Father-to-be knows best

The following article was written in February for one of those free newspapers you often find on subway seats. The editor asked me to send a writing sample in a "list" form, so I jotted down a little bit of advice for other fathers-to-be. I know I come off as a jerk in this article, but it's all in good fun. The editor, though, took me too seriously, and I never heard from him again.

Anyway, since this was never published, I might as well share it here.

I’m going to have a baby boy in June. So right now I’m about five months pregnant, though you wouldn’t know it by looking at me, outside of my fatherly glow. I must say, it’s been difficult dealing with the sympathy pains and cravings, but my wife, Jennifer, says I’m handling it well. Oh... and I’m proud of her, too.

Now, I understand that a lot of you will probably be having kids in the future, and you may be wondering how someone like me deals with all the stress associated with preparing for a baby. Well, it isn’t easy folks, but here’s a little advice:

- Don’t brave it alone

Involve your wife in this experience. After all, she is actually carrying the child. I have found it so rewarding to share my pains and concerns with her. Each night, after she comes home from a busy day at law school and takes off her 400-pound book bag and 300-pound laptop, I get up from the couch and tell her about my daily struggles. I tell her that I’ve been stressing about being a role model for our child. What if I do a bad job? What if our child develops my horrible singing voice or my lackluster throwing abilities? What happens then?

My wife then grabs my hand and assures me that I’m going to be a great father, and I feel a whole lot better. She normally goes on from there, about her back pain or stretch marks or whatever. By that point, I’m usually zoning out or watching TV.

- Do the research

There are hundreds of books out there to guide you through the pregnancy, and I plan to read at least part of one before Jennifer gives birth. Until then, I just ask Jennifer questions, about 5 or 6 times a night. She’s been a wealth of information.

- Have fun

Jennifer and I won’t let the pregnancy stop us from having a good time. We’ll let the baby take care of that. Until then, we’re enjoying each night as if it’s our last. Once the weather gets better, we’ll probably go parachuting, bungee jumping, or speed skating. But I won’t take Jennifer out drinking - that wouldn’t be safe for the little one.

I usually have to enjoy that beer alone... but I always keep in mind that I’m now drinking for two.

He's got a new attitude

Kyle turns two months old on Wednesday. A lot about him has changed since he came home from the hospital: he has put on quite a bit more weight, he now smiles often, and he's found new ways to dirty a diaper (and its vicinity). One of the most noticeable changes is in how he communicates. Kyle still rules the roost, but now he does it with a little more finesse.

That doesn't mean he has abandoned his Apocalypse NOW! cry. No, in fact, that one has become even more dramatic. As the decibels soar, Kyle twists his body and turns his shoulders so that his face is planted in his bed, as if he was shouting, "You better do as I say or I will EAT THIS MATTRESS!!!!" It's an empty threat, of course. First of all, Kyle couldn't possibly be hungry enough, since he likely ate just an hour earlier. Second, he has no teeth.

But Kyle is no longer a one-trick pony. These days, in addition to the Apocalypse NOW! cry, there's also the "Apocalypse Maybe," which often happens in the middle of the night. This is one or two major parent-waking wails, followed by a silence that could last an hour. Apparently Kyle woke in the middle of the night, thought he was drowning, screamed, realized he was only drooling, and then went back to sleep slightly embarrassed.

There's also the lesser "either the world is ending or I just want to suck on something" cry. Kyle performed this little act during his first trip to a restaurant last week. It's a lower-volume cry, and it often comes on slowly, gradually amplifying like a siren or a really annoying car alarm. It often can be stopped in time, if one is properly equipped. We were fortunate to have a pacifier with us that night, since Kyle thought my lager was too bitter.

Finally, there are those rare moments when Kyle doesn't cry at all. Sometimes he just kicks like crazy when he needs a diaper change. When he's hungry, he occasionally puts his hand to his mouth without making a sound, like he's doing in the picture I took below using a camera phone.



So, Kyle is getting better at communicating with us, which is a good thing. Hopefully he'll shed himself of the head-twisting Apocalypse NOW! scream before he gets too old. I don't think it would go over well on a date.

A Kyle grows in Brooklyn

Okay, time now for more cute pictures. Take a look at this one of Jennifer and Kyle, shot about a week and a half ago:



Now feast your eyes on this one, taken last Thursday during a trip to Brooklyn's Prospect Park:



Notice a difference? If you said that Kyle looks a bit larger, you're right. Last week, our little one went through what the experts call a "growth spurt." These things typically happen several times during the early weeks of life. Kyle packed on some extra baby fat in just a few days, and he's come dangerously close to growing out of a good number of his onesies. He soon may need to borrow my shorts.

All this growing has made Kyle HUNGRY. Last week, he would demand to be fed every hour, and each feeding would take about an hour and a half. One of Jennifer's friends, who gave birth a couple months before Kyle arrived, said a mother might as well keep her top off all day during these growth spurts. That way she'll be ready for the baby's constant cravings. While I frequently asked Jennifer to consider this sound advice, she chose not to take it, since being topless would make things a little awkward around here, especially when we have friends and relatives visiting. Instead, she had me use a bottle to help out a bit more with the feedings and prevent Kyle from devouring her. Fortunately for all of us, Kyle's growth spurt now appears to be over. His diapers no longer fit like they used to, and he seems to be able to kick farther, but we won't know just how much Kyle has grown until he goes to the pediatrician and makes another attempt at wetting the scale. We have a hunch he'll show some big gains.



The end of the growth spurt has given us more "happy Kyle" time, and less "psycho hungry angry Kyle" time. That's made us all feel better, and has allowed us to do things besides feeding him, such as showering and eating lunch ourselves. Who knows? If Kyle continues to be in such a good mood, we might go out to eat as a family. I'd certainly welcome that, because I think I might be going through a growth spurt myself. I could really go for a burger right now... or maybe two.

Tater tot

Kyle is no longer a just a homebody. These days, he regularly goes out on neighborhood strolls, and this past weekend he went to church for the first time. These ventures do come with certain risks, though. We are extremely cautious with each encounter we make with another person, and Jennifer has come awfully close to tackling those who attempt to touch our little one. We don't want Kyle to catch any diseases, such as a cold, the flu, or disco fever. But most of all, we're concerned that these other people might try to eat him.

I never thought much about the threat of cannibalism before Kyle was born. It wasn't something covered in our birthing class, and when he was born, nobody asked if we wanted fries with him. But now we're wondering whether our friends and family are smacking their lips thinking of our little one.

Just a few days ago, one of our friends wouldn't stop talking about how Kyle has great "frog legs." Shortly afterwards, her fiance said his little toes looked like kernels of corn. At that point, we had to kick them out of our apartment and ban them forever. Granted, we wouldn't have been as upset if these were simply acquaintances or gourmet chefs... but these friends are on the short list of possible BABYSITTERS for Kyle. How can we be sure now that they won't sprinkle some seasoning on him the moment Jennifer and I head out the door?

We can always pray that Kyle won't ever be used as a main course, but that's also tricky to do, especially when our church's congregation has hungry eyes for our munchkin. When one member met Kyle this past weekend, she called him a "little pork chop." Others just drooled when they saw him, many asking how much he weighed, as if he was a slab of beef for grilling. In the meantime, we set the baptism for next month - I just hope they don't Christen him with barbecue sauce.

(Above: Kyle thinks he's tasty)

With all these stomachs growling for Kyle, you might think that the only safe place for him would be at home. Yet he's not even safe here. My parents were here last weekend, and my mother - yes, my own mother - said Kyle was born with "chicken legs." She is now impressed with how "plump" he has become. What's that supposed to mean?!? And next week my mom will return to New York to help us out with - of all things - the cooking! You can be sure I will be keeping a close eye on her.

In the line of fire

Having a baby boy is a risky business, as some of you may know. Every day is wrought with peril, as we parents brave the "underworld" known as the diaper change. A baby boy is a locked and loaded weapon, ready to fire... and fire he will... when his target is in range, armed with nothing more than an unscented wipe.

We were warned, of course - in fact, the image on the left is from a card sent to us before Kyle was born. Friends, family members, doctors, parents, food delivery guys - practically everyone told us to take caution when changing a diaper to avoid being squirted. Our friends Sarah and Alex, proud parents of a young boy, recommended that we use a cloth as a shield whenever we change a diaper, while my cousins Kris and Craig, proud parents of TWIN boys (God bless them), urged us to go to Target and buy lots and lots of washcloths. We took all this advice, cleared out Target's linen department, and armed ourselves for battle.

For us, changing a diaper is a lot like that opening scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark. One of us holds the washcloth with one hand while using the other hand to undo the diaper, carefully unsticking the tabs as to not trigger any booby-traps. Then, almost instantaneously, the diaper is pulled off and -WHAM!- the cloth is thrown down. After cleanup, we make another attempt at the same tricky operation, this time to remove the cloth and slap on a new diaper. If all goes according to plan, everything stays calm, we are not bombarded with projectiles or boulders, and Kyle's sinister plans have to wait until next time.

(Above: Kyle plotting to strike)

The washcloth shield has been a savior. Many times Jennifer and I would change Kyle and then realize that the towel was soaked. Beads of sweat would roll down our brow as we look at each other, knowing full well that we were the intended target. Those times we consider ourselves lucky, since the washcloth cannot protect all of the time. Kyle's grandmother was an unfortunate victim when she simply checked to see if a diaper needed changing. Many onesies also have been sacrificed.

(Above: Mortally-wounded onesies)

If you look at the odds, it's amazing that we're not hit more often. The inexperienced may believe that a diaper needs to be changed once or twice a day. Not so. Kyle's bowels are timed to our thoughts and actions, so whenever we plan to eat, take a nap, sit down or breathe, they spring into action. We change diapers 15 to 20 thousand times a day. Sometimes twice or three times in once session.

And then there are the surprises, and I leave you with the worst one of all. It happened Saturday morning, and NOBODY prepared us for it. I will spare the details for those of you who like to eat while reading my blog. Let's just say that on Saturday we learned that everything - EVERYTHING - is projectile... and that a dirty diaper doesn't necessarily mean the eruption is over. Most importantly, we also learned that your bed can never be far enough away from the changing table.

Dry cleaning is going to make us broke.