Baby Man Dude

The Baby got her 2 month immunization shots the other day and this was the first time we met cranky Baby. Now, she wasn't crying nonstop or inconsolable, she just wasn't her normal happy self. Every time you touched her leg she would start frowning and fussing. She would smile but it wasn't her typical heart melting smile. She also slept a lot but that isn't out of the ordinary. Every single morning she wakes up she will have a huge smile. But the morning after she got her shot, she was being a whiny brat. Luckily this morning she was smiling as soon as she woke up and today has been a good day.

The doctor visit went well. She is 10lbs 10oz. She is almost double her size when she was born but apparently she is still tiny to everyone else. As we were getting on the elevator a woman tried to guess her age and thought she was a week old. A week old?! Then I took a gander at the baby Woolly Mammoth she was lugging around in her car seat. Her kid looked like a 45 year old man but he was probably 2 months old. I felt bad that she had to carry him around. I also felt really bad that a little baby-man-dude got trucked out of her vagina.

We finally made the transition of getting the Baby to sleep in her room. The Baby originally slept in a bassinet next to our bed but because she was already sleeping 6-8 hours a night, we really didn't have a problem with kicking her out of the room. We had received a really nice baby monitor set from the Wifey's little brother but unfortunately Safety 1st makes a crappy ass product. The set had a little video camera and a tv so we could creep the Baby in her sleep. But the monitor would get the static screen and it was nearly impossible to see anything through the jumping black and white lines. Growing up, I had gotten really good at watching HBO through the scrambled lines. But without sound, it was hard to see what was going on in the Baby's room. The Baby slept fine through the night in her room. But I was constantly waking myself up and checking up on the Baby if I couldn't see her on the screen. My biggest fear is the Baby rolling over and getting stuck in between the crib rails. The Wifey assures me that such a scenario can't happen but I'd rather be safe than sorry at the expense of my sleep.

The Baby has been sleeping in her crib for a week now and I didn't want to do the whole TV show cliche screen shot of the parents just standing over the crib as the baby sleeps. But I can't help it. I love this baby. I love what she has done to me. She makes my heart hurt as she just lies there dreaming her baby dreams. But she will probably give me a heart attack too when I teach her how to drive.

The Baby's 5 week photoshoot:

Designated Driver

I have come to the conclusion that babies are like drunk people. Not like the belligerent, mean drunk but the cute, funny drunk girl on her 21st birthday. All the attention is on this girl as people gather around her, usually friends and family, and give her free drinks and gifts. The occasional stranger will come by and say congratulations but the drunk girl is too busy enjoying her alcohol. Babies don't spend too much time focusing on things as their head wobbles around and there will be the random grin and cute things the baby will do. And with some drunk girls, there will be the uncontrollable amount of crying and the immense desire for sustenance. Typically its some kind of random food order that quells the upset stomach, such as three orders of french fries or maybe crackers and Pop Rocks, but that usually settles the massive amounts of sobs and sad face. And then, just like a baby, a really drunk girl usually pees on herself. And then there is always the really nice boyfriend of best friend who has to clean up the mess. Babies spitting up everywhere? It's okay, she's just a baby. Birthday girl throwing up everywhere? It's her birthday, give her a break! Most of the time it's that really drunk person who says funny and cute things and everyone laughs and that person is the life of the party. They get chauffeured around by their designated driver as they slowly lose their hand-eye coordination and motor skills. And if you don't keep any eye on them, they could end up lost or passed out in the handicap stall in the restroom of IHOP. So, the moral of the story is simple: always keep an eye on your drunk friend/baby.

Adventures of Spiderman

Last week the Wifey and I had our very first date night sans Baby. Usually it's a big ordeal for a lot of parents as madness and stress usually ensues. There is the panic to make sure the baby bag is properly stocked. Is there enough food for the baby? Are there enough diapers? Here is the phone number for where we will be just in case there is no cell phone reception. In case the phone is busy, here is a walkie-talkie so we can stay in contact. If the walkie-talkies don't work, here is a flare.

But luckily for us, the Baby has an awesome grandmother and there weren't any worries whatsoever. The Baby usually sleeps; actually, the Baby always sleeps. And with the exception of the hunger pangs, the Baby hardly ever cries. The Wifey and I actually enjoyed ourselves as we dined on some yummy pizza from Fireside Pies and enjoyed some live Conan O'Brien action. I thought we would both be constantly checking our phones just in case we didn't feel the vibration. It was a nice feeling knowing it was just 'us' for the evening but we both missed the Baby. On the drive home, I would check in my rear view to peek into the other mirror that faces the baby car seat. And I just saw emptiness. It was sad. I can usually glance in my mirror and see a sleeping baby or two big eyes just looking around in amazement. It was weird not seeing the Wifey lug the baby bag around and myself getting frustrated trying to scavenger through all the crap that's in the bag just to get to something that was "in the outside pocket" even though there are 15 pockets on the outside. Other than that, it was a great first date night.

My dad also got to come in this past weekend for my college graduation and that was really nice. He spoke a lot of Vietnamese to the Baby as if she understood it. Oddly enough, I think it was just as Greek to her as any other language. But she enjoyed his company. Sometimes I wish he lived closer (he lives in Florida) just so he can instill some grandfatherly wisdom into the Baby. But then I remembered the stories my dad would tell and how completely unbelievable they were. He just has a vast collection of 'big fish' stories and combined with his limited English, makes for a very interesting granddad. For example, according to my father, he used to be a super secret spy for the US Army during the Vietnam War but because his English is spotty, he called himself "Spy-der Man". That could be detrimental to the Baby when she grows up. She will have to prove to her friends that her granddad is Spiderman and not some old Asian guy with bad English and crazy stories. Now that I think about it, that actually sounds like a pretty cool grandfather.

Anyways, here are pictures! These are actually a few of the pictures, taken without permission from Carissa Byers:

Dude, chinaman is not the preferred nomenclature.

So I got a little heat because I didn't write a special Mother's Day Tribute blog post for the Wifey and some people were expecting to read one. I'm sorry. In fact, Mother's Day wasn't really celebrated. We just did our thing. The Baby and I took her to brunch at Breadwinners and then we did some shopping. Nothing special. Nothing spectacular. Sure there were a lot of good intentions and grandiose ideas for the "first" Mother's Day but nothing came to fruition.

Maybe I could have written something sweet and nice for the Wifey for all the effort and love she has put into her new role as being a mother. She could easily give the Baby formula and let me bottle feed her through the night but she knows what is best for a baby. She wakes up in the middle of the night and goes to work and then goes right back to bed. She probably feeds the Baby in a zombie-like state. I don't think the Wifey even remembers what a really good night of sleep feels like. Maybe I could have written about how every morning I wake up, I no longer see a hot little blue eyed girl giggling at America's Funniest Home Videos; but a beautiful, mature, blue-eyed mother giggling at America's Funniest Home Videos. I could have mentioned how delicate her touch is, the way she handles the Baby, how her voice and smile soothes both the Baby and myself. I've mentioned before how I have zero worries about the quality of care that the Baby is experiencing because I know the Baby is in excellent hands. I would probably never ask the Wifey for advice about cooking, or cleaning, or fashion, but I have absolutely no qualms when it comes to this baby. If there was an NFL-esque draft for new babies, I am 100% confident that the Wifey would be picked #1 overall. And she would actually be successful, unlike JaMarcus Russell. The Wifey would be like Peyton Manning. If there was anyone in this world who was born to being a mother, it would be the Wifey. But I didn't do any of that for Mother's Day, and I apologize.

Another thing that people have asked me about is why I use the names "The Wifey" and "the Baby". Honestly, I wanted to keep it as impersonal as possible. I wanted to allow for people to read this blog and be able to put themselves in my shoes and relate. But it's only appropriate that I deviate from my standard nomenclature for certain occasions:

To say you are the backbone, the foundation, the rock of this family is a gross understatement. I hope Evelyn will realize the love and devotion you inject into this family and I want you to know how much we truly and deeply appreciate everything you have done so far.

I love you Cassidy Nicole.



picture courtesy of Carissa Byers

2nd Letter to Baby

Dear Baby:

7 weeks ago you got squeezed out like a soybean in an edamame pod. You were so tiny as you would curl up on my forearm. I could barely hold you with two arms because my massive biceps would engulf your tiny little body. You didn't cry much. You were too busy checking out the world in front of you, despite your limited vision. And then you would sleep. And sleep. We didn't know how you would change our lives. We didn't realize that every little thing you would do would be a milestone to us. Like the day you yawned. Or sneezed. The day we left the hospital, we had no idea how to use the car seat. We never practiced buckling it up. We just assumed it was a simple click and snap contraption. You cried and cried as we frantically both tried to figure out how to buckle you in.

I guess I didn't realize how much my life would change. Especially for something that can't even talk and craps on itself. It seems like every time I pick you up you have gotten bigger but everyone else in the world likes to say how tiny you are.

Sometimes I worry how good of a father I will be. I am afraid that I might expect too much from you. Or I might be too impatient. Or too strict. Or too lenient. I don't know how I will react when you get hurt for the first time. Or how I will feel when I can't make the pain immediately go away. As much as I want you to be the perfect child, I want myself to be the perfect father. I want to always be there and know exactly what is going on. I worry that you'll see me as the enemy and keep secrets because you're afraid of how I will react. I want you to trust me when I say stuff like "it's for the best" but I need you to learn things on your own. I worry that I am going to miss important things in your life for reasons unknown. I worry that I may not always be there. I worry that I can't always hold your hand. I worry that you won't accept my friendship on Facebook.

But there really isn't any point in worrying now. You're still too young to talk back and I am going to enjoy it while it lasts.

Love,

Dad.

Weapons of Mass Destruction

If all the old people in the world were to ever join forces and wreak havoc, the best solution would be one thing: a cute baby. Cute babies are far more potent than any weapon of mass destruction. For some odd reason old people know when there is a baby afoot and they flock. It's like their wrinkled old noses can smell a newborn baby from a mile away. We'll be in Target and I can feel their old cataract eyes peering through the aisles just to get a glimpse. Sometimes I am tempted to put a fake baby in the car seat but I realized that seeing a cute baby is probably the highlight of their old lives and I can't deprive them of that. That would be wrong.

The Baby throws up more than an Abercrombie model. Every time she eats, she spews. And usually it's all over me. The doctor said it's normal at this point because babies are just now strengthening their stomach muscles and it will just take some time before the food stays down. So right now we are going through burp cloths fairly quickly.

The Baby is starting to smile a lot more frequently and it has turned into a really fun game. We basically just try different things to get her to smile. She also has been talking up a storm. By talking I mean weird grunts. The Baby is a pretty noisy little thing. Especially in the morning when she is stretching. But as long as she isn't crying, I don't mind.

YAWP!

All apologies for the lack of updating. Apparently my fan base is growing and I must keep the readers happy.

This blog is really meant for the Baby to read when she gets older so she can be reminded not to have sex and want babies until she graduates high school. So I figured it would be a good time to start embarrassing her now.

Man, this baby can fart with the best of them. She is the most gassiest baby alive. You would think a little cute baby would have cute little toots but nope, she makes her diapers vibrate when she farts. And afterward, she has the nerve to smile. A big toothless grin from ear to ear. It's actually quite endearing. She also likes to burp too. I can feel it from her diaphragm. She lets out a mighty YAWP after she is done feeding. Then she likes to smile again. I'm actually quite impressed. The Baby is already looking a pubescent 14 year old girl with her acne. The Wifey calls it "baby acne" but I call it 7th grade. Supposedly it's all about her hormones and it causes her to break out. But we all know eating too much chocolate causes pimples. At least that was my excuse growing up.

I have never been one to brag about my baby just because so many different kids are at different stages in development. I really didn't want to offend anyone if my kid starts doing cool things while other parents' kids do boring, stupid stuff like lie around and look at things. But I am excited about the fact that when we go to bed, we swaddle the Baby and she goes to sleep by herself. And then she will sleep for the night. Probably about 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep. She doesn't fuss, she just goes to sleep. Granted, it probably won't last and before I know it, she will be sneaking out her window to go makeout with boys in the driveway like her mom did when she was younger. But for now, she sleeps.

And now...PICTURES!!!!

Dog Vs. Baby



Just celebrating 4/20! Earth Day that is...



Baby Posh Spice



The cousins...without the screaming and tears: