Separation Anxiety

In the days before Finley (B.F.), Heather and I were quite the upwardly mobile couple. It seemed like every week there was some sort of event or show on our calendar. A concert here, a movie preview there… There was a rum and salmon tasting party last summer and an oyster fest in the fall. We went to the openings of musicals and the occasional quiet romantic dinner on our own. Oh, how things have changed.

These days there’s still some salmon, but not nearly as much rum. The concerts are performed by the “Baby Einstein” orchestra and movies are definitely not previews… they’re pay-per-view. And the quiet, romantic dinners aren’t as quiet or romantic… in fact, they’re barely dinners.

For better and for not so bad, we have been sequestered to our condo. And unlike Paris Hilton, we get to stay in our at-home detention facility. But it really isn’t that bad. We’ve got our hands full of Finley and in the long run, it’s much more entertaining than oyster shooters.

So, for the past three months and one week, we’ve adjusted to a life that is all things baby. Obviously, everything we do revolves around her. Eating, sleeping, shopping… You name it. Whatever we do involves at the very least an extra diaper, a stroller and a bottle or nursing paraphernalia. It’s all a routine. We’ve got it down. So what did we decided to do after twelve weeks of routine? That’s right. Change it up.

Since our first day home from the hospital, Finley slept next to our bed in the wonderful cradle my brother hand made for us. We could hear her little breaths and cries and gurgles. If she got to stirring too much, we could just reach over and rock her back to sleep. Until last week. That’s when Heather decided (and I agreed) that it was time for Finley to move to her crib. In her own room.

Modern technology allows us to monitor her every breath, cry and gurgle through the magic of radio waves. Basically we plopped down fifty bucks for one-way walkie talkies, but the comfort factor is there. And even with science on our side, Heather insists on having the nursery door AND our bedroom door open. I’m not exactly sure why both doors need to be open, but that’s what she wants and I’m not allowed to argue.

The thing is, even with both doors open and the walkie talkies, those first few nights were tough on Heather. At first it bothered me that I wasn’t more worried, but I think it’s because I knew that Heather was basically channeling concern for the both of us. There’s no need for two sleep-deprived parents.

As far as Finley is concerned, she has no clue. She’ll sleep anywhere. Give her a blanket and something soft to lay on and she won’t complain. So she’s actually fine in her own room. Which will be good for everyone down the road. It’s been a week and Heather is sleeping much better. That’s probably because both doors are still open.

Our other foray into changing the routine was an attempt to reclaim one of our past indulgences. We had a pair of tickets to The Police reunion concert, which meant, gasp, we needed a babysitter!

Luckily, Heather’s best friend, Gina, was up to the task. I’m not saying Heather was too worried about leaving Finley behind, I’m just saying that while Sting and the boys were rolling through the old hits, she had a firm grip of her cell phone… the entire concert. Of course, everything was fine and FinleyWorld continued its rotation.

Now I’m starting phase two of my paternity leave, which means four weeks of Daddy/Finley time. (Well, three really, since my first week of paternity is Heather’s last week of maternity). But at the end of my three weeks, it’s all over. No more daddy time. No more mommy time. It’s daycare time. Talk about busting the routine.

We’re about to let Finley go into the big world without us. Okay, so it’s an accredited daycare facility and it’s less than a mile down the road, but we won’t be there! It’s going to be tough, but necessary. She’ll be able to get used to new people and meet other kids. Still, we’ll have to drop her off every morning. On the bright side, she’ll barely know what’s going on and at this point, won’t be able to call out our names. Because this is just the first of many times we’ll drop her off, send her out, let her go. For the next eighteen years at the minimum there will be sleepovers and campouts and eventually college or a new apartment. The tough and confusing part is that every time we let her go, it won’t get any easier. We may get used to it, but we’ll still worry. And that’s the joy of parenting.

What it comes down to is this: I’ve got three weeks of daddy time left, and I don’t plan on wasting any of it. That’s the other joy of parenting.

Cause and Effect

Three things happened this week that brought home the whole parent thing. (Which is appropriate, since Finley turned three months old on Sunday). And just like we were taught in scriptwriting, the golden rule of comedy is to deliver in threes... Two set up lines and hit them with the punch line on the third.

The first part of the set up happened Monday. We have this little play mat that allows Finley to lie on her back and look up at a few toys dangling from above. I rigged one of the rattles to hang just a bit lower and within reach of her little paws. After a few times of guiding her arms to hit the rattle, she paused, studied, then reached and smacked it. Now, you can argue that it was an arm spasm or even a lucky hit. Then she did it again. And again. And several more times. The best part of all of this was watching her learn. You could see the little wheels turning in her head as she realized SHE was making all of this happen. SHE was lifting her hand and SHE was smacking the rattle and making it swing. And as she realized this, it made her giggle. For the first time in her young life, Finley was playing. She figured out, on her own, how to play. And we were there to watch her learn.

Of course, in the world of the child, that lasted about three minutes and she was done. But in the days since, we lay her down on the play mat and she smacks that rattle around. (See for yourself in the Fin Clips)

Part two happened a few days later. For some reason, whenever we put Finley on the changing table, she gets happy. This doesn’t happen every time, of course, but she seems to realize that she’s about to get some relief from a wet or dirty diaper and that makes her happy. Happy enough to let out some soft squeals. But this time around, mommy and daddy took advantage of her good mood and induced some tickling. This led to the cutest little laugh/squeals EVER. (Check out the Fin Clips for proof!)There’s nothing better than the sound of a child’s laugh… Especially when that child is yours. In a quick few days, Finley learned how to play and started laughing. A pretty good week, so far.

But, what really made being a dad hit home happened this past weekend… Early Saturday morning to be exact. I got up with Finley around 5:00 am and sat down to feed her. Up until that point, Finley had been on a roll, going a good three weeks without a bottle. She had been nursing like a pro, gaining good weight and being an overall happy, healthy baby. So when daddy sat down with a bottle, things became a tad complicated. The term is “nipple confusion.” Finley had spent so much time nursing with mama, that a bottle was just a bit too different and difficult.

As to be expected, frustration led to fussiness, which led to a bit of a tantrum. And, with a little patience, I got her to calm down a bit and at least try to eat. But what I didn’t expect was what happened next.

In between her cries and her efforts to take food from the bottle, she lost her breath. Somehow her little gasps got messed up and she spent what seemed like way too long looking up at me without an inhale. Immediately, I started thinking back to the infant CPR class Heather and I took right before Finley’s birth. I gave her a little pat on the back, but nothing changed. As I look back on the episode, her face never changed colors, but there was this eerie silence between us as we both waited for her to start breathing again. The weirdest part was how calm she was. She didn’t struggle or fight at all. And as I’m looking at her, this little feeling started to grow in the pit of my stomach. I was getting scared. Really scared. She wasn’t choking, her breathing pattern had just been interrupted and it hadn’t kicked back into gear. So, I gave her a couple of more pats… this time a bit firmer. The last one startled her a bit and she took a quick breath before letting out a little, wimpy cry that turned into a more regular bawl. I have never been so happy to hear her cry. Because crying equals breathing.

A few minutes later her bottle was empty and I was laying her back down in her crib. That tiny, quiet, sleeping face had no fear and no worries. Unfortunately, I did. I do. I’m guessing that little feeling in the pit of my stomach will probably never go away. I’m guessing that this is what it means to be a parent. It means there are all these great joys we get to witness in our kids. It also means we will worry about them for the rest of our lives. There will always be that feeling pit in my stomach. The trick is to make sure there are more joys than worries. I’ve got my work cut out for me, but after hearing that laugh, I don’t’ think It will be as tough as it seems.

The Family Plan

As Miss Finley continues to grow and grow, it’s easy to get caught up in her little world. Making sure she’s happy is pretty much my number one goal. Whether I’m feeding her, changing her or just playing with her, nothing makes me happier than seeing that little smile. But as much as she is the center of my universe, it’s important that I always remember that she’s not just my little girl… she’s the final piece of the puzzle that makes our family.

Heather and I are coming up on our first anniversary, and for ten months we were referred to as a married couple. The two of us. We did couple things. We went on couple trips and ate couple dinners. Then along came Finley. She wasn’t just a wonderful blessing and a miracle… She made us a family. Now we will always go on family trips and eat family dinners… family things.

And the reality is… our family is just an extension of two other families. Two families that are not only important to us, but a great source of information and inspiration. There are brothers and sisters with kids of their own. There are grandmas and grandpas with stories and advice. But most of all, there are people we trust when we have questions or concerns.

It’s like parenthood gives you the chance to see your parents and grandparents in a whole new light. Suddenly, you get it. I mean, as a kid, your parents are superheroes. They can carry every piece of luggage in one trip, they can fix a bike tire in five minutes, they can sew a ripped seam of your favorite stuffed animal in a blink of an eye or heal that scraped knee with a magic spray. Then somewhere along the line, we become independent. We don’t have time to ask for help. We can carry our own luggage and fix our own tires. We grow out of stuffed animals and buy band aids.

Sometimes we’re so fierce in our independence that we do or say things we don’t really mean or make decisions we regret later in life. And that’s when our parents are the real superheroes. Because they let us do those things. And as much as it may hurt them or us, they know we will learn from it. Then, as we become adults, our parents become something even more than superheroes… They become human. We find ourselves carrying their luggage, now.

But, as everything does, it all comes full circle. We become parents and they watch as we go through the same struggles and joys that they did. And even though we may not say it, we thank them for everything. How? They see it in smiles of our kids. Because as parents, that’s all we want… For our children to be happy. When they smile, we smile.

This past week, Heather’s grandma came to town to see her new great granddaughter. That’s four generations of girls in the same room. And as I watched those four talk and reminisce and play with the baby, I saw the pride of parenthood… three times over. I don’t think anyone stopped smiling all week.

Daddy’s on the phone, right now.

There are a lot of things about parenthood that you don’t necessarily understand until you are there. People try to tell you (well, warn you, really) how things will never be the same. You know you are on the road to parenthood when everyone, including people you don’t know, warn you about how much sleep you won’t be getting. But those little tidbits are pretty obvious. I mean, we knew things weren’t going to be the same. It’s pretty much WHY we wanted to be parents. We’re quite fond of our newfound non-sameness.

As far as the lack of sleep goes, it really was tough at first. But, like anything worthwhile, you learn to adapt. Except for my most recent groggy non-diaper change, I don’t find it so horrible. I can’t speak for Heather, of course, but everything I do is worth it whenever I pick Finley up from her bed. I love the way she lays her head on my shoulder as I carry her to the changing table. I love how she holds on to our shoulders and sometimes even lifts her head up to see what’s happening in this great big world. But it’s that full-on body hug that’s the best. I know she’s tired and just clinging, but I feel like the world’s best teddy bear when she does that.

Another part of parenthood that is a “you have to be there” kind of thing is the difference between friends with kids and friends without. Way back in the old days when I was single, I used to HATE it whenever I was talking to a buddy and in mid-sentence he would start having a conversation with his kid. There’s the inevitable, “Daddy’s on the phone, right now,” that comes through the line, but we all know the kid knows that. If daddy wasn’t on the phone, junior would probably not be bugging daddy. It would drive me crazy.

Of course, I understood that the kid is the center of the universe… I just didn’t think it counted when I was on the phone talking to the daddy. But, as I said, things change when it’s your turn. Not that Finley is suddenly talking while I’m on the phone, but there are instances where whatever I’m doing or working on has to take a back seat to the little one who is discovering the intricacies of her larynx.

I know that these little yelps and shouts will eventually become tiny little words that will one day resemble the sound of “daddy!” And how many incarnations of “daddy” will there be? There will be the one that she’ll yell when she skins a knee. And the one that she’ll yell when she needs a glass of water at 2:00 am. Then there’s the one she’ll yell when I do something dorky or embarrassing (that one will happen a lot, I bet). But the one I can’t wait for is when that little voice calls to me as I walk in the door from work. It’s the one that says “I love you. I missed you. Welcome home.” That’s the “daddy” that matters most. And I’m not answering the phone for anything, then.

So, I apologize in advance to any of my friends and family out there to whom I interrupt what is sure to be a most interesting conversation with “Daddy’s on the phone, right now.” Don’t take it personally. It’s just a little voice I’ve been waiting to hear her entire life. Besides, if I can train her to bug me when the telemarketers call, it will all be worthwhile.

One Mother of a Day

Before I launch into my actual blog post, I have to relay an incident that happened this weekend. Besides, Heather wouldn’t let me get very far without saying something. It started early Saturday morning when the baby alarm clock went off. I took Finley in for a diaper change while Heather prepped for a breakfast nurse. A few minutes later, I handed Finley off to mama and about halfway through the first part of her breakfast, she dropped a big one. Now, it’s fairly normal for babies to pass gas or even poop while they’re eating… the meal goes in, moves the last meal onward and outward… But this one was particularly loud and smelly. At this point, it was easy to determine that a second diaper change was due, so as I lifted my little poop factory, I noticed (well, it wasn’t too hard to miss) that the nastiness had leaked clear through to her outfit. Not only that, but it had soaked the pad she lays on while nursing. Immediately, I began to wonder what I had done wrong. Did I not fasten the tape tabs to the diaper correctly? Were the legs too loose? As I removed the fouled outfit I immediately saw my mistake; it wasn’t that I hadn’t put the diaper on incorrectly. It was that I hadn’t put the diaper on at all. That’s right. Daddy, in his early-morning stupor, had forgotten to put the diaper on the baby. And boy, did I pay for it. The only saving grace in all of this is that we are so lucky she’s not eating solid food, yet.

And now back to my regularly scheduled blog.

For the past nine weeks, I have been living the life of a very lucky man. Not only do I have a healthy and happy baby girl, but that baby’s mama is pretty darned great, too. She may be a first-timer, but from what I’ve seen, Heather is in the running for rookie of the year. I had my two weeks of paternity to get my feet wet with the whole daddy-thing, but Heather is in week seven of leave and has it all down to a science. Sure, there are the moments that can’t be controlled… Finley likes to remind us that she runs the show, no matter what schedule we try to throw at her… But like a real pro, Heather has learned to roll with it and incorporate Finley’s forays into her plans. And then there’s all the love that goes around in our home. Our place may be small, but it’s packed full of hugs and kisses. That little girl may have me wrapped around her finger, but she’s quite the mama’s girl. They’re having little mommy-daughter conversations that I know, one day, will turn into the real deal. Heather is a fantastic mommy, and I know why that is. It’s because Heather is just like her own mom, which is a very good thing. And the reason I know that is because in many ways, Heather’s mom is much like my mom. You see, both began the life of mom at a young age. They didn’t get the chance to live out their 20’s or 30’s like their friends. Instead of college or weekends with the girls, they were at home, figuring out what it takes to not only raise a family, but keep that family together through tough times. I’m not saying they were alone or the only one’s that have ever had to do this, but both Heather and I have our moms to thank for giving us a great idea of what families are all about. We may celebrate moms once a year, but I know from what I’ve seen in my past and what I’m seeing right now, Mother’s Day is every day.

Tour of Doody

Well my two-week tour of doody has come to a close and there are a few things I have learned as Mr. Mom:

1. The smartest thing you can do is keep your diaper bag stocked and ready at all times.

Heather, being the organizing guru that she is, clued me into the first one. You have to think of the diaper bag as your home-away-from-home. Your changing table in a purse, if you will. All you have to do is think about what would happen if you are in the middle of Target and your baby drops the big one. Are you prepared? If you have a properly stocked diaper bag, you are. So, re-stocking the bag when you get home will only help you in the long run.

2. Eating lunch with one hand is a parental skill.

Being home alone with a munchkin, you learn quickly to leave real-world time behind and follow the baby clock. The problem with the baby clock is that there are no numbers and no hands. BUT, there is an alarm. When she wakes up crying, you wake up (crying is optional). When she wants to eat, you feed her. When she sleeps, you do laundry, dishes, pick up and eat if you get the chance. Most likely, your lunch is a one-handed affair and you learn right away to try and avoid foods that drip. Because it is guaranteed you will have the princess in one hand and your sandwich in the other. During my next paternity leave, I plan to experiment with adult-sized bottles. I’m sure some sort of blender-created meal will be tested.

3. I will miss my little girl, immensely while I am back at work.

I have had a great two weeks. Really. In the past 14 days, Finley has not only continued her string of getting up only once in the middle of the night, but we had two nights in a row where she slept eight hours straight. I became the master of one-handed baby bathing and, according to Heather, I was even able to coordinate girls clothing appropriately. But even with those major accomplishments under my belt I feel like I’m going to miss out on a whole bunch of other new things. She has changed so much in the past two weeks. Her eyes are becoming more blue, rather than the standard-issue newborn black. Her hair is lighter and we’re noticing a bit of red, so it looks like she’ll be a strawberry blonde. She’s holding her neck up very well and the smiles are becoming more and more prevalent and hopefully not as gas-related as before.

I know I’ll miss her new little noises. Little coos and giggles that are SO cute. I’ll miss the way her little legs kick all over the place when I’m trying to change her, as if she’s trying to run away. And I’ll miss the little sigh she makes when she’s settling down in my arms. But what I think I will miss the most is the way she looks at me right before I pick her up. It’s a look in her eyes that says “I’m safe. This guy is going to take care of me.”

I know her mama will take good care of her and I will see her at the end of every day, but it doesn’t mean my heart won’t skip a beat when I’m at work and I think about what she’s doing right now. I guess that’s something I’ll have to get used to for the rest of my life.

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.