Saturday, February 26, 2011

Month 2

Some things have changed and some have not: we still love you, and the story is still more about us than about you, although the "us" is undoubtedly revolving around you these days.

 You have grown, adding pounds and inches that are hard to see as they accrue, but when I look back over the last few weeks, both in my mind and at the scores of pictures we have taken, the change is amazing.  It's too early for you to have a real personality, and your interactions with us are still mostly reactions to physical stimuli, but I occasionally see something in your face that makes me exciting for the little dude you are going to be soon.

You and your hairy older brother mostly move in separate social circles; he's generally out clubbing or something when you sleep, and when you are awake and crying, he tries to find somewhere quiet to curl up for a snooze.  Frodo is getting older, and I'm a little concerned that he might move along the spiritual gradient before you are able to secure firm memories of him, but in recent days I have definitely noticed and new sense of protectiveness your big brother brings to the house.  He may not like hanging out with you, but he certainly notices when you act upset.  And boy, sometimes do you ever act upset.
 We all eventually have to face down the bottle, but in the case of my relationship with you, my knew little boy, the bottle in question is not full of beer or booze, but full of [symbolic] tears and frustration.  Your mom and I love to sleep - we're good at it, with a lifetime of practice that has refined our appreciation of the art of the snooze - but evolution has left us with a circumstance that makes regular sleep unobtainable.  And it's harder on Mom than on me; one thing that I'm supposed to be able to do to help her out is give you a bottle during one of the many times during the night you need to nosh.  But so far, this seemingly simple thing, this giving you THE SAME MILK you enjoy every 2 - 3 hours day in and day out, turns into a heart wrenching exercise in futility that leaves me feeling like a failure-as-dad and ends up providing no benefit to Mom.  It's hard to fully express the utter frustration this experience has held for me...I love you so much, both by choice and by biology, but those moments make me want to take you back to the baby store.  I know it will get better, but I was in no way prepared for how the universe could seem to stop in time with my son screaming for food and me not being able to give it to him.

 And then there are ridiculously sweet moments like LOVE being in a carrier.  We have a Bjorn AND an Infantino, and a week or so ago we got out of the house without either of them and so bought a Moby wrap in impulse.  It doesn't matter which brand I (or your mom) have on - you totally zonk out in a way tidal wave of adorableness.  I can't keep you on me for too long, because I give off heat like a potbellied stove (go figure, right?), and a nice layer of damp mushiness builds up between us quickly, but I thoroughly enjoy this time with you.  This pic was taken in the middle of my work day, and gives just a little peak at how important and valuable it is to me to be able to work from home.  This is also the closest I will probably get to the experience Mom has just after feeding you when you are in a milk coma and totally conked out on her chest...she loves those moments and spends long minutes just looking down at your smooshed up little satiated face.
Speaking of, there are times (mostly in the morning - not sure how that happens with your parent's genes), that you get so wide eyed and happy, that I just cannot get enough of that face.  These are your most expressive moments that do not involve screaming, and it's in these moments that I see glimpses of our future.  I do not want to rush these days, because they are special and precious in their own way, but I am also so very excited to see you becoming more you.  I know there will come a day when your talking wears me out, but for now I can't wait to hear what you have to say, just as I cannot wait for the day that when I come into the room you see me and you recognize me, and that you smile because I'm there.  It's the anticipation of that day that is getting me through the trials by bottle and mid-night awakenings.

2 months in, and more good than bad - I wouldn't change it.  Love you, Buddy.


  1. Sorry for the typos...late night, exhausted posting on a deadline! And my editor was asleep!

  2. Beautiful -- you have described the new baby experience very well. I can't wait to meet him!

    I sincerely hope that the bottle feeding gets better. And I know well the "take this kid back to the baby store!" feeling. Good luck!

  3. Very nicely done. Unlike Jessica, I have no idea if it's a realistic representation of all the whatnot, but it was fine reading.

    Typos schmypos. They almost seemed intentional, artistically so. Maybe?