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21 Sep

I’ve been noticing that when I get baby up in the mornings, he’s not so quick with a smile, or delighted to see me (or flowers, or buses, or his cards). And he’s starting to get…opinionated…about stuff. I am not saying he’s become or becoming a terrible baby, I’m just saying that the idle conversations we’ve been having when changing him in the mornings are, well, ominous.

Baby: kick papa?
Me: No, we don’t kick papa.
BB: kick ball?
Me: Yes, we can kick a ball.
BB: kick mama?
Me: No, we don’t kick mama. We give mama hugs and kisses.
BB: kick…people?
Me: No, we don’t kick people.
BB: push people?
Me: No, we don’t push people.
BB: kick papa?
Me: No, we don’t kick papa.

We’ve decided to nip this in the bud with mobility reduction technology. Since he’s already wearing these at night, we thought we would just re-introduce the 23 hours/day cycle. Whatevs. He’ll walk again when he learns proper respect.


Bath time

27 Aug

So, at 6:40pm, I’m in my pajamas (which are formal-ish, white pajamas today). Because I just got done giving baby a bath, and our latest thing is to take a bath with the little rugrat if we have time and inclination to do so. Baby mama is nursing the boy, which is followed by bed.

And the doorbell rings.

I tromp down in my PJ’s to meet the UPS guy downstairs. As he looks at me, at 6:40pm in my fancy white pajamas, I tell him, ‘um, it’s baby’s bath time.’ To which he responds, smirking, ‘I bet it is.’

So obviously we are going to have to move now.

Smells like shit

25 Aug

Ok, one of the things you all promised me was that the poop situation would continue to be ‘no big deal’ – some combination of ‘you get used to it’, ‘it’s like cleaning up after a dog’, ‘poop doesn’t bother me’, whatever. But I want to let you know that not only is the shit still gross, but it definitely smells, now that he’s eating solid food.

And there is something about the chemistry of the poop, the relatively small room he’s in, with the high ceiling, and my olfactory composition that is conspiring to get the smell of poop into my sinuses. Where I can smell it for hours after I’ve changed his diaper.

This whole bit, I suspect, is going to get much much much worse before it starts getting better.


21 Jul

For my (belated) birthday, my wife got me a night away, with her and without the baby. So I write this from the top floor of the Moana Surfrider hotel, in Waikiki.

Baby is with my mother-in-law, who generously agreed to do a 24-hour stint with our 7-month-old while we get drunk and watch the sunset – and for the first time since being un Hawaii, not the sunrise.

Incidentally, no one told me how hard it would be to leave our baby, even knowing it is with his grandmother. We put together detailed instructions for grandma, and still I feel totally anxious and can’t even really relax, despite the drinks. I really just live and miss our baby.

Nah, I’m fucking with you. We did leave a list of pro-tips, or at least baby mama did. But after a couple of drinks at our favorite local beach bar/restaurant (Duke’s), and a dip in the ocean, I feel so relaxed I may slip into a coma and STILL show up for mire drinks down under the banyan tree.

Love and love and more love to my wife and MinL for making it happen.


24 Jun

So I’m on daycare duty today, and I’m taking the kid to Tea Lounge for a delicious lemonade (for me, not for the little one – that’d be crazy). The barista behind the counter asked for my order, took my money, and then he looked at BB, facing him in the baby Bjorn, and gave him a little head-nod and a ‘sup. Then he went to get my lemonade. Solid move, Tea Lounge barista man.

Of course, walking the three blocks home with my delicious lemonade, BB got ahold of the cup and made me drop it all over my shoes. Well played, baby.

Baseball love

8 Jun

This is obviously inspiration for me.


11 Jan

The last few diaper changes have been interesting, as we try to implement new practices around diaper rash:

A change you can believe in

The last three times she changed him, he projectile pooped at her just as she was changing the diaper. And she turns to me with a kind of annoyed look and asked me why I thought the kid was shitting at her. Like somehow I’ve been feeding him ideas. Or feeding him. My guess is that this is all random chance, but maybe not. He doesn’t shit at me often – for me, he’s much more likely to take aim and try to pee at my face. The last time he missed me and got the wall. Plus, I only grab him by the one leg, while babymama likes to grab both his legs and lift them up to get at the diaper. She’s probably giving him a jumpstart.

This would all be funny if it weren’t coming after a month of sleep deprivation. I think the cosmic joke is to make you so tired that at some point you utter the angry words at your partner: “No, I’m not going to do a whole load of wash for this one thing, it only has a little bit of poop on it!” I’m satisfied with just a little bit of poop. No pun intended, but this shit is degrading. And meanwhile, the little emperor continues to cry his bloody head off as if somehow we’re conspiring to kill him, instead of cleaning up his mess. There is just no justice with a newborn (and wait, is he still a newborn after he has his 1-month birthday on Thursday?!).

Oh, and on yet another unrelated note, my daring wife purchased a few new tops for the kid, which she loves. Snap-around kimono-style shirts, with little covers for his little hands so he doesn’t keep trying to rake-claw her breasts during feeding. Of course, our child no longer wears pants. Yes, that’s right, our baby used to be all about the plain white onesie, and he is now living a nice-top, pants-free lifestyle. With just a little poop.