Those who can't do...

So, when we were pregnant with Ian, I was well aware of my skill deficiencies in all areas of infant care.  As a result of this consciousness, I pretty much jumped at the chance when I learned there were several “new parent” classes available at the midwife practice we were using.  One such class, called “Daddy Boot Camp”, was of particular interest to me, since as the name suggests, it’s just for dads and focuses on FAQ’s in a sort of crash-course manner.  It turned out to be a lot more of a group therapy thing than an informative thing, but I digress…  This past Saturday, I was invited back as their “Veteran Dad” so I could share my vast amount of acquired knowledge about babies with all the nervous soon-to-be’s.  Little did they know, right?  Anyway, I was perceived as a master of the newborn universe thanks greatly to Ian.  This class is 3 hours long and he was totally perfect the entire time, even without his mother being there.  He smiled at everyone, played on the floor quietly with some stuff I brought, showed everyone how he’s already got a tooth and he’s crawling and pulling himself to his feet, and then he even took like an hour nap.  I was pretty ashamed of myself for bringing my perfect little baby to show off to a bunch of guys who statistically aren’t going to have nearly that easy of a time, but then I realized that perhaps some, like me, who were the most scared of the sleepless nights and wailing babies could actually be relieved to see that not all the horror stories are true.  You’ll lose sleep, but not necessarily all of it.  They’ll cry, but not necessarily all the time.  They’ll blow creamy peanut butter out of their ass, but not necessarily all over your lap.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being a new dad (and again I feel I’m pretty spoiled with Ian), it’s that no matter how bad you thought it was going to be, that little face will always make you remember how not bad it really is.

Do me a solid...

While Ian has apparently mastered the phases of liquids and gasses (yes, that's a fart joke), he is merely an amateur at the solids phase.  Ian has had about a week now of "real" food, adding all manner of fruits and vegetables to his previous rice-cereal repertoire.  He currently eats avocado, carrots, zucchini, apples, pears, bananas, and probably other things that I'm already forgetting.  He's even eating them in a high chair, thanks to his Abuela.  Along with his first foods, he has also recently had his first cold.  I suppose it could be said that we've been luckier than most on the infirmary front, having had over six months without so much as a sneeze, but it can still break your heart listening to him breathe through his mouth because his little nose is too plugged up.  His eyes are always red and watery, and he just can't get comfortable enough to sleep any longer than half an hour at a time.  It's been a while since I've felt as helpless as I do when I just can't seem to help him, or even explain to him what's wrong with him in a manner he'll understand just to soothe him a little.  After a day or two, he finally had his first unscheduled doctor trip, where we were assured that it was just a little cold, and we could only help by putting a humidifier in the room (which sounds completely ridiculous to a person who fled from Florida, by the way), and the occasional doling out of children's Tylenol.  He has since rebounded, and although he's still a little under the weather, he's definitely been showing signs of life again, and the return of his little smile is enough to mend your previously broken heart.

Man of the cloth...

Save the trees!.. Save the whales!.. Save the ozone!.. Save the planet!.. Whatever most people's reasoning is for doing cloth diapers, ours is more of a "Save the money!.."  After  the baby showers we had before Ian was born, we had quite a stockpile of disposable diapers, but now (almost 6 months to the day) we are finally running low on them, meaning it's time to start the somehow-more-disgusting task of wrapping Ian's little tushy in a beach towel.    My wife is all about the cloth diapers, but I've got to say I'm not totally convinced yet.  We've had a few dry runs with the cloth (no pun intended, especially since there was nothing "dry" about them) and I just find them to be a little more cumbersome than expected.  We've got several of the regular 2-piece kind, meaning the aforementioned beach towel which gets covered up by some rubber pants with several-thousand buttons on them.   You know what's fun?  Trying to wrap that beach towel around Ian's ass while he does triple-axles on his changing table, which now touches both the top of his head and the bottom of his feet simultaneously.  If you're lucky enough to get that Sham-wow into a position where there's only a slight chance of leakage, which is your best-case scenario, all you have to do figure out which of the several-thousand buttons match up to form the vague shape of a diaper, which is a bit like folding your leftover Chinese food up in an elegant foil swan, assuming your leftovers are flopping around like a headless cat.  We also have several all-in-ones, which are one piece as the name suggests and are therefore only half as difficult to get him into.  I suppose I'll have to figure it out eventually, or I could just sneak out like a closet-smoker at 3 am to buy disposables from the convenient store...

The root of all evil...

No, no... It's not money like normal people's struggling parents told us when we were young... It's teeth!  I know,  quite the shock... allow me to elaborate.  Ian has began the apparently long and arduous task of sprouting teeth, and it's amazing the amount of difficulty that comes from growing teeth.  And here I thought that sore gums were the major part of it, but was I ever wrong.  So, I suppose the main thing that I wouldn't have guessed is that apparently having teeth makes you shit more.  Since his one little tooth has broke through the gum on his lower jaw, he's been blowing it out his ass like never before.  A couple days ago, he even had his first "big-boy" shit, which evidently means he stops merely staining the back half of his diaper and instead fills it with the Sam's Club size creamy Jif.  And the smell is unexpected as well, like a dead donkey pickled in ammonia.  He's started doing some serious business just in time for us to try and switch to cloth diapers... great!  Also, he has regressed to sleeping for only two hours at a time, which is especially difficult since he now sleeps in his own room, so we have to actually get up.  Anyway, the moral is that he's much more irritable, much less sleepy, and much more efficient at processing what he eats into a aromatic heap of Pampers.  It's enough to make you think that toothless hillbillies are really on to something...

"Today's episode is brought to you by... the number 5"

Ian is 5 months old now...  Seems weird, like only yesterday he would just lay in your arms and stare blankly at you, or anything else making noise, and now he won't stop air-humping the floor when you put him on his tummy.   I'm told this is a natural progression before he figures out his limbs are required to crawl, but I still can't help but laugh when he does it (possibly because "Humpin' Around" by Bobby Brown always seems to pop into my head).  He did make a conscious effort to crawl to his daddy a week ago, and took two full strides to reach me, but I call that a fluke and am still waiting for him to become mobile.  We've just returned from my parents' house in Junction, where Ian was able to have a meet-and-greet with a few aunts and uncles he had not yet met.  It was no surprise to us that everyone seemed to adore him, especially since he pretty much just smiled and laughed for the entire long weekend.  As usual, a trip to his grandma's yielded many spoils, but the most enticing was a "bumbo" seat from a recent yard-sale expedition.  It's pretty cool that he can now pretty much sit up on his own with it, and it also has a little tray from which he received his first meal of rice cereal.  Oh, and does he devour rice cereal like a pro...  I find it particularly amazing watching him and seeing first hand just what kinds of instincts we are born with.  He was able to eat the whole bowl we made him, with a spoon and everything, like he had been doing it for years.  He didn't even slop it out of his mouth very much.  I've seen babies that have been fed with spoons for months that dribble more on the floor than Ian.  He's just like his daddy, I guess, since I don't waste much food either.  Our little boy is growing up fast, and in no time he'll be crawling towards the stairs and jamming cutlery into electrical sockets, and not long after that, I'll make him mow the lawn and get a job.  Ah, the future is bright...

Ian flees the country...

Ian's had a pretty big month, so I thought I should perhaps post an update on some of his exploits of late.  The passing of my grandmother-in-law forced our hand in seeing exactly what type of flyer Ian would be.  I am proud to say that he did awesome.  We had stops both ways from Denver to Puerto Rico and back... Four four-hour flights... and barely a peep the whole time.  Not even the typical "my ears are popping and there's no way to console me" fit.  He pretty much slept on my wife's lap the entire time.  Minor side note: we brought him as a "lap infant".  How is it safe for Ian to be in my lap on an A-330, but not in my car?  Is it just the fact that his car seat isn't rated against a flaming ball of death dropping from 27,000 feet?  Meaning he might as well just roll into the cockpit door as we smash nose first into the ground?  Not that I think he should sit on my lap in a car, but I'm not really understanding the logic; but I digress.  A terrible reason to make the trip to P.R., but a good excuse to stay so Ian could meet some of his family on my wife's side, including his Abuelo, who seemed super excited to say the least.  Ian was in a constant state of introduction for almost a whole week and he did not falter.  He took it in stride with a little smile on his face as he was passed from unknown person to unknown person.  He had his first trip to the playa in Luquillo, which is a more beautiful beach than many Americans will ever see in their entire life.  He listened to Salsa music, watched cartoons in Spanish, and heard the song of the Coqui as he slept.  It's debatable as to whether any of this had any impact on such a developing mind, but I'd like to think so.  The trip was fruitful for all of us, and I look forward to telling Ian about his first trip to the island of his ancestors...once he's old enough to know what I'm talking about.

... Let's get some shots!..

Today was Ian's 4-month wellness appointment, and I was a little nervous.  I knew he was scheduled for shots, and the wife has been harping on and on about how traumatic it was the last time he had shots, which I wasn't present for.  Since I didn't make it the last time, I made every effort to make it there this time.  I took him to the sitter in the morning, picked him up in the afternoon, drove him to the doctor's office where we met up with his mother, and I even had to find someone to cover my shift at work since I was, of course, scheduled this afternoon.  I think I mainly needed to be there to catch my wife's head before it hit the floor after she fainted rather than for Ian's benefit.  I am aware that he has no idea where he's going or for what purpose, but I think even if he did, I'd still be more worried about my wife's wellbeing. Apparently I was to expect a happy little baby to turn into some kind of "Exorcist" outtake the instant the needle broke the skin.  Well, I guess Ian just needed his daddy there, since he cried for all of about 8 seconds, which was amazingly about the same amount of time it took the nurse to poke him in the thighs  4 times. After that, he was just fine, even smiling again within 5 minutes.  He's a tough little buho, and his daddy is proud.