I'm sure he says to himself, "Hmmmm, there's that familiar feeling again. I just had this feeling 40 minutes ago and Mamma picked me up, stuck a bottle in my mouth, I did a little sucking on it, and life was good. Well, they know I'm having this feeling right now so I'll just try to hold back my feed call until such time as I absolutely have no other options." See below:
Then Junior realizes that Mamma and Pappa must have cancelled their subscription to ESPN, because they are not able to read his mind. The following facial expression results:
Suddenly, out of the blue, Junior comes to the realization that Mamma and Pappa are complete dolts and that it's every baby for themselves in this cold, cruel world. That's right....it's time for the FEED CALL (insert ominous music here):
When a feed call erupts, Pappa and Mamma scramble to warm up a bottle and stick it in Junior's craw faster than a North Korean national jumps on a rice kernel. However, all this hustle, bustle, and feed calling causes anxiety in Pappa and Mamma. Nails on a chalkboard, even the sound of your car bumper collapsing when you back into something, sound better than a 1 week old screaming. See below for an example of a post feed call Mamma:
But, after Junior finishes the bottle, he is overcome with a state of absolute euphoria. I feel quite certain that if one could bottle the feeling below, peace in the Middle East could be achieved while simultaneously irradicating bird flu and homelessness.
So there you have it. An act that occurs around the Root household about 20 times daily. If you see smoke signals from the North, that's just me calling for help.
There are two parties in our house that demand to be fed on THEIR schedule more than any other party. The first is Misty the Cat.
The last time we went to the vet we were told that Misty is actually two cats. The vet was referring to Misty's weight (she's 20 lbs...her gut actually "swishes" back and forth when she runs) but in actuality Misty has undiagnosed schizophrenia as well (Get it? Two cats?...crowd groans here).
Misty is a great cat around Mamma (my wife/Junior's mom) and I. Really an all around good animal and I'm not a cat person. Misty was not a good animal until she spent 6 months alone in MI with Pappa while Mamma was still in AR. During this time, Misty got put through boot camp. It was not pretty. Let's just say that PETA wouldn't be happy. The end result was a pretty good cat....most of the time.
However, when anyone other than Mamma and I is around, Katie bar the door. She goes from Misty the mild mannered house cat to some animatronic character off a B rate horror flick. I blame this part of her personality on Mamma's side of the family, but I digress.
Misty is quite vocal about receiving her breakfast AS SOON as Mamma gets out of bed in the morning. Meow this. Meow that. Meow, Meow, Meow. She used to be vocal about getting breakfast as soon as I got out of bed in the morning, but a few whacks upside the head solved that problem. We'll call this "boot-camp continuation therapy". Look for my pet care book to be out in June.
The other party in our house that demands to be fed on schedule is Junior and whacking him upside the head ain't going to do any good. Let's go through the many faces of junior as feeding time approaches, occurs, and passes.
First we begin with a happy baby and Mamma. No troubles. No worries. Life is good.
Second, Junior begins to squirm a little. I'm sure he says to himself, "Hmmmm, there's that familiar feeling again. I just had this feeling 40 minutes ago and Mamma picked me up, stuck a bottle in my mouth, I did a little sucking on it, and life was good. Well, they know I'm having this feeling right now so I'll just try to hold back my feed call until such time as I absolutely have no other options." See below:
Then Junior realizes that Mamma and Pappa must have cancelled their subscription to ESPN, because they are not able to read his mind. The following facial expression results:
Suddenly, out of the blue, Junior comes to the realization that Mamma and Pappa are complete dolts and that it's every baby for themselves in this cold, cruel world. That's right....it's time for the FEED CALL (insert ominous music here):
When a feed call erupts, Pappa and Mamma scramble to warm up a bottle and stick it in Junior's craw faster than a North Korean national jumps on a rice kernel. However, all this hustle, bustle, and feed calling causes anxiety in Pappa and Mamma. Nails on a chalkboard, even the sound of your car bumper collapsing when you back into something, sound better than a 1 week old screaming. See below for an example of a post feed call Mamma:
But, after Junior finishes the bottle, he is overcome with a state of absolute euphoria. I feel quite certain that if one could bottle the feeling below, peace in the Middle East could be achieved while simultaneously irradicating bird flu and homelessness.
So there you have it. An act that occurs around the Root household about 20 times daily. If you see smoke signals from the North, that's just me calling for help.
Introduction
Greetings and Salutations One and All,
Welcome to "Rooting in Snow", my blog whose primary purpose is to show off the "Greatest Show on Poop", Junior (name changed to protect the innocent). Junior (8 lbs 2 ounces, 21 inches) was born December 9th, 2006 in MI at 10:34 in the morning. Evidencing the fact that he was a lazy bum from conception, Junior refused to flip during the pregnancy. Thus, he was a breech baby and we had to have a c-section.
Personally, c-sections are fine with me. We got to schedule the exact time/date for the little guy to be born. However, my wife (who doesn't know I've started this blog....but she will when she checks her e-mail...in 2008) may disagree since she is the one who had to go through the actual surgery. At any rate, she handled everything perfectly and has exhibited a high degree of toughness and resiliency.
Me, on the other hand, I'm a wuss when it comes to getting no sleep (and other things but let's focus on sleep deprivation right now). So I've decided to take 3rd shift when it comes to baby maintenence.
This is where you probably say, "Pappa, what the hell do you mean you are a wuss when it comes to sleep deprivation yet you have taken 3rd shift?". Well, the answer is easy my fine feathered friend: I go to sleep at 6 AM, wake up at noon, mess around the rest of the day b/c my wife and mother-in-law think that I'm a good dad for staying up all night with Junior and therefore don't make me do much, take a nap from about 8 PM to whenever I wake up/they go to bed, and start all over again.
Really it's not as bad as you might think. I told my dad the other day that it's like being in college again except I get peed on. To which he replied that getting peed upon really doesn't differentiate my experience as a 3rd shift father from my experience in college at all. I knew I shouldn't have let them come to Fayetteville so often.
So, welcome to "Rooting in Snow". So named b/c of my affinity for Hogs and the fact that I live in MI where the annual snowfall in inches is equal to the annual GDP in dollars of Turkministan. Enjoy these pictures of Junior and crew. I'll make every effort to add new content on a regular basis and I'll also add text content as I see fit. If you don't like any of it, leave a comment and expect a flaming bag of baby poo on your doorstep to be delivered in a timely fashion.
Another note, I'm going to try to keep my name and the names of others off of here to prevent any of my family from being stalked by loonies. So call me pappa, a-hole, whatever makes you happy, just don't use my name.
Enjoy!
Best,
Pappa
Welcome to "Rooting in Snow", my blog whose primary purpose is to show off the "Greatest Show on Poop", Junior (name changed to protect the innocent). Junior (8 lbs 2 ounces, 21 inches) was born December 9th, 2006 in MI at 10:34 in the morning. Evidencing the fact that he was a lazy bum from conception, Junior refused to flip during the pregnancy. Thus, he was a breech baby and we had to have a c-section.
Personally, c-sections are fine with me. We got to schedule the exact time/date for the little guy to be born. However, my wife (who doesn't know I've started this blog....but she will when she checks her e-mail...in 2008) may disagree since she is the one who had to go through the actual surgery. At any rate, she handled everything perfectly and has exhibited a high degree of toughness and resiliency.
Me, on the other hand, I'm a wuss when it comes to getting no sleep (and other things but let's focus on sleep deprivation right now). So I've decided to take 3rd shift when it comes to baby maintenence.
This is where you probably say, "Pappa, what the hell do you mean you are a wuss when it comes to sleep deprivation yet you have taken 3rd shift?". Well, the answer is easy my fine feathered friend: I go to sleep at 6 AM, wake up at noon, mess around the rest of the day b/c my wife and mother-in-law think that I'm a good dad for staying up all night with Junior and therefore don't make me do much, take a nap from about 8 PM to whenever I wake up/they go to bed, and start all over again.
Really it's not as bad as you might think. I told my dad the other day that it's like being in college again except I get peed on. To which he replied that getting peed upon really doesn't differentiate my experience as a 3rd shift father from my experience in college at all. I knew I shouldn't have let them come to Fayetteville so often.
So, welcome to "Rooting in Snow". So named b/c of my affinity for Hogs and the fact that I live in MI where the annual snowfall in inches is equal to the annual GDP in dollars of Turkministan. Enjoy these pictures of Junior and crew. I'll make every effort to add new content on a regular basis and I'll also add text content as I see fit. If you don't like any of it, leave a comment and expect a flaming bag of baby poo on your doorstep to be delivered in a timely fashion.
Another note, I'm going to try to keep my name and the names of others off of here to prevent any of my family from being stalked by loonies. So call me pappa, a-hole, whatever makes you happy, just don't use my name.
Enjoy!
Best,
Pappa
Pics
"Yo! Bartender! How bout some milk?"
"As I gaze outside my window, I often contemplate the infinite. For example, why do my cheeks weigh 2 lbs each while the rest of my body only weighs 6 lbs? Why do I have to look like my dad? Why does dad insist on taking pictures of me when my tongue is protruding from my otherwise "chick magnet" lips? DAMN! I pooped myself again. I'm never going to be president if I can't stop pooping myself!"
"This is my Grandma C. We're in our hospital room. Hospitals suck primarily becuase we didn't have any hot nurses for me to look at. Dad says he doesn't look at hot nurses any more because mom is the only hot nurse he cares about. I think dad's fibbing"
"I'll have none of your wretched formula. Bring me mama's boob. You are here to serve me."
"This is my Grandma V. I'm pretty bored in this picture. Primarily becuase I was just born in MI. Trust me. You'd be bored too. However, I do like my two Grandmas. They make MI bareable."
"Grandma V. looks happy here. Something about me makes my grandmas happy. I think it's because my poop doesn't stink yet. My dad tells me that my poop does stink, but I know it doesn't."
"This is my Grandpa V. He's pretty cool but he doesn't know anything about lumbar support."
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