You want me to do what?
Separating mommy from baby was my first job as a father…Does that face say “I’m clueless about fatherhood” or what?
Due to the high demand for baby pictures on this blog, we have started a new category called GPOD – Gavin Pic of the Day. It’s a way to shamelessly promote the adorability of our son Gavin. We will be starting from his very first breath of air.
Cover via Amazon
Steph and I have read a lot of books trying to prepare ourselves and our lives for the new baby. Some of these books we liked, and some of them we loved. This book is one of my favorites.
The authors are Gary Greenberg and Jeannie Hayden. ‘Be Prepared‘ is a funny, yet practical book that is sure to bring a laugh. I enjoyed this book from beginning to end. Near the end of Steph’s pregnancy, I read the first half of the book, you know, to be prepared. I reread the first half of the book just after Gavin was born…during the midnight feedings. After Gavin turned 6 months old, I read the second half. The book is split up into categories (First Week, 0-3 Months, 4-6 Months, 7-9 Months, and 10-12 Months) so you can read the part that pertains to you and your baby. But, I’m sure that once you pick this book up, you will read it through from beginning to end. The ideas and information presented are very much the way a man would do things. It’s entertainingly useful and well organized, kind of like me!
The things I loved about this book is that it made learning about my baby fun and memorable. It was also nice to pick up and read in short bursts during those midnight feedings. (Just make sure you don’t laugh too hard or you’ll distract the baby from feeding!)
On a side note, this book makes a great baby shower gift for the dad, but only if he’s got a sense of humor about things. Well, even if he doesn’t, it may lighten his mood somewhat under the magnanimous pressure of pending responsibility of caring for another human.
It’s definitely worth a read. Everything you need to survive your first year of fatherhood. I highly recommend it.
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Overall Rating: 10 Worms
Readability: 10 Worms
Usefulness: 10 Worms
Manliness: 10 Worms
Retail Price: $15
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I work one day during the week. Let me back up here. I go play for one day a week at my office and I leave the “work” to a babysitter. She takes the Worm all day and I get some much needed adult time. During this glorious day, I carry on conversations with people other than myself! I see clients and do adult things like speak in full sentences. I look forward to it. It’s a brief, but welcome respite from my SAHD duties. (I just found out that there’s an acronym for me, Stay At Home Dad or SAHD). In other words, getting a day at the office keeps me sane and able to handle the rest of my week, sort of like what coke does for Charlie Sheen.
Yesterday morning, Gavin was cranky. Not happy with the rigors of baby life, he wouldn’t stop fussing. (You know those mornings, right?) So, I decided to get him over to the babysitter’s early, so that she could deal with him spend more face time with him. I grabbed everything I needed for his day (car seat, diaper bag, food, formula, toys, stroller) and everything I needed for mine (kit, backpack, laptop, phone, treatment table, travel bin, lunch, tea). The truck was packed and ready to go. The only forgotten item was my brain. Leaving the house was a blur for me. I could only remember bits of it. There’s no other valid reason for this except the baby mind meld. (Has he been watching Star Trek re-runs late at night?) In that clever Spock-like maneuver, Gavin jostled my mental acuity and I drove away from the house with the garage door open. A brief moment of clarity made me realize it once I got on the freeway. I panic and turn around to race home. All I’m visualizing is a group of neighbors standing in front of my garage, mouths agape, and the Hoarders TV crew filming their next episode. Luckily, as I approached the house there was no one there. (What? Am I not good enough for Hoarders?) I close the garage and leave again…for the second time.
At this point, I’ve lost 30 minutes of my life (actually, I don’t want that 30 minutes back. Keep it.) I head back to my original destination, the babysitter’s house. Of course, once I get there, the babysitter is not home. Her husband tells me that she’s at my house waiting for me. Brilliant. I drive back home and drop Gavin off with the babysitter. (I probably threw him at her, but he deserved it.) I leave the house again…for the third time.
After all the morning fracas is sorted and I show up late to work, I conveniently lock myself out on the back patio…Argh! Blast this mind meld trick! It’s still working on my brain!
Young grasshopper, you have learned the art of confusing your adversary. You win again.
Gavin = 5; Dylan = 2
Don't worry, it won't happen again. I'm wearing protection. 😉
I’m a new dad. Of course, you knew that. So, there are things that I don’t know about babies. (It’s hard even for me to believe.) But, I’m learning.
For example, the other day I was changing Gavin’s pajamas. As a normal routine, I check his body for cuts, scrapes, bruises, redness, rash, etc. (I’m a medical professional. It’s a habit.) I also look at the color (or lack of color) of his skin. And if you remember from some of my other posts, Gavin’s a little on the white side. Ok, he’s a lot on the white side. (For the first 7 months of his life, he had less melanin in his skin than my wife, Steph.)
Since then, Gavin’s gotten some coloration. His skin is not as light as Steph’s anymore, but it’s definitely not the caramel cinnamon cocoa color of his old man.
Again, the other day I was checking out the Worm’s skin like normal and I was shocked to see that his areolas had darkened. Now, it doesn’t freak me out or anything because it’s not like his nipples turned purple. But, they’ve definitely changed color from a pinky pink to a browny pink. (Ladies, you can translate that to whatever name I’m sure you already have in your color palette. But, to keep things simple for the guys reading this, pinky pink and browny pink are extremely accurate descriptions.)
I’ve done searches online and I didn’t find anything about baby nipples changing color as they get older. The only search results that come up for me are for mom’s areolas changing color during and/or after pregnancy. And the other searches come up with nipple rings and other weird stuff like that. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
So, here I am stating to the world that I have the first documented internet webpage denoting that baby nipples can actually change color as they age. For the record, Gavin was 9 and 1/2 months when this happened. In return for sharing such said knowledge to the world, I proudly accept the new term for baby nipple pigmentation, Dylanobscuro. (Obscuro means darkness in Latin, duh!)
So, if your baby begins to gain more pigmentation as he or she ages, it’s only the Dylanobscuro effect. (Add it to your MS Word dictionary people!)
My explanation of why this is happening is because Steph and I have a mixed up baby. Two different species races. We’re seeing different genes and characteristics manifesting at different periods of baby’s growth. Pretty interesting. It reminds me of the old saying “Mama always said life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” (Come on, that movie was 18 years ago! That’s old!) And we’re not sure how the Worm is going to turn out. But, if you are interested, stay tuned to Me vs. Gavin!
And I can’t show you his nipples because then you’d be looking at child pornography (only in America, right?). So, to save you a trip to jail and to save me from having my website shut down, I leave you with the edited picture below. It’s safe for you to view now. It’s safe for America now.
Uh, Dad what are you doing?
There’s a knock at the front door. Duncan starts to bark his head off. I’m in the middle of getting dressed. So, naturally I ask Gavin to answer the front door. But the Worm gives me that faraway look as if we don’t speak the same language. Even if he knew what I was saying, he’s still too short to reach the knob. Useless…but adorably so!
Thinking it could be Ed McMahon with Publisher’s Clearing House, I race to the front door half-naked (or half-dressed, depending on how you look at it) and expect to see a large check and balloons in my face. But all I got was an old man. No Ed. No check. No million dollars.
Does this lollipop make me look younger?
As if he plucked my cherries right off their tree, he muttered “Hi there. Is your mom or dad home?”
Immediately, I wonder if this guy is serious. I look him dead in the eyes for a hint of sarcasm. Nada. To make matters worse, the most mature thing I could retort was “What?”
“Are your parents home?”
Holy s#!t. He’s for real. (It’s California, people. So, I give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he’s just smoked a blunt for his cataracts or high blood pressure.)
“No, my mommy’s not home. Sorry.” I close the door and don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
So I turn towards the hallway mirror, reassuringly pat myself on the back and say to the incredibly dashing and handsome creature before me “I’m grown! I may have the body of a prepubescent teenager, but I have underarm hair, nose hair, and even some curly ear hair! I ooze manliness and maturity!”
Then I dust off the guns, cock them both back and hit another incredible double biceps flex in the mirror. “Yeah, I’m a MAN dammit. No mistake about it. That old guy must have been blind.”
You figure it out...and yes that is leopard print carpet.
So, I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot here. I mean, I’m a good dad. I’ve got a clean record with the police station. Sort of. It’s just that every now and then, I get distracted. (Once again Steph, you’re right…) I disappeared from the living room for a split second and I may have missed the youngest acrobatic trick ever performed. I’m perplexed and still wondering how it happened.
The Worm is only 9.35 months old. He just started crawling this past Christmas day as a gift to us! Yes, I know…so cute and adorable as long as you’ve got a leash securing him safely to a post. Managing Gavin used to be a piece of cake, you know. Just lay him down to drink his milk and I go play on the computer for 30 minutes. Of course, I would always keep my ears peeled for that air-sucking noise from the empty bottle and return to find all’s well and baby is satiated.
Ok, so knowing (or still believing) that the Worm can’t get off the couch, I follow my couch feeding routine. Stuff Gavin between couch cushions (every dad knows this trick) with a bottle and let him go to town. I leave towards the kitchen for literally 2 seconds (or a couple more, but hey, who’s counting?) and I hear a little THUD. I go back to the living room and see the Worm on all fours smiling up at me from the ground. The milk bottle is still on the couch nicely tucked between the cushions which previously held a little body.
Now, mind you…the kid can barely stand on his own two feet, let alone jump from the couch. He just started crawling a couple weeks ago! So, I had to exercise my brain a bit to figure this one out. Using my engineering mind, I realized that the spacing between the couch and the coffee table is about 18 inches. He obviously didn’t hit the coffee table on his way down. Also, there is enough altitude between the couch and the ground (about 20 inches) for Gavin to complete the 540 degree somersault necessary to stick the landing. As long as he tucked his limbs in properly. Which of course, he must have.
Bela Karolyi, if you’re reading this, I think we have found the next Paul Hamm.
Gavin – 2; Dad – 0
Me vs. Gavin 