Brian Stays At Home

Day 83: Sleep the Impossible Sleep

This morning, our son treated Jen to the Shit-Up-His-Back routine right before she had to leave for work.

I had been sleeping for maybe 30 minutes after not sleeping for longer than 20 at a time last night. Then I heard Jen say “Shit!”

Having experienced that just the other day, I knew exactly what that meant. My eyes popped open and lurched up in bed. Without thinking twice, I swung my legs out and walked into the living room to find Jen playing the sick game of Operation I had to earlier. Poo was getting on every part of him and he was buzzing loudly.

I fired up the tub and the emergency shit bath was underway when he thought it would be just hilarious to kick his legs at lightening speed to splash out as much water as possible. We scrubbed and rinsed, scrubbed and rinsed until he was cleanish.

So I gave up on sleeping for the day and we went out to play as Jen left for work.

After about an hour, I looked at him and begged for a nap. He consented and I prepped a bottle. He downed it in no time flat and we both closed our eyes and drifted to that impossible sleep.

3 hours later, we both awoke to find ourselves confused about what had just happened.

Did time jump?

Did we find ourselves in a parallel universe?

It just couldn’t be as simple as a nap.

Then the toilet clogged and started backing up into the tub.

Day 82: The Jumpy Thing

The awesome exer-saucer thing that was a nightmare to put together has become The Jumpy Thing. Of all the accoutrement that are there for his playing pleasure, his favorite thing about it is the fact that it’s spring loaded and if he jumps, it bounces and it makes the loudest fucking noise ever for a baby toy.

It was adorable at first.

Then it was quaint after that.

We are well beyond quaint.

The downside is it’s the best way for him to burn off extra energy.

Oh, speaking of his energy level, it’s fucking insanely high.

I’m pretty sure Similac is actually PCP cut with a little powdered milk.

And iron.

It has to have iron.

Day 81: Down One Onesie

I went to pick him up for a quick diaper change and what do I find?

Shitjuice

There is nothing worse than picking up a baby who is wet with shitjuice soaked clothes.

It’s like raw ground beef in that the smell doesn’t quite leaves your hands for hours on end.

It’s a stinkpalm of the highest order.

When I got him onto the changing table, what did I find?

It wasn’t shitjuice at all.

It was shit.

His entire back was covered in shit.

Trying to peel that off of him was like trying to play a sick game of Operation that you can’t win.

Where did that onesie go?

Right into the diaper pail.

Day 80: Socks? Socks!

His new favorite game is to pull his socks off as slowly as possible.

First he curls his legs up and attempts to eat his toes through his socks. Then, he realizes that he has socks on. Next, he puts his feet back to their normal position and stops. Now, as if the thought just entered his little mind, he pulls his feet up again. This time however, he doesn’t quite raise them all the way. Instead, he draws them just close enough for his fingers to reach his toes and holds them there. Immediately after doing so, he begins.

First stage: he pulls the sock and giggles.

Second stage: he retracts his legs slightly and pulls on the tips of his socks.

Third stage: he laughs raucously as the socks being to glide off of his feet at a terrifyingly slow pace.

Fourth stage: he eats his socks.

Fifth stage: I reapply his socks and we repeated the entire process for approximately an hour.

This! This is what I do with my days! And I’m good at it!

Day 79: His Twin

I may have just taken the greatest picture of my son in his short life.

I was pooping, naturally, when he sat up in his rocker, stared at himself in the mirrored closet door and grinned as if to say “Hey, man, what’s up?”

Day 78: Perspectives

He’s only a little over two feet tall right now so when he sits up, he’s now a foot off the ground.

Such a small difference has apparently fascinated him. All of his toys are now completely different to him. Everything from his teething rings to Cuppy to The Victory Arch have new angles for him to explore. He’s as happy as a pig in shit with this sitting thing.

I try to imagine things from his angle of attack and I just can’t.

It would be like having a 200” TV.

And I know I’ll never be rich enough to own one of those.

That thought is enough to make me just give up this sitting thing and lie down.

Day 77: Solid Poops 2: Shit

Solid food poop is just shit.

It’s shit.

Regular shit.

Shitty shit.

No more baby poop.

It’s shit.

Day 76: If You Leave Me Now

Fuck, Chicago was cold.

While readjusting to his warm surroundings, he’s noticing more and more that he has the power to sit as long as he chooses to. Back in Chicago, he would sit for a period of time and then fling his body backwards as if he suddenly realized that he was supposed to be in the prone position at all times.

Now, for whatever reason, he just sits. He plays with toys and rocks like a crazy person in a chair that isn’t there and generally enjoys being upright. I put pillows around him in case he tries the flinging thing again. I’m a good parent like that. If I put a baby sized hookah next to him, he would look like a sultan.

It’s a marvel to see how much he enjoys sitting.

I know it’s a ridiculous thing to get puffed up about, but my son sits. On his own.

He still poops himself, but he sits on his own.

Day 75: Creepiest Baby On The Block

In preparation for the snow and utterly freezing conditions facing our son in Chicago, we went and bought him a snowsuit with a furry hood.

Then Jen stood him up and held him around the corner for a picture.

Now we have the image of a five and a half month old standing down the hallway in a hooded snowsuit with a blank expression on his face haunting our dreams.

Day 74: Cultured Culture

Yes, it’s true, my son is part Sicilian. It’s not his fault. He was born this way and we love him in spite of it.

One of the things he can look forward to is having at least a tenuous relationship to Pavarotti. While I’m sure life would be easier if he loved large-chested women, if he had to love opera, Pavarotti isn’t a bad way to do it.

Today, I played for him “Vesti la giubba” from Pagliacci.

Hands down it is my favorite aria. I don’t claim to be a huge opera fan. As a matter of fact I’m not one and as such, my enjoyment of opera is limited to arias that stand on their own. There are about 15 that I really enjoy listening to and I don’t want to be brow beaten for picking “Vesti la giubba” as my favorite, so fuck off if that’s your intent. Hostilities aside, to me it doesn’t get any better than when Pavarotti sings it. You can get into whether Caruso or Carreras or Lanza or Domingo is better technically, but one area where you Pavarotti kills it is expressiveness.

In hopes of teaching him early about having good taste, like Playboy over Hustler or Penthouse, I’ve been playing several Pavarotti sung arias to him to develop love for the right things in life.

Then again, Screw had an awesome Robert Crumb cartoon once.

Day 73: Arrogant Bastard

Possibly the best gift my son has received in his short life, other than my fatherhood of course, is a onesie from my brother in law, Mike.

It’s from the awesome folks at Stone Brewery:

People laugh when they see him in it.

Then, my son and I share a knowing glance and nod our heads with the understanding that I am only a bastard.

Day 72: Solid Poops

It’s time for solid foods.

For the last few weeks, he’s been eyeing Jen and me while we eat. He watches our hands bring things to and from our mouths and stares at our plates. So we put the bib on him, mixed the rice cereal and tried our best.

To our surprise and happiness, he was generally agreeable to the proposition. He took about 8 small spoonfuls, mulled it around in his mouth and swallowed.

Then he decided that he had had his fill and began smushing it through his lips and onto his bib.

Never in my life have I enjoyed playing with food as much.

It makes a father proud.

Day 71: Grover

One of the downsides to having a baby with seemingly explosive growth is that you have fewer opportunities to put cute clothes on him.

Adding to the fire is the clothes you wore as a child. I have three outfits I needed to get him in that were mine as a baby. Yes, I sit at home all day with a baby who cannot crawl or escape. It’s my own fault for waiting so long to put him in the clothes, but procrastinators don’t get this way by doing.

Well I finally had his little fashion show. The one he looks the god damndest cute in is a Sesame Street onesie with Grover in a snowmobile.

It really makes you feel old when you put something on your child that you wore at his age.

If I were a sentimental bastard, I would have shed a tear.

Fuck, this kid is adorable. 

Day 70: From Shits to Sits

It’s starting to dawn on me that time stands still for no one.

Just the other day, he started sitting. A few days ago, he would topple over like a poorly built Jenga tower if left to his own devices. Now, he just sits there. He holds himself up quite well. If he begins to tip to one side or the other, he puts his hand down to brace himself.

Now I just stare in awe. It’s just… amazing. 

Day 69: Bill and Ted

I didn’t get that joke for years.

Here’s to hoping that my son doesn’t either.