Monday, March 29, 2010


The Baby is fast approaching a week of life and she's been doing well. We found out that the Baby is not that yellow and she successfully passed her jaundice tests. She has been pretty calm as of late, settling quite nicely into her habit of sleeping, eating, and pooping. I can tell that fatigue is creeping up on the Wifey. As soon as her head hits the pillow, she is snoring. I've been perfecting my technique of getting the Baby to calm down when she does cry. The rocking chair has been the most effective tool, combine that with the sleepy music of Celine Dion, and the Baby is a goner.

In other news, breastfeeding has been a weird topic. There are actually different techniques in breastfeeding that can be employed to feed the Baby. One particular technique is the "football hold". The woman literally holds the baby like a football, cradling the head in her hand and the body on her forearm, tightly tucked into the body. It really takes away from the manliness of football; using football terminology with breastfeeding. The Wifey hasn't used the "football hold", she isn't really running back material. But if she ever does, I am pretty tempted to force a fumble a la Adrian Peterson. That could be bad. I will make sure she covers the Baby with both hands and keeps her legs moving.

Breastfeeding has been a challenge for the Wifey. She is in obvious pain while the baby feeds. Her cheeks have tear stains because of the pain that she is dealing with. I asked her why she hasn't decided to go with formula. I was a formula baby and I turned out quite well. But breastmilk is chock full of nutrients and other good stuff that help develop a baby better. In fact, some doctors believe that breast milk has so many nutrients it can help battle cancer. I don't know how true that is, it was on an episode of House, so it must be true. But it's the pain that the Wifey is going through that shows her maturity and dedication to give the Baby the best of everything. Hopefully the Baby appreciates this dedication when she gets older; before she rebels and runs away like her mother did as a teenager. But that's a different story...

Thursday, March 25, 2010

36 Hours Later...

The mom and the baby are doing quite well. The Wifey said she probably could have gone to work but she is all talk. One time the dog peed on a stuffed animal I gave her and she cried.

But Jackson, you are probably the most tired and in pain, how are you holding up? Well, I am strong like bull. I thought the sleep adjustment would be a breeze but newborn sleep schedules are not consistent. It's a bunch of 15-45 minute power naps. Sometimes I wake up and I don't know if she is just beginning to cry or is a new cry, or even a continuation of an older cry. I get worried that I am sleeping too much but the Wifey assures me right now there isn't anything I can do. Once the baby can start bottle feeding then I will be more than happy to take over and let the new mom finally get some shut eye.

So the intent of this blog is to really give a glimpse (sometimes humorous) into the world of babies from a different perspective. If you are looking for more educational/informational blogs about babies there are far better sites out there.
(I will gladly recommend Kelly's blog: She pretty much offers the Cliff's Notes of being parents. I usually steal her information and pass it off as my own, so the Wifey thinks I am a parenting genius.)

This pregnancy has been relatively easy but it didn't come without any fears. During the actual labor, the nurses couldn't find the heartbeat of the baby. It wouldn't have been so bad but you could easily hear the apprehension in one of the nurse's voice. She was frantic but tried her best to stay calm. The doctor then tried to attach some sort of sensor to the baby's head (while the baby was still in the birth canal) to get the heartbeat but it didn't work. The Wifey would gasp in between her contractions if the baby was okay. All I could do was hold her hand tighter and make sure she kept on focusing on getting the baby out. Obviously, they ended up finding the heartbeat. The baby didn't cry when she came out and newborns need to cry to get out all the gunk in their lungs. So the nurse was poking and prodding to get the baby to cry while she was suctioning her lungs. Meanwhile, the baby's internal temperature was too low so they had to get the baby's temperature up. But we knew that everything was okay.

Besides the current yet common case of jaundice, we just have the worries of making sure we are decent enough parents. Right now my biggest fear is SIDS (sudden infant death syndrome). We keep the baby in our room, as opposed to the nursery, so our first night the Wifey and I kept on making sure the baby was still breathing. All we can hope for right now is that the baby continues to eat, sleep, and poop. What a life.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Holy Mother F'er!

Wow! So yesterday I posted on Facebook how boring labor was. Boy, did that mindset change extremely quickly. But let's go back to the start...

The Wifey had been in discomfort since the previous night but due to the amount of false alarms we have encountered, she put it off, just waiting for the next doctor's appointment, which was on Thursday. The next morning I took her to work, which was a good 30 minute drive and I was a little bitter. Why did she have to work? What is she trying to prove? I should have realized it was my paternal instinct (does that even exist?) kicking in but one thing I have learned throughout this ordeal, mother knows best.

It only took four hours before I got the call at noon.

"Hey, can you come pick me up? I think my water broke."

Now you usually have a good 24 hours after the water breaks to deliver the baby so we weren't in a hurry. Hollywood movies really dramatize the journey to the hospital after the water breaks. There was no weaving in and out of traffic, no power slide left turns, no launching off a hill at top speed. I made sure I grabbed the baby bag, pillows, the iPod, and the laptop. We drove to the doctor's office first just to make sure her water broke. Her water didn't break but was leaking so the doctor suggested we check in at Baylor. Once again, no crazy horn honking or driving on the sidewalk to get to the hospital. In fact, I even stopped at McDonald's before reaching our destination.

Despite the "pain", the Wifey was in a great mood. It was a little after 2pm and we honestly thought the baby would be born the next morning so neither of us were feeling anxious. She went to the doctor's office and was 5cm dilated and by the time she was at the hospital, she was already at 6cm, which was only an hour later. She was definitely progressing. Typically around 7-8cm things will either slow down and just become a stalemate or things go freaking crazy. Things slowed down for us. That is until the doctor wanted to physically break the Wifey's water. And once that was done, did things change.

Now, the Wifey is a tree hugging hippie, so she thought it would be cool to do the birth sans drugs. No epidural, which completely numbs the body from the waist down. She wanted to be "in control". To give you an idea of how out of control a person is with an epidural: remember in the movie House Guest with SinBad and he's at the dentist's office and gets into the Novocaine and his hands go numb and he wildly flails his arms around, generating mass amounts of laughter? That's what an epidural does. It basically is a pregnant woman's best friend during labor.

The Wifey and I went into the bathroom because she needed to pee but the pain was too great for her to sit down on the seat. I guess I can kinda imagine what it feels like when a 7lb thing is trying to get out of our body. Once, I ordered a Super Monster from FreeBirds and ate the whole thing during one sitting, so I could relate with the Wifey.

The pain had gotten bad. Really bad. And I was helpless to ease any of the pain. I tried talking to her, I used my Asian Feng Shui to coax the pain away, I even tried using a Jedi mind trick. The nurses and doctors were already impressed with how well the labor had been because the Wifey had not shown any major signs of discomfort or pain. The Wifey attributes it to her ability to reclassify pain as good rather than bad. I attribute it to her being in denial.

But yeah, it was painful just watching her in so much pain. Cringing and crying and yelling. It's kinda like when the Dallas Cowboys are losing a tough game and as a fan you are helpless to do anything. Sure you can cheer louder but you are still completely helpless in helping them. That's how I felt with the Wifey. She would look up at me with those big blue eyes with a look of fear and terror in them as she knew that the pain was only going to get worse. I would hold her up until her legs buckled and then pick her back up again. She kept on telling me that she couldn't do it and I would slap her in the face and tell her "grow some balls woman!" Okay, I didn't say the last part nor did I slap her in the face. I was trying to squeeze her pressure points hoping that would alleviate her pain. And I kept on asking her if she wanted the epidural and she would simply reply, "I don't know." The Wifey then said "I need to push," and I knew it was time. I read somewhere that a woman will just know when the baby needs to come out and she definitely knew. We cleared the room (the Wifey's mom, brother and her BFF were in the room) and the nurses helped me bring her to the bed. The nurses didn't realize how fast the Wifey was moving along.

Our doctor works at her own office about 5 minutes away so we had to wait until she got there or the resident doctor on duty (who was super hot, Grey's Anatomy material) would deliver.

"Go ahead and page the doctor." - Nurse #1
"What about the resident doctor?" - Nurse #2
"No, we should be fine, we have some time...Never mind, get the resident doctor here now." - Nurse #1

This all happened around 615pm. Both doctors showed up within 2 minutes and the Wifey was in full push mode. She was yelling and screaming and doubting if she could even get the baby out. She grabbed my arm so tight my perfect bronze tanned skin would turn white from her hand prints. She even asked the doctor to just "pull the baby out." The Wifey would scream and yell "HOLY MOTHER F'ER!" She literally said Mother F'er, making sure the baby didn't hear any cuss words. She would push for a minute and then rest. I would grab the oxygen mask and made sure I didn't pass out and the Wifey would have the left over oxygen. Just kidding. I made sure she had the mask on her face.

The nurse, Michelle, was all in her face yelling supportive phrases such as "You can do it!'", "Who's your daddy?!" and "Aint no thang but a chicken wang!". Okay, I lied again. But Michelle was awesome. She kept things in focus for the Wifey and at 645pm, only 30 minutes later, the baby was born.

10 toes, 8 fingers, and two thumbs. Holy Mother F'er, I am a freaking dad.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Lifestyle of the Rich and the...

It's a little pretentious and snobby to say, but the Wifey and I have our own photographer. She was the little tower of power snapping photos at our wedding; most probably didn't even see her. She is half Asian, which means she is part ninja. But we were able to acquire her services for Christmas photos (which were never sent out), family portraits, and most recently, the maternity photos. We're currently waiting on the proofs to get here in order for us to actually begin posting the pictures. Check out our awesome photographer,

The countdown has truly begun as the Wifey has an estimated due date of 3/20. Since we aren't inducing, we are really just watching the clock. The doctor gave her a "this baby should be out in 24 hours" speech again but we took that with a grain of salt. I really can't do much but play video games and watch tv. Every time she makes a groan or cringes in pain, I think it's finally time. But she's just crying wolf.

During the day I find myself constantly gravitating towards the baby room, just checking on things. I make sure the windows are locked, the room a nice temperature, and the crib still stable. But one of the greatest things is just watching the Wifey literally evolve into a mother. It feels like it was only yesterday she was chugging Boone's Farms wine coolers and throwing back jello shots like a champ. She is more tender yet more firm and she seems to know everything about the baby. She's kinda like all three guys from "Three Men and a Baby" all rolled into one. Tom Selleck was the smart one, Ted Danson was the attractice one, and Steve Guttenberg was the artistic, funny one. So if there was a way to combine all three of those delicious 80's men, she would be it.

But for now, it's the waiting game. This baby better be punctual.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

What to expect when you're expecting...

I had this really funny, thoughtful opinion based on what I read from the parent preparation books such as "What to Expect...", "The Expectant Father", and "Are You Sure It's a Plus Sign?: Oh Shit, Volumes I, II, and III" but to be honest, I never read the books. I know I should have but in between work, school, and the XBOX, I didn't squeeze enough time in. I figured I could cram it all in the first few days after the baby is born. I helped take care of my little brother, nephew, and niece. Changing diapers doesn't phase me. Wipe, powder, and diaper. Simple enough. There are a few techniques, such as the "grab both baby ankles with one hand and wipe with the other method" or the "if the baby doesn't stop crying, give it back to mom" move. I'm not worried.

After we found out that the Wifey was preggers, we had to choose a doctor. The first baby doctor we picked was considered one of Dallas' Best Doctors according to D Magazine. D Magazine also writes their opinion on the best BBQ and fried chicken in Dallas and since I do not disagree with their lists, I decided it was a reputable source. But unfortunately the doctor was too popular and was not accepting any new clients. So off to the famed Baylor of Garland. I was actually born at this location, back when it was Memorial Hospital of Garland, so I was happy to be back at my old stomping grounds. We liked the doctor. She wasn't very talkative, but nice and she didn't have a lot of opinions. But about three months in, she decided that she wanted to get married, quit her very lucrative medical practice, and become a housewife. So we decided to try and go back to the original doctor and luckily she was accepting. So it turned out the way we had originally intended.

The new doctor is good. She is extremely intelligent (one would hope)and doesn't mind giving her opinion. She is also not a robot, void of any human emotion. I am pretty sure a lot of first time parents have plenty of stupid questions and worries, so it was nice that she wasn't condescending.

Right now we're four days away from the estimated D-Day (delivery day) and the Wifey has been getting more emotional, crankier, and crampier. So I expect this baby to bust out sometime soon. Let's hope these Cliff's Notes to the baby books are good.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

And there was the Word...

I started this blog because the Wifey asked for it for her birthday present. I realized it has become a means of therapy for me to address my feelings, albeit, to the general public nonetheless. I really don't have a "BFF"like the Wifey does and my family isn't close in the least, so sometimes emotions get bottled up and shaken like a 2 liter of Dr. Thunder. Eventually everything inside explodes, even though you slowly open the cap to gradually let this hissing pressure out. Unfortunately most of that gets endured by the Wifey. But she hasn't left me yet and now I have baby trapped her.

As I reflect, these 9 months have been excitingly...boring. I am not here to take away from the hoopla of baby making; but in between the doctor visits, the trips to Target, and the baby kicking, there really isn't much to talk about. But I think its only appropriate that I look back at the start and begin to document....

On July 9th, the Wifey thought she was sly and bought a shirt for the dog that said "Big Brother". And that's how she announced it to me. Apparently the Wifey also bought every single pregnancy test ever sold at Wal-Greens as well. If the first one was wrong, surely the next 15 can't be wrong either.

We decided to keep it a secret for the first few months just because a lot could happen. But then we announced it. It didn't take a detective to figure out something was up when the Wifey was refusing alcohol. But one of the oddest questions that you will ever be asked when you're wife is pregnant is ,"So, did y'all plan this or you know?..."

What a weird question to ask. It's like when you announce that you're getting married and someone asks you "So, do you love her?" It's hard to answer the question (the baby question, not the love question). It's not like I was rushing home to put the batter in the oven so a delicious cake can come out. We were a happily married couple who were letting nature takes its course.

We weren't prepared and we still aren't. But luckily we have awesome friends and family who have been down the path before and they are nice enough to lend some advice.

Hot Pockets

So we are getting closer to the estimated time of arrival. Now, to clear up any confusion, the baby is not here. And I will make a witty post to signify the baby's arrival (touchdown, the Phan-izzle is here-izzle, the Hot Pocket is hot) as soon as it happens. So don't worry. Also, to clear up any some more confusion, the Wifey, technically was in labor. Pregnancy itself is not an exact science, just like the medical field in general, there are always some sort of abnormalities. Doctors rely on precedent, history, and symptoms to help estimate their diagnoses. And based on the Wifey's symptoms, history, and precedent, she was technically in the early stages of labor. There are three stages of labor: early, active, and post.

Early labor is similar to arriving at a restaurant. You mull over what to drink and order an appetizer. Usually its a tennis match of back and forth decisions that eventually leads to a "whatever you want, I'm fine with anything." The appetizer gives you an idea of what to expect for the main course. Did the waiter bring you your extra plates? Did the food come out on time? If these cheese sticks taste like this, how will the rest of my meal taste?
Active means you're ordering the main course and hoping the waiter sees your empty glass of water before you start slurping the ice cubes like you're trying to suck the water out of the last cactus in the Sahara. So many decisions and factors get played. What do I want? How much is it? Is it asparagus season? Where the hell is my refill? And then you order and get your food.
Finally, post labor is like finally paying the bill on your food. Was it worth it? How much do I tip the guy? And then you leave and hope you don't leave your leftovers on the table.

The Wifey and I were treated to an appetizer but we're still waiting...

The countdown has begun for Phan-izzle to be here-izzle as the estimated due date is 3/20. Everything is as ready as it can be. One of the biggest things that the Wifey wanted to do was to be able to go the St Patty's Day Parade and she accomplished that. And now it's just the waiting game.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Hi Mom

It's hard to fathom that 5 years ago, I had one of the worst years of my life. In fact, the Wifey and I can agree without a doubt that 2005 was the worst year ever for the both of us. Every time I make the drive down I45 I get reminded the weekly roadtrips back home, shuttling back from A&M to Dallas. We would gather up Shrek (who was a just as crazy), a change of clothes, the laptop, and the book of the week. And from then it was just waiting and hoping. I guess the term waiting room suits itself well. You either wait for good news or bad news. No news isn't necessarily good news. And that's what we did for three months. We waited. And waited. We saw families come and go. We made friends with a lot of them. And if we didn't see them the next day, then we could assume one of two things.

I never asked the Wifey to come with me and keep me company at the hospital. She had family here. She had friends here. She could've taken a day off from the Waiting Room and had a nice pedicure and manicure. She could've stayed back at A&M and finally cleaned the apartment. Instead she waited with me. And waited.

Usually every year when this day rolls around I battle with my ten minutes of sadness and then begin my day. Today is just different. I guess it's the fact that my mom's grandchild is waiting now too. I know the baby will miss out on a loud, obnoxious, incredibly kind woman. I know my mom would've quit her job just to watch our kid and teach the baby everything she knows. And then yell at me because the baby has some bad habits. I hope the baby has the innate ability to sew like my mom did (how stereotypical) so I can finally get my buttons fixed.

I've never grown up with grandparents, so I don't know the feeling of early bird dinners and $14.38 birthday checks. Or get paid in a handful of cookies to do something cute. I am glad the baby will have that luxury.

But at the end of the day, its always the same feeling: I just miss my mom.

Monday, March 8, 2010

America's Pasttime

So let me help clear up any confusion with the status of the baby. The baby is still chillin' in the womb. The doctors decided to give us a sense of urgency, based on their professional opinion, that the baby would come within the next 24 hours. 5 days later, we have proven the experts wrong.

Obviously, the best way to describe pregnancy in general is pretty much to juxtapose it with baseball.

Initially, you have the start of Spring Training. The pitchers and catchers report to camp first and get to work. A bond is formed. This in a nutshell mirrors conception. The man and the woman meet beforehand, get familiar, and do their business.

Then you get to Opening Day. Extremely exciting time for baseball fans. There's a lot of excitement on how the players will do and a lot of speculation of what could happen. Was Spring Training beneficial? Hello positive pregnancy test. It was only yesterday you were watching the World Series and now a new season is upon you. Are you having a boy? Are you having a girl? Who's going to be the leadoff hitter? Who's going to be the closer? Will your team win the World Series? Will I be a good dad?

And then the next few months you watch the season progress. A lot of changes occur. You get a feel for the best rotation, the best lineup. You eat a lot of food. Super Garlic Fries. Peanuts. Nachos. You get angry and you're elated. Sometimes both at the same time. 162 games? You can't make it for another 4 months. Why can't it end in now?

Then you get to the midway point. All-Star break. The fan favorites get voted to celebrate the midpoint while the others watch it from home. It's baby shower time. You invite the best relatives ($$$) and your best friends ($$$) and the others can read about it on your Facebook updates. You get to see Josh Hamilton belt out 28 homers in the first round, the highlight of the All-Star game. You get that fancy crib and matching dresser for the baby's room, the pinnacle of the shower. You get the realization that this season will end soon and all the hard work will finally pay off. It sinks in that you're about to be a dad.

The playoffs are around the corner and a lot begins to happen. Teams are signing players just for the playoffs, key players are coming back from injuries. You get your car seat installed, the nursery is decorated, you've done the baby classes. Your team is ready to make the push for the World Series. You are ready for this baby.

Then there is the first strong contraction, the beginning of the playoffs. You see the finish line ahead of yourself, you see the hoisting of the Commissioner's Trophy. Your team is facing elimination, this might be it. You ask your wife "is this it?" and prepare to go to the hospital. But its just a minor hiccup. Your team is still in it. The baby is still in the womb.

Your team wins their respective league, the celebratory champagne flows uncontrollably. You know you're going to the World Series. The water finally breaks, you know you're going to the hospital. All the hard work you've endured the past 9-10 months has finally paid off. It's time to win the big one. It's a back and forth battle, the better team will prevail. Your wife pushes, screaming at the top of her lungs, the final push is just around the corner. The crowd cheers wildly, the final pitch is almost here.

And then it happens. Pop fly, shallow left center. It's over. Maybe your team won, maybe they lost. Maybe you got a boy, maybe a girl. Either way, you hoist your child like it was the Commissioner's Trophy.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Letter to the Baby

Dear Baby:

I know you already have your bags packed and you're just waiting for the stork to pick you up, but I figured it would be nice to write you a letter. This can be taken as a letter of caution or a letter of recommendation. Lately you've been causing a lot of commotion with your kicking and stretching. Stop teasing us. Either you come out or you don't. So quit. Also, over the past 9 months you've probably heard your mom cry. Get used to it. She's a cry baby. She cries when she's out of Pop Tarts. She cries when she's out of chocolate milk. She cries when she knows she's going to be out of milk. But she cries because she cares so much; because her heart is so big. She's going to cry when you hold her finger for the first time, she's going to cry when you smile at her for the first time, she's going to cry when I accidentally drop you for the first time. So word of advice, use her emotions to your advantage. If you do, the world is your oyster.

We don't know if you're going to be a boy or a girl; frankly, we don't care. But everyone else does. So whatever you are, all I ask is for you to do these things: be a diehard Cowboys fan. So that means no crying, diaper changing, or being hungry during the Cowboys game. Either you sleep or be quiet during the Cowboys game. And respect your elders. And no skinny jeans if you're a boy. I don't care how cool it is. And no shaggy hair. And you can read Twilight but don't cry when I make fun of you. Vampires are dumb; kids wearing skinny jeans with shaggy hair reading Twilight are dumber. If you want to watch a Vampire movie, watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

We also expect you to read. I don't care if you read every single word you see and annoy the crap out of me, as long as you're reading, I will be happy. Eventually my eyesight is going to go bad and I will need you to read the Caller ID on my phone so I know who's calling. So love to read.

Don't be a picky eater. Your mom is a picky eater. I don't need two picky eaters in the household. But know what you want to eat. Your mother and I are ridiculously indecisive, your input would be much appreciated. Just don't ask for breakfast for dinner or Chuck E Cheese. If you want to run around in germs and eat crappy food, I will take you to Wal-Mart during free sample days.

And always know, no matter what, your mom and I will love you. Even if you do cry during the Cowboys game, there's always DVR. Even if you do like Chuck E Cheese, there's always Purell. Even if you do read Twilight in skinny jeans. There's always a fist to the face.

So there... there were two of us in the wolf pack... I was alone first in the pack, and then your mom joined in later. And nine months ago, when your moter introduced me to you, I thought, "Wait a second, could it be?" And now I know for sure, I just added one more person to my wolf pack. Three of us wolves, running around the desert together, in Las Vegas, looking for strippers and cocaine. So tonight, I make a toast!

One day, you'll be old enough to appreciate that last part.

We're excited to finally meet you.

Butt Baby

So the friends' baby shower/party went really well. The hostesses did a great job of putting it all together. I was glad to see a lot of my A&M friends come up and hang out too. Especially Mr. Market, who drove all the way from Austin to experience his first baby shower. Unfortunately Matt, not all baby showers will have the "Chug Beer from a Baby Bottle" game. And also a big thanks to Debbi for hosting the family/Ladies' only shower. And of course the Wifey's mom, she is making this transition as fluid as it can be. Her wisdom, advice, and overall excitement is very infectious.

So after the shower, I think every thing has finally sunk in. I have to move the beer in the fridge to make room for the baby bottles. I have to memorize what channels Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network are on. I have to hang that huge mirror thing in my car so I can see the car seat. I have to get used to eating Goldfish and animal crackers and Cheerios.

I've put together all of the baby things, like the pack N play, bouncer, swing, stroller, and the Baby Einstein playapalooza play arena. My entire home office is no more. The man cave has become the baby cave.

The doctor told the Wifey that she expects the baby to be born any day now and highly doubts that she will make it to the estimated due date of 3/20. So we'll see. Every groan and cringe of pain leads me to ask her "Is it time yet?"

So, when the baby is born, check your beepers. I will leave a return number of 911 to let y'all know the baby is here.