Father Shock

We are obsessed with my son’s diet. We follow every rule and abide every caution. But after a six month visit with our pediatrician, we drove home perplexed by her suggestion; Finger food? The idea of feeding him anything other than muted bowls of beige, brown, and green slop seemed bizarre.  A spark of excitement flicked between us as we considered our options.

My son has never been happier than the day he sat down to a small pile of cheerios. While his mother and I have meticulously investigated almost every bite of food that’s made its way past his tiny lips, the little O’s seemed beyond reproach. In fact, since we started feeding him solids, there has been a fresh box standing in the pantry just waiting to spill at his feet. Now, I’m not sure how cheerios got a free pass. As a new parent decisions are made on a tight rope, looming above a pit of sharply pointed possibilities.  But these little bits of breakfast transcend all manner of scrutiny and intention. Possessed by the spirit of General Mills himself, I passed hand full’s of O’s to my wide-eyed son.

Cheerios have become a staple in our home. Our son will sit quietly chasing the O’s around the perimeter of his small tray, buying us precious minutes to fold a little laundry or do some important bathroom reading. It’s really amazing, we have tried peas, bits of fruit, vegetables, and pasta, but nothing occupies his attention like a crowded plate of O’s.

Just like every other subject on the planet, I’m sure everyone has an opinion. So, fire up your favorite search engine and push your way through the mob of recommendations on the net. Though, making these decisions with your family pediatrician seems like a solid idea to me.  Below is a site I found helpful and also General Mills, baby bullets for Cheerios…

According to General Mills, Cheerios…

 -are the #1 choice of cereals for moms with toddlers.

       -are recommended by 4 out of 5 pediatricians as a finger food for toddlers.

        -have only 1 gram of sugar per serving.

         -have no artificial colors or flavors.

-are made with whole grain oats and is a good source of fiber. The 2005 Dietary Guidelines recommend that Americans consume three or more servings of whole grain each day (for a total of at least 48 grams of whole grain.)

-are easily managed by little fingers and helps develop motor skills because the O’s are easy to pick up, firm and resist crumbling.

-are easy for little fingers to hold.

-provide at least 10% of the Daily Value of 14 essential vitamins and minerals, including iron and folic acid.

-taste great and is fun to eat!

Try this helpful finger food link:  http://www.babycenter.com/0_finger-foods_105.bc

Ok, so maybe this is a little dramatic…With all the suffering in the world even the worst of aliments pale in comparison. But pain is subjective and really just a matter of perspective. So, this is mine and this is how it continues to warp.

My son exists in limbo, somewhere in a realm akin to Lassie or Geppetto’s Pinocchio. While he is a real boy, there are only a handful of ways you can truly interact with him and most of the time you can’t be sure if he is with you or just amused by movements and sound.

The second thing my son gave me was this cold. We woke up one morning and found him even more pink and chubby than usual. He was really uncomfortable and visibly disgusted with his fist big cold. After suffering a few days with the fever and snot, he passed it on. In fact he gave it to my entire family and all their friends and significant others. I’ve never seen a common cold spread so uncommonly. It was like wildfire, leaving death and destruction in its wake. Or at least bed full’s of groaning adults and empty bottles of ‘Tussin scattered about.

Now, I’m pretty sure I’ve never gotten the flu from my dog, and I’m damn sure I’ve never caught a thing from a hand carve wooden puppet; even one that can dance and sing. So this whole episode really caught me off guard.

As I lay their sucking breath through clogged pipes, I realized I’m pretty damn high maintenance when it comes to relationships. I need feed back, validation, or at the very least a high five. I revel in the happy mess of family and favor deep friendships over casual acquaintances. So bonding with my boy is my minds single anticipation. This however was not the type of connection I was thinking of.

For now, I will take what I can get. If tossing around in bed, feverish and broken for a week allows me to see the world though his little peepers, then so be it. I apologize to the rest of you; collateral damage to my cause. You took one for the team, and in my twisted way I am grateful.

By the way, the first thing my son gave me was a new sense of vitality and an eagerness for the days ahead. I guess this is just another example of that gift springing to life.

I drive everyday. As a younger person I guess I was excited by my time behind the wheel, even years after hitting the road.  I let moments at red lights and in traffic jams just slip away into oblivion without a second thought. Seduced by the open road, freedom had its way with me and I was a most willing victim. Now it’s a different story. I grind my teeth more than the gears. At every turn there seems to be obstacles in my path; idiots on the road. Today as I drive, I spend most of my time practicing my adult vocabulary and doing finger calisthenics.

My wife has been on my case. I wouldn’t say that I have a “potty mouth” as she would so delicately put it. But I am familiar with the power of well timed obscenities. I started thinking about how I picked up this little ability; my vehicle vulgarity. A few weeks ago I took a ride with my father. He seems to have a similar problem. When he puts the key into the ignition, every idiot on the road immediately adjusts their course for collision.

As we drove, I could feel rage building inside me. And just as my brain was rustling up the appropriate curse, a string of four-letter words poured from my father’s mouth. They were so finely crafted that I could only sit in awe.

I got my stunning good looks and superior muscular physique (ensuing laughter) from my father. Could I have also inherited this ability as well? Some might say we learn by example while others would qualify this ability as adapting to the environment. No matter how you mash nature and nurture into the equation, the simple fact is I’m probably a lot like him and my son will probably be a lot like me.

I am grateful for and frightened by this at the same time. While my anecdote is designed to poke fun at a frustrating situation, the truth is that everything good in me comes from my folks. If I am anything like my father, than I am a lucky man. My hope is that my son can say the same. But what does that mean?

David Bly, a popular author said, “Your children will become what you are; so be what you want them to be.” When I consider all that I hope for my son, this sentiment becomes a pretty tall order. But there’s truth in these words. I’m thankful for those that led me, not just because they pointed out the path, but also because they showed me it could be traveled.

Who knows, my son will probably cuss at the bumpers of cars just like his father before him. He’ll most likely have a list of bad habits that at some level I will be responsible for, but hopefully I can show him what I was shown. Hopefully he’ll be like the best parts of me, and the best parts of my father.

As I began recording my thoughts about parenthood, I had visions of a comprehensive blog that would shine a light on every aspect of the challenge. Today I have adopted a much more realistic plan and have set aside my busted ambition. I have found being an active father and diligently writing is like rubbing your stomach while patting your head, or babbling “chubby bunny” with thirty-seven marshmallows shoved in your yap. Sooner or later your gonna choke or poke yourself in the eye. It’s just too hard to keep all the balls in the air with a child in your arms.

Researching products is chore. It takes time to become an expert and make an objective presentation about any group of items. To make things worse (or better depending on your perspective) there are more baby products on the market then diapers in the landfill. So, if you’re reading about a product on this page, it is because it made a difference to me and not because it beat out the competition, in a double blind taste test.

The focus of today’s little jot is the Evenflo ExerSaucer. We received this little gem as a gift and have been grateful ever since. At first glance, it looks a mess. With brightly colored doodads springing up in every direction, the top looks like a junkyard of leftover toys that never had a chance on their own.

Its function is simple. It allows your child to boisterously spin in circles, while bouncing up and down. With moving parts and interesting noises, each attached toy provides a unique stimulation . Also, the unit has adjustable legs to allow for the growth of your child. This is an important selling point. So many of the products we use have brief life spans. It is nice to find something we like, that can used for a decent amount of time.

It’s touted by Evenflo as a safe alternative to the mobile walker. I would definitely agree. We use both products in our home. In the ExerSaucer, my son gets great exercise and I never have to worry about him wondering off; prying open cabinets or pulling things down from shelves. He stays safely right where I put him. It’s very stable; made from thick gauge, durable plastic. The attached toys are apparently helpful in developing physical dexterity and eye-hand coordination. While I can’t really validate this, my little guy enjoys messing with just about every toy that’s included.

At about sixty bucks the price point is pretty reasonable. It’s easy to clean and I doubt it will ever wear out. The only real drawback is the noise. It’s loud as hell. Don’t plan on catching Z’s or concentrating on your favorite TV show while your little one’s loaded into this sucker. Also, it’s a little bulky. If you’re tight on space, it might be a little hard to store. My living room is beginning to look a little something like a strip mall carnival. But the ExerSaucer is definitely my son’s favorite ride. 

Note:  Recalls exist on part of this product line. These recalls are specific to the toys attached to the “Tea Party” saucer and the product that shifts into a table. More information can be found by contacting EvenFlo. 

We had a baby…and today it suddenly means something a little different than it did yesterday. A baby, when you bring it home, is like a very significant pet. It sleeps, it eats, it poops when and where you’d rather it didn’t, and you have no idea what is going through its little mind. I know this probably defies normal thinking, but it sounds kind of like a puppy to me.

 Like a baby, a puppy possesses the features of its more mature counterparts. It has a nose for smelling, a voice for barking, and claws for digging and scratching. It requires almost constant attention and makes plenty of noise. Now, before I completely exhaust your patients and offend your sensibilities by bad mouthing puppies and babies, let me assure you I am not an evil man and also make an important distinction. A puppy is always a puppy. Sure it may grow older and learn a few tricks, but its nose is always for smelling, its claws are always for digging and scratching, and its voice is always for barking.

 My wife and I have been knee deep in diapers and breast milk for the last several months. While my son brings such of sense of satisfaction and wonder to my life, sometimes the repetition of maintaining him makes him pet-like. Believe it or not, attending to the needs of my schnauzer is remarkably similar to sustaining my boy. Consideration for structure and routine has become absolutely essential. And while it makes his needs manageable, it has a tendency to focus my attention towards the full diaper and the open mouth.

 This week I learned my son has a voice for laughing. While there are similarities between a laugh and a puppy’s bark, his laugh is a doorway to his personality. I can hear words in his laugh, that and songs, stories and jokes. In the last several days I have desperately searched out his laugh and realized, there is somebody in there!

 It seems obvious, right? Each of us is unique, so why would it stun a father that his son should have his own personality, his own voice? Well, there’s nothing unique about a steaming Huggie or a pale bowl of rice cereal. And that’s where my attention has been fixed. Making sure he lives. It’s a big responsibility. But now that I’ve heard his voice, I get to make sure he flourishes…and that’s an even bigger one.

 I see him now sitting in his playpen, quietly organizing his toys. It seems there is intention behind his wild swings, as he slams one toy against the other. I’ve watched him scoot around the room in his little wheeled saucer, searching out cabinets and drawers to investigate. He looks inquisitive to me, maybe forming simple conclusions and developing opinions about his surroundings. He presses his hands against my chest, leaning away from his crib when its bedtime. To hell with being tired, he wants to be out in the world and doesn’t give in easily anymore to weariness.

 There is someone in there! My son is no longer like a puppy. His voice could be for singing; his hands might be for painting or lovingly holding another’s. All the things he might say, the things he might do, the possibilities come rushing into my mind like a river. It is truly overwhelming. Something so big you can only see a small piece at any moment. I feel like I am experiencing the first glimpses of what being a father really means, and I’m amazed.

Happy New Year folks…Things are looking up in my household, as my son has made a surprising new years resolution…he has decided to sleep. I’ve discussed the finer points of sleep deprivation in several of my posts and while it has become something of a wonder to me, I will try not to ramble on about my own fatigue… I’m too tired anyways. The little guy didn’t make this turn on his own, and while I’d like to say it was a result of fine parenting and a strong example, the truth is we just sort of stumbled into it.

The day my son was born has quickly become one of the happiest moments of my life. It was such an overwhelming event that I couldn’t fully wrap my mind around it while surrounded by the smiles and sobs of my family. The quality of each moment beyond that day, has defined it in my memory and continues to deepen its meaning.

In contrast to that first day was the second night. Although it would be a complete exaggeration to say that it was an unhappy one, there were moments where my wife and I lost ourselves to a fierce panic of inadequacy. Now, the fear of being unprepared has hidden itself, masked by routine and distorted by the blur of our tired eyes. We’ve traded the sharp pain for a dull ache.

I was warned on the first day that the second would be a challenge. The revolving door on our hospital room spewed white coats and blue booties. Every nurse, doc, and nanny offering up their gifts of advice. Soon we were shrouded in a blanket of helpful pamphlets, hospital release forms, recovery recommendation pages, and poop tracking spreadsheets.

They say that the second night is the time when your child finally realizes that his adventure outside the womb is not just a day trip, but a permanent vacation. He gets cold, is unprotected from light and loud noises, and the soothing rhythmic tone of mothers hart is no longer ringing in his ears. As you might imagine this could be extremely disorientating. So, our cute little baby boy who spent the day quietly cuddled in our arms decided that someone would need to answer for forcing him from his perfect home.

He was inconsolable. The crying lasted for hours. We rocked, swaddled, fed him, took walks, adjusted the temperature in the room, sang comforting songs, showered him with love, but nothing would sooth the relentless cry. The birth had taken its toll and deep into the second night we were quickly reaching the end of our rope. At about three AM a bright-faced nurse, fresh on shift, popped into our room.

She fluttered over my wife and child like a butterfly. Taking vitals and adjusting pillows her jovial face and obnoxiously colored nurse garb were the only things bringing life to the room. She offered a smile and waddled towards the door. As she turned the knob she looked back saying, “Hang in there the night is almost over. You might want to look over the yellow form again, have a good morning.” Then she was gone.

What? Wait… what form? I sorted through the pile of papers. Delirious, flashes of pink, blue, and red jumped in front of my eyes. With more haste I tore towards the bottom and there it was, the yellow form. In great big letters, “Surviving the Second Night!” Where the hell had this come from?! Not only was it written with the most comforting and encouraging voice, it had a list of perfectly helpful tips on managing this transition. If it weren’t for that damn yellow form, I might not be here today at this very keyboard, writing these words. That’s how bad it was, I’m not sure how many more minutes we could of held out. But all it took was a stumble in the right direction and we survived.

For the last several months we have been struggling getting our son to sleep. It hasn’t been nearly as dramatic as the second night, but it’s been difficult nonetheless. New Years day my wife and I were cleaning out a closet and found a book on the floor. We had received so many; this one just took its place in the mix. Its title jumped out at us so we sat together on the couch for a read.

The book claims that any baby will sleep thought the night within two weeks using its methods. Pretty cool right, but I’m thinking where’s my free bathrobe and set of stake knives. Seems way to good to be true. For the last week our son has slept like…well, a baby. It works for him. We’ve had several nights of great rest, but there’s something more valuable to me here.

I have been thinking about these happy stumbles. I was grateful to survive the second night in the hospital and I am equally appreciative of the sleep improvements. During my short time as a father I have been inquisitive, I’ve tried as much as possible to study parenting, to be well informed. To do the best I can for my child and my family. However, no amount of preparation will see me through every struggle. I can’t guess every challenge and my son simply won’t find satisfaction in all my solutions. Sometimes you’ve got a square peg and nothing but round holes.

What comforts me is a growing faith in perseverance. I am still frightened that I won’t have the answers when it matters. But I am confident in my determination. By my own hand, by the hands of those who love me, by a happy stumble, or by something greater, that I have not yet found the words to define, we will survive well. The second night and all the those after.

Book: On Becoming Baby Wise: Giving Your Infant the Gift of Nighttime Sleep

-By Robert Bucknam

Ok guys, put down the GQ Magazine, throw away the seventy-five dollar bottle of Armani cologne and trash the gym membership, its time to embrace the kiddies! Dr. James R. Roney an assistant professor at the University of California – Santa Barbara led a study that might further unravel the beautiful mystery of the female mind.

The doctor hypothesized that women track cues of, “Paternal and genetic quality in men’s faces” and that those cues have a significant impact on the judgments they make about the attractiveness of a possible mate.

My wife is always clamoring about her feminine “super powers.” Even more often now that she has had a life grow inside her. But could it be possible that she has the ability to determine my genetic quality and enthusiasm towards parenting simply by looking at my ugly mug? According to Dr. Roney, the data suggest she can.

“The desirability of a male as a mating partner is expected to be a function of two dimensions: his genetic quality and his ability and willingness to provide parental investment” (Reading Men’s Faces 2006)

Earlier studies define the dimension of “genetic quality” by the presence of masculinity; meaning that women associate masculine facial features with genetic superiority. Testosterone is connected with the formation of masculine features, so samples of saliva were taken from the thirty-nine men who participated in the study. Testosterone levels in the saliva were used to establish degrees of masculinity, rating some men high and some lower.

“I am Spartacus!” I give you…Kirk Douglas, example of maximum testosterone. He has more masculinity in his chin than I have in my entire body! This guy probably has some serious man saliva. He’d grow hair on your bald spot with just a quick lick!

A separate test was done to define the second dimension, establishing each subject’s, “affinity towards children.” They were presented with twenty sets of pictures. In each set was an image of an adult and another of a child. The men were asked after viewing each set which picture they preferred. Men that preferred more images of children were likely to have a greater willingness to make parental investments.

Finally, pictures of these men’s faces were taken. The images were presented to twenty-nine women and they were asked to rate each face on attractiveness, masculinity, kindness, and how much they thought each man liked children. They were also asked to consider them as short or long term relationship possibilities.

Although the details of the tests and methods are interesthing, lets skip to the results…

“… This study suggests that women’s perceptions of men’s faces track actual characteristics of men that are theoretically important for mate choice. From mere photographs, women’s ratings of men’s liking of children were significantly correlated with men’s scores on interest in infants test, and women’s ratings of men’s masculinity were significantly correlated with men’s testosterone concentrations (saliva test). Perceptions of masculinity and liking children, in turn, were significant predictors of women’s mate attractiveness judgments.”

They could tell which men liked children the most and which men had the highest concentrations of testosterone in their saliva! Just by looking at their faces! They chose men with higher scores in the ”affinity for children test,” as long term relationship possibilities. Men with higher masculinity scores, who are apparently better for breeding, were chosen for shorter term relationships.  So what does this mean?

Well, for the single guys, picking up chicks just got a little more complicated. If you are looking for a lasting, meaningful relationship you better figure out how to beam a fondness for children from your face like a shaft of light. Cool trick if you can manage it…Also, you might consider downplaying your massive pectorals and cleft chin.

So, I wouldn’t suggest that you start hanging around a McDonald’s playground or start pulling out the old Spiderman sheets for your bed, that’s just creepy. But remember that at some level it’s ingrained in women to find a mate that will invest in their children. While strong masculine features indicate some level of genetic superiority, ultimatley its the family man that could win the babe (or at least make a good dady for your kids Spartacus).

Also, I think it is safe to say that underestimating a chick’s super abilities might be a mistake. It’s crazy, but a women’s intuition might be more powerful than we originally thought. Let’s stick together and watch each other’s backs!

If you’re interested in learning more about the details of the study here’s a link to a complete write-up:

http://www.psych.ucsb.edu/research/cep/topics/courtship/roney%20et%20al.2006.%20reading%20men%27s%20faces.pdf

Today I am a zombie. Not the sort that would eat your face like an overly ripened red delicious, but the kind that found himself sitting at his desk this morning and can’t remember how he got here.

About three years ago I bought my wife a puppy for her birthday. I made this purchase not only to provide her with a perfect Hallmark birthday moment, but also because I could hear the baby train off in the distance getting closer and closer with each passing day. I still had a list of things to accomplish and like many men; I assumed my life would come to an end as I became a father. The dog was… well…you know…a pacifier of sorts.

Over the years this animal has become a member of our family. We have a perfect little son and a slightly hairier daughter. Last night Lucy, our dog, was very sick. I rushed her to the emergency veterinarian just before midnight. The details of her illness are not important, let’s just say its nothing you’d enjoy looking at while munchin’ on dinner.

Several hours later I returned home worn out and a few hundred dollars lighter. As I closed the front door, Lucy stumbled to her bed exhausted from the ordeal. I turned the bolt on the lock, and my son began to stir. That was it, no more sweet dreams for him or me. He’s been teething and last night was a rough one for him. He couldn’t pull together more than an hour or two of rest and was very vocal about his discomfort.

Dog vomit, crying, screaming, scratches at the door, howling, blood, and dirty diapers; its pretty close to the worst horror flick I’ve ever seen. Needless to say, getting sleep was an issue for all of us and that’s why now we are a family of walking zombies.

The undead have a single purpose. They are compelled to consume the flesh of the living. Similarly, I have a single function; to get sleep. I will attack any bed, futon, or lazy boy with a viciousness reserved for the most shocking of films. Unfortunately, I’ve seen enough of these silly movies to know that just as a zombie gets inches from fulfilling its purpose, it is typically killed in the most fantastic manner imaginable. So, even when I do finally get a chance to sleep, it will be with one eye open.

For the last few weeks the mothers in my family have all been clattering about my little boy getting teeth. Granted, he’s been drooling and sucking on anything that gets within inches of his face, but I just didn’t believe them. He’s always so smiley and never really seems uncomfortable.

So yesterday it became official, they know more than I do; he’s got a tooth! Just one and I really wouldn’t call it a tooth; it’s more of a nub. Not really good for eating beef jerky or smiling at the ladies, but it’s a start. Apparently he’s going to have twenty of these little “primary” teeth when he’s done. He’s got a lot of work to do.

It never ceases to amaze me how our bodies work. You might say, “How can you get excited about such a little moment?” Well, I’m eager to share life with my son. A tooth means at some point he will be able to shape sounds and speak. It means food, real food with interesting tastes and textures. It seems like each day he and I get a little closer. Interactions have grown in complexity, moving from random eye contact to intentional laughter and hand motions. I want to know him and I want him to know me and a tooth is a simple step in that direction.

So apparently the teething process takes some time. Most kids have their full set of primary teeth by the age of two or three. The teeth arrive in stages, and appear with an assortment of annoying symptoms. They can increase irritability, cause drooling, chin rashes, discomfort in the jaw and ear, coughing, and more frequent interruptions in sleep (for baby and dad).

As this tooth has arrived so has the advice. I will no doubt be sorting through the recommendations of friends and family, choosing what remedies to attempt first. Suggestions like cold teething rings and baby Tylenol seem most reasonable. Though, I’m sure if I lose enough sleep I might be willing to try more extreme methods, like rubbing some Jack Daniels on his gums. A finger for him, and two for me…straight up!

This morning at 3:30am I kicked my son’s miniature John Deere tractor across his bedroom floor. BANG! It hurt my foot and woke my wife. I told her it had been an accident and she rolled back into the covers of our bed grimacing. I think she bought it, but the truth is I was in a sleepless rage.

It’s funny the things that wake me up. I can sleep through a savage thunderstorm or even a sixteen wheeler crashing into the telephone pole in my front yard, but the sound of my sons head rustling against the covers wakes me from the dead. That’s how it starts. It takes about four minutes for him to reach full meltdown. I’ve never timed it, but I have counted breaths, praying between each one that somehow he’d drift back to sleep.

The slow struggle builds with a melody of grunts and moans. His small fingernails start to scratch against the lattice work of fabric that holds him in. All the while my jaw clinches tighter and my limp fingers find fists. Pavlov himself could not elicit more complete conditioned responses. He’s methodical and calculating. Now wailing at full volume, he begins twisting and turning, pounding his chubby little feet on the mattress until finally I fling open the sheets and stumble to attention.

Typically, I am an instant victim, powerless against his cuddly little frame. This morning I was immune. I collected him from his bed holding him tightly in my arms. Not so tight that he might be hurt, but enough to relieve him of his devices and stir up some fatherly satisfaction. I struggled for a moment and then before I realized it my residual anger was channeled into the small toy. It took flight and then found the wall.

Dealing with this irritability has been an interesting challenge. Running on a half tank, it sometimes becomes hard to see all that I am grateful for. Even in the eyes of my child. Dim moments like these are normal, and I am not concerned that I will ever do anything to regret. I just want to be aware of myself and see my choices more clearly. Even through swollen eyes at three in the morning.

It’s been just over four and a half months since my son took his first breath. The learning curve in those first few months has been brutal. Each time I start to feel like I’ve got this thing handled, I find another hitch in my giddy up.

It seems the quickest way to stabilize the chaotic day to day is through routine. It’s a dirty word, I know. Routines are vicious taskmasters that strip the pleasure from most situations. In the past if anyone were to approach me about bringing structure to my life, I’d probably cry out, singing praises for the spontaneous. I’d sit back and make some clever remark about appreciating the regularity of a bowel movement, but to hell with the rest.

The truth is my propensity towards a spontaneous life, probably has more to do with laziness than a fervent belief in the unplanned. It’s difficult to admit, but being accountable is hard work. I’ve sloppily juggled responsibilities like work, family, health, and my bills. This is a reasonable feat for the novice juggler and I’ve been pretty successful. Now I’m supposed to hurl sixteen flaming chainsaws into the air like some crazy sideshow carnie. It’s a good bet I’m going to lose an arm and suffer several third degree burns if I can’t pull things together.

While I’m sure there is research that confirms the value of stability to the happiness of a child, at this point I’m mostly concerned about getting to work with my pants on and making sure the electric bill gets paid. So, with a white flag in my hand, I surrender to the weight of chaos. No longer will I live oblivious to the clock and immune to plans. I will rely on routine to organize the important so I can consider the rest, choosing wisely instead of purely by whim. It’s the only way I can survive… because my beautiful assistant is at the edge of the stage firing up the seventeenth chainsaw as we speak.

Robert Grunberg pictured above. See www.westland.net/VENICE/performers.htm to learn more.

This year there are an estimated 74.9 million kids living in the United States. That’s over 25 million asking to barrow the keys to their parent’s car for the first time, 25 million signing along with Dora the Explorer, and another 25 million packing their shorts and cooing at the air.

There are a lot of us parents, with children of all design. I’m not sure about you, but I don’t spend my time knee deep in pamphlets, books, and articles trying to find the keys to parenthood. I’m spending it stumbling through each day just fumbling with the basics; eat, poop, sleep, & play. (My little one is still packs his shorts)

With what seems like an endless amount of detail and opinion converging from every angle, it makes finding clear and helpful information tricky at times. Here are a few online resources that I’ve found useful:

• United States Government – Parenting Resource This site provides official information and services from the U.S. government. It offers links to online resources like the U.S. Department of Human Health and Services.  It covers important topics like adoption, education, parental health concerns, crime prevention and nutrition.
• Family Education.com This is a comprehensive tool. While it does cover an overwhelming amount of information, it organizes it in a really convenient manner. You can search by age and find any thing from a toddler toy recall to tips on high school graduation.
• Parenthood.com The most helpful piece of this online resource is its catalogue of articles. They have efficiently organized hundreds of articles on popular parenting topics. Most of the article are brief and to the point.
• Mayoclinic.com There are so many medical resources online. While these resources can never take the place of a trained professional, it is helpful to have well-organized, accurate information at your fingertips. There are many to choose from, but I have found this site to be the easiest to use and also very credible.

As a new parent, I am finding that time is absolutely the scarcest of resources. I will probably never consider much of the information presented by these sites. However it is comforting to know,  information about many of my specific questions rests on the pages of these collections and it’s only a click away.

Picture barrowed form: www.thedailygreen.com please support this interesting site.

Lately, I’ve been taking inventory of the stuff that bothers me. I’m underpaid, tired, overweight, and have no time to myself. Over the last few weeks, I’ve spent hours considering the details of each predicament, easily abandoning finer thoughts of things that bring me joy. Like many slopes, this is a slippery one. It doesn’t take long until most moments are shadowed in discontent.

Sounds dramatic I know, but a few days ago something simple interrupted my bender of self-pity.  My Grandmother knocked on my door at seven AM. She’s been doing this now for the last several weeks. Every Thursday she makes her way to my house to look after my son while I’m at work.

She has a quiet little routine she performs each time she comes into the house. She sets up her coffee and paper, checks in on my son, and then stands at the door as I leave, well wishing and locking up. This week as I stepped onto the patio I paused and realized how loved I felt and how grateful I am that my son lives at the center of a world where such wonderful people treasure him.

Each year at about this time my family gathers for Thanksgiving. Sometimes the tradition of sharing our appreciation for people or things in our life creates an awkward tension at the table; a pressure to produce a genuine moment of thanks on cue. While moments like this usually occur under more spontaneous conditions for me, this year I won’t struggle.

I am now living in a state of gratitude. I am thankful for my father who takes my son on long walks of discovery, my mother who showers him with love at bath time, my brother and his family that set many happy examples, and my wife for more reasons than I can mention. So many have contributed to the happiness of my son. For aunts that rearrange their work schedules and spend day after day fawning over my boy and for last minute grandmother babysitters…I am truly grateful.

It’s so hard to linger in the shadows with so many lighting the way… Thank you.

My friends would describe me as even keel. Mellow and collected. Though, over the last few months I’ve been living outside myself. I’m finding the hat of fatherhood comfortable to wear; it’s just that it has to be on almost always. In the meantime, my party hat and drinking shoes are collecting dust in the closet.

Lately, each time I’ve met with friends for a casual evening, I’ve put both feet in my mouth. You know that obnoxious friend who’s constantly egging you on to stay out later, drink harder, and go home broke and exhausted? Well, that’s been me. In an effort to convince myself that fatherhood isn’t cramping my style, I’ve tortured my poor friends daring them to tie one on.

My wife, either from a place of wisdom or just out of sheer exhaustion, called my bluff. She contacted my friends and planned a night for me to go out. No strings attached, no curfews, no calls home, just a night of pure freedom. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened next. Just like any over compensating man in crisis would do, I went out and wasted my night of freedom on loads of booze and smokes. It was a mess.

I realized a few things the next day, as I nursed the worst hangover I’ve had in ten years. Fatherhood isn’t cramping my style; it is my style. While I love my friends and will always take pleasure in their company, I don’t have to do it from behind a stack of Budweisers. It proves nothing about my freedom to make choices and it does little to confirm my vitality.

Things are not as cut and dry as they might seem. Fatherhood is not a door that closes on the rest of your desires as you walk through it. In fact, every choice that stood before me as a single man stands there now. I just want different things. My desires no longer rest at the bottom of a bottle or in the dim neon lights of my favorite haunt. But it doesn’t mean I can’t visit from time to time… maybe with a little more composure.

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I’ve got a tank for a son. We made our first trip together to the pediatrician yesterday and the measuring sticks came flinging out like switch blades. He is nearly four months old, but carries the weight and the head of a ten month old. The guy is just off the chart in most of the areas they measure… If only these were calculations of intellect and charm, I think I would feel much more comfortable.

Insecurities I never new I had came racing to the surface. Protecting my own self-esteem from the vicious attacks of normalcy is bad enough. Now I gotta look out for this little guy as well. To make matters worse my wife and the judge (the doctor) were both grinning at me like I’m to blame, like I’m the one driving the chubby train.

So, the hour reeled on with question after question. When should he be rolling over? Is drooling normal? Why does he cry like that, is it ok? When can we expect him to crawl? How can we tell if he is overweight? So on and so on… There is so much to take in, so much to worry about. Is my child going to be smart, strong, charming, and slender, or at least close to my favorite pictures of normal? When it comes down to it, what ever his is, I made him that way…the pressure was maddening…

But just at the outside of this growing tornado of questions and judgments, sat a pudgy little man grinning and drooling from ear to ear. With his smiling eyes, he saved me from a spiraling mess of anxiety and concern. What a happy little guy. That’s what I want normal to look like. Take your conversion charts and slide rules and pitch’em. I wish I were that normal.

So the challenge, right from the start is to remember that version of my son. Happy and satisfied by simply being held on the lap of his father. Sure other indications of growth and health are important to monitor. But nothing is a better measure than that chubby little smile…

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