The Storm

Two things I have learned in the past week:
1. Babies have amazing stamina and vocal ability for their size.
2. As hard as things can be, I have it easy compared to my wife.
How did I come to such astute conclusions? I lived it, man. I’m living it, now.
I realize that much of what I have been writing and what I will be writing is old news to those of you out there who are parents. I also realize that many of my theories and assumptions may be way off. But, that’s what makes all of this so interesting. It’s all new to me! That being said, my daughter can cry like no other person I have ever heard.
What makes Finley’s cries so astounding to me, is how long she can go. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I time her or am trying to get her to break some record, but when that girl gets going, I sometimes wonder if the world is ending and I’m not noticing.
At first, it bothered me a whole bunch. I wondered if she was in pain or if I had done something wrong, but I think aside from occasional gas pains, her cries are her only way of communicating. She’s talking to me through these little, sometimes big noises. And there are different cries for different needs/emotions.
There’s the “I’m awake, you should feed me” cry. It sounds like a short cat squall to me. There’s the “He idiot, my pacifier fell out of my mouth” cry. That’s accompanied by the furrowed brow and pout of doom. Then there’s the “No you don’t get it. The pacifier isn’t working, give me a bottle, now” cry. If you don’t act fast enough with that one you’ll get the “You are the worst parents, ever. How can you make me starve?” cry. I’m not too fond of that one.
As I learned this week, during the first part of my paternity leave, there are ways to soothe the savage baby. But, ultimately, like the rest of us, food is comfort. I guess it’s the whole “fat and happy baby” theory. They say you can’t spoil an infant, but you CAN make them look like the Michelin Man. So, armed with a supply of breast milk and a stack of spit-up towels, I worked my way through week one.
The first two days weren’t so bad. Finley had a couple of three-hour naps which made the days go by nicely. Then days three and four hit. I was lucky if my little angel slept more than thirty minutes at a time. These were the days I learned the ins and outs of crying. The worst part of all of this was not knowing why she’s crying. As I said before, I have theories, but there’s always the thought in my head that she is in some sort of pain. And the worst of the worst is that she can’t tell me where it hurts.So, I keep cuddling her and stroking her hair and saying “Shhh” or talking softly to her. And it helps. Sometimes it takes a while, but she calms down. And that’s when I feel like dad. When this little person is sleeping soundly in my arms or on my chest, it doesn’t get any better.
But it’s also during these times I realize that I have it lucky. I don’t have to nurse or worry about breast pumping along with all the other daily baby duties. In fact, there are always a couple of bottles of mama’s milk in the fridge and all I have to do is warm them up. Heather is mom, milk machine and wife all wrapped into one. Finley and I have it good.
So now, as the second week begins, I am a bit more mentally prepared for what Finley has to throw at me. I know there will be more crying. I hope there will be more sleeping. And I’m sure I’ll discover some new part of babydom I never knew existed. But, I’ll be there to help her through all of it. Now, and for as long as I can. Because that’s my job. That’s a daddy’s job.