People are jealous. Our friends with kids are jealous. And I’m not ashamed to say it whatsoever. Everyone with a kid is jealous of us because of you.
Because you tear every time you poop.
That’s right. You don’t cry. You don’t get uncomfortable. You just get really quiet. And your eyes well up with tears. It’s like an old cartoon watching your eyes actually fill with water. And then a single tear rolls finds its way past your lower lid and we know that the pooping is complete.
Other parents have to guess. Sometimes there’s even a finger wipe required. Not with our baby.
When your Mom and I see it, we know instantly what’s next. To everyone else, it looks like we’re the most intuitive parents in the world. But in the end, it’s just you, making us look good, all over again.
And we’ll take it.
That’s us. About you.
Note: Only a diaper and my nostrils were harmed during this photo shoot. You, as evidenced by this picture, remained happy as ever the whole way through your change.
I’m a bit without words. We’ve seen you roll. To and fro, from your belly to your back and then in reverse. We’ve watched you spin on your side, in plain view on your playmat or through the baby monitor in your crib.
But today, we put you in your Joovy Spoon and we watched you move, all on your own.
Sure, it was backwards. Sure it was obvious that your feet come in contact with the floor only with extraordinary stretching and reaching on your part, and even then, every 3rd or 4th attempt. But that whole backward, thing is just ok. Know that. Because, isn’t that life, baby? A few steps back before you catch yourself and propel yourself forward to meet the world? And when you do, we know, it truly is “look out world.”
Happy trails to you, my love.
Tomorrow I leave for San Francisco. I am going to miss you guys like hell. But thankfully, you took some of the sting out of my trip. How? By deciding that you were going to laugh out loud tonight.
I’ll smile on my flight, throughout the day, and in my sleep … for days thinking about this laugh.
Today my love for you is all laughter. This is the greatest sound I’ve ever heard in my life.
This is the most amazing picture I have ever seen. I don’t believe a more adorable picture has ever been taken. I’ve been to Hallmark. I’ve seen all the black and white greeting cards of children. And frankly, I think any picture on the front of one of those cards should be replaced with this.
Work hasn’t been easy. From a physical standpoint, I can say that even with the extraordinary support we’ve received in-person (especially from your Naniji and your Tita Fai), we’re a little more sleep deprived than usual. But when we see you like this, everything resets. Forget 5-hour energy … we should bottle your smile.
Looking at this picture was a life changing experience. Overwhelming. When your mom and I married, I made it my own personal challenge to make her happier day after day. Now I have another fundamental goal. Whenever we are lucky enough to bask in you being this happy, the world will cease to matter and everything will be ok. It will be like a reboot of The Matrix. Our job as parents is to help you get there as often as humanly possible.
Challenge issued. Challenge taken, munchkin. We’re on it.
The video says it all, munchkin. Hi, right the hell back at you.
You cried on and off from 5pm to 11pm, with a break from 9:30-10:15 so we could wrap up dinner and enjoy the climax and conclusion of Captain Phillips (awesome timing.) You took in an ounce and a half at 8 and then proceeded to spit pretty much all of that back up in fits and spurts. Your mom and I had to pass you back and forth several times, because every time you got comfortable, you spent the next (few) moments getting uncomfortable all over again. Thank god we have four hands between us.
I also had a cough. Everyone said it was fine to be around you so I rocked a mask. From the moment I enter the house until the moment I leave, I’ve got a mask on. And you toughed it out. I’m not even sure you’ll recognize me without the mask anymore.
After finally convincing your mom to try and go to bed (after about 24 hours of caring for you straight without much sleep), I fed you at 11:30. You took down your 3 ounces with conviction, and then you went limp in my hands (let me tell you, one of my favorite feelings is knowing you are fully fed and comfortable, looking completely drunk like you do in the picture to the left, and therefore almost fully malleable in my hands) and were ready for a nap.
So we napped. I tried to put you down, and you wouldn’t have it. So you slept on my chest from 11:30 – 3:45 in the morning. We watched Jay Leno’s last show (his real last show, kind of like watching MJ’s last game, as a Wizard.) We watched an episode of Chopped. We caught some of A Few Good Men. And then we watched an episode of Shameless (don’t tell Mommy.) A little shaking and stirring on your end, enough for sugar and tea but not quite enough for a pisco sour.
I’d spend every night from 11:30-3:45 in that exact position for the rest of my life. Doing so would leave me over the moon … overjoyed.
(Note: I took notes on my feelings starting from the moment my wife went into labor. But given the realities of parenthood, I obviously waited until I had a semblance of sanity to push through my thoughts and publish them.)
Baby-to-be. TMLFYI (Today My Love for you Is)…best delivered indirectly. Since Thursday evening at 7pm ET your mom has been in labor. What does that mean? It means cramps at such an incredible frequency, consistency, and duration, that there’s nothing a partner like me can do but feel hopeless and inspired. You see, your mom is something special. There are horror stories out there for how women react when they get into this situation.
What I know, is that she experienced all of the pain I was told to expect. Debilitating pain. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t sit. She couldn’t stand. Even the things she does involuntarily — like breathe — she had to be deliberate about. Everything we did (conversations, watching tv, going up stairs, walking to the car) had a commercial break (somewhere in 4-20 minute intervals.) Except instead of commercials about wireless provider dominance, your mom experienced pain that was borderline incomparable.
She did this from 7pm ET on Thursday January 9th, to 9:45am on Sunday January 12th. 62 hours. Sixty-two hours.
And not once did she lose her poise. She cradled you in her arms through her belly to make sure you were ok each and every time. It was beautiful. She delayed all pain saving measures until medically necessary. And she looked more stunning and beautiful than she did the day I met her, the day I proposed to her (though honestly, she had kind of let herself go the night I proposed — that’s a hysterical and different story), and the day we got married.
So Sunshine, today my love for you is best delivered indirectly… because I’m channeling all of my energy to your mom, who’s doing such a ridiculously good job loving you like nobody else can.