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27 Weeks: The Christmas Bandit

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WHAT DO I DDDDRRRRAAAAWWWW!!!

Merry Christmas! Now that the pleasantries are out of the way …

Holy Crap! What a bananas time of year! My kid made out like a bandit. You’d think she was royalty or something with all the stuff she got. 99% of the presents under the tree were for Emma. I guess that happens with babies- people love babies and they shower them with attention and gifts and smooches and weird baby talk. It’s great! Really. It is. The only thing is that my 6 month old is totally oblivious. She’ll look away from you if you don’t speak to her as an adult, she turns her cheek at loving smooches, and she doesn’t know the meaning of gifts.

So what the crap is it all for?

WRAP IT UP!

Wrapping paper. She loves wrapping paper and eating wrapping paper. Obviously, she couldn’t open her own gifts so mommy and daddy helped or else we’d have been there all day watching her eat paper.

Daddy- “OOOH! What’s this?”

Emma- “NOM NOM NOM”

Daddy- “No, not the paper. This toy/clothing/book,etc.”

Emma- “NOM NOM NOM”

Daddy- “GET IT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH YOU’RE RUINING CHRISTMAS!”

She loves wrapping paper.

WHO YOU FOOLIN’?

Here’s what I don’t get- Santa aside, we got Emma some gifts. At this stage in life she got things like clothes and toys to help her become super smart; necessities. All of these things from mommy and daddy were wrapped and put under the tree. WHY?! WHYYYYYY!?

I know what we bought her. She won’t remember the whole unwrapping process. Who is this for? Not Emma. I’ll tell you who it’s for- the adults. We took a lot of photos, none of which we’ll put on the internet because we’re not into showing our kid to the world (despite having a blog about my family), and she was the center of all the photos. Honestly, I could have done without the wrapping. I would have saved a ton of time wrapping a ton of things, and then… unwrapping the same things. But it’s part of our culture and I’ve decided, especially since we had such a low key Thanksgiving, that holidays and life should be celebrated. I have a happy little girl and I want her to learn to celebrate all the great things in life.

The Christmas Bandit

Learning Time

The bandit got a ton of great toys to help her with hand eye coordination, colors, numbers, opposites, feet, songs, etc. All the stuff babies need to learn before you can let them graduate to whatever the next stage of being a kid is. Toddler maybe? Once we got past the wrapping paper she was all about her toys. I mean… All. About. Her. Toys.

Now they’re strewn about my floor like some American Ninja Warrior obstacle. Little rings. Blocks. Washable books. Baby tablets. More blocks. More books. Amazing books. Dolls. Chains of snap together planes, trains, and automobiles. Plus so much more! I’m buried in things.

Now, if these weren’t toys that were meant to teach her some necessary motor skills so she doesn’t end up scooching through the city sitting on a skateboard like a residentially challenged transient absent of her legs, then we probably wouldn’t have given them to her in the first place.

I guess the lesson we would like to teach her is that Christmas isn’t about gifts. We don’t want the commercialism of the holiday to be what she looks forward to every year. It really is better to give than to receive because it fills a void that things never could. After all the lessons about fine motor skills, the alphabet, colors, and shapes, we’ll get her to learn about humanity and how getting new things isn’t the point of Christmas.

Lady Death Strike

This is just a friendly reminder to cut your kid’s nails. If you’ve ever cut your own finger nails too short then you’re familiar with the annoying sting that accompanies your awful mistake. I know if you’ve never done it before then you might be frightened of trimming your baby’s nails too short and inflicting that same traumatic short nail pain on them. The reality is that it’s a mistake to not cut your kids nails. They grow like weeds. They’re thin and sharp like little knives. They don’t mean it, but they claw at your face and rip at your flesh like pissy little kittens. They roll over during nap time and slice into your back, stealing what precious little sleep you get during the day. (Yes, when it’s nap time daddy tries to steal some shut eye, too. And yes, we let her sleep in our bed because she stays asleep a lot longer in there than in her crib.) Cut your kids nails before they cut you like one of Wolverine’s pointy nemeses.

Sizing Issues and the Diaper Dilemma

We’ve had issues with our diapers blowing out more and more frequently. If you’re a new parent then you’ll have recently learned of the number system of diapers. I know that there are at least 3. Why? Because we recently started using 3’s. Each number has a weight limit ascribed to it. For example, 2’s in the Kirkland brand of diaper hold 12-18 lbs …of baby, not dookie. A 12 to 18 lb baby. 3’s on the other hand are rated for 16-28 lb babies. The thing is, though, is that there’s the small 2 lb overlap. You best mind those two lbs. We went right up to 18 lbs and that was a mistake. For days and days it was a mistake. A stinky, messy, mistake.

I blame the two month gap between baby check ups for this oversight. The pediatrician is the one who weighs Emma. How was I supposed to know she gained a gajillion lbs in two months? I blame her mom’s genes for that. Her grandpa, my wife’s father, is a giant, like the nephilim offspring of angels and mortal women; an 8 ft giant full of other-worldly knowledge like how to run a house. My child growing so fast and me not knowing her weight is a product of her nephilim heritage and the poor appointment-scheduling skills of the pediatric industry working against me.

My advice, switch your baby’s diaper over to the next size up at the low end of the weights for the new size, not the high end for the current size. It’s gonna save you a lot of laundry time.

Day Care & the Daddy Blues

So we went to visit a daycare for Emma because she’s going to need to socialize with other people besides mommy and daddy. She’s also going to need a decent influx of germs to help her build up her immunities. It was a great day care. The teachers seemed very kind and knowledgeable and it has kids ranging from infants to preschoolers. So in theory we’d be set for quite a while in regards to her initial education.

I asked a lot of questions, checked on the cleanliness and security of the school, and started to well up a little bit. Yeah, I’m gonna cry when we drop her off that first day. I’m gonna cry hard. Then I’ll sit in the car waiting for her class to get out, just crying like a little beeotch. That’s gonna be me.

Dadbod Update

There are so many great foods during the holidays!!!! My wife makes these amazing giant cinnamon rolls with a delicious frosting. They’re so good you’ll cry. As an adult, you will cry. That’s how good they are. My eyes are still all puffy from crying over how good they are. Also, Costco has a Costco-sized tin of Danish Butter cookies (my favorite). Did I eat them all? Yes. Yes I did. I shared some, but not too many. If I have an addiction, it’s Danish Butter cookies. Aaaaand, just like I PLANNED– I gained weight, thus ensuring that my dad bod stays intact and safe. Not to worry, my body still says, “Hey look at me …I helped make a baby.”

Happy New Year!

Well that’s it for now. The new year is upon us and it’s time to set some unrealistic resolutions that I’ll break. What are your resolutions for the new year? Do you have any advice that will help me not cry in public on Emma’s first day of daycare? Feel free to comment below or on our social media and as always Happy Parenting!


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24 Weeks and She Still Drinks Like a Fish

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Here we are in week 24. I’ve said to H, E, double hockey sticks with not giving my daughter solid foods. Actually I’m going to plan on saying H, E, double hockey sticks… I haven’t yet. Why not you ask?

I’m scared.

I’m not scared of my toothless progeny not being able to handle solid foods. That’s just a mild concern. If she’s anything like her old man then she’ll be able to handle food. That’s when we have a problem; several, actually. Childhood obesity (not for the aesthetics, but for the healthiness of it all), cost- I used to put down 2 entrees at a time at Denny’s and IHOP and it took its toll on my wallet (I don’t expect Emma to down a club sandwich and a lumberjack breakfast in one go like her daddy, but I also don’t want her learning that that’s OK), and competition- when she’s old enough to find my secret stash of snacks I don’t want to have to fight over Oreos in my own home.

What I’m scared of is the whole change in her digestive process. I do about 90% of the diaper changes and I have it on good authority that once solid food is introduced into your child’s diet then you enter a whole new and horrible sphere of hell when they soil themselves. To be clear, my buds who have described this change in their own children to me prefaced the whole dynamic by telling me that baby dookie from a milk and formula only diet doesn’t smell. FREAKING LIES. Baby poop smells at any stage. It’s not like we brought her home on day one and thought to ourselves, “Oh, we can save on air freshener and Febreeze because now we have an endless supply of dirty newborn diapers.” My fear is that if solid food baby poop smells bad enough to make milk and formula baby poop seem odorless then I’m going to be covered in legit dookie for the next 5 to 10ish years. I don’t know… when do kids stop getting poop everywhere? Whenever that happens… that’s how long I’ll have to battle this evolved and hideous dook.

I’m not allowed to give her solids, though, thankfully. It’s not that we’ve heard from the pediatrician and were denied this opportunity. Not in the slightest. That would be amazing if we got a call; we tried to circumvent the whole 5 month limbo I talked about last week where the 5 month milestone of eating solid foods rests between her 4 and 6 month check-ups by calling our pediatrician. They never told us yay or nay about if we could or could not so we were never green lit to go solid. Alas, I can’t feed her solid food because …wife. And as the mother of my child, the oven that baked the bun, my other half, she has a solid say in how we raise Emma and she said “not yet.”

So my kid is still on a liquid diet, but it has to be some sort of amazing milk. I’m talking roided out to the max, get you kicked out of the Olympics good, because my kid is super strong. Despite my wife, or any lady for that matter, making super milk my advice still stands to new and expecting dads and significant others- if your baby mama is nursing do not call her your “prized heffer.” I still haven’t tried it, but I know it would be one of my less well received jokes.

Taking Baby Shopping

This week presented a bit of a nightmare for me. As it’s the beginning of the holiday season I decided to bring Emma Christmas shopping with me, which, I don’t know, was a mistake. Once again we were accosted by the the elderly and my baby thought so little of shopping that she literally poo pooed the whole experience. On the upside, she’s doing a lot better in public; less freakouts, but still, there are some occasions where I think I should have just stayed home. She’s growing up so fast and we’ve stopped using the baby carrier/carseat/stroller combo so she gets to sit up in her stroller like a big girl whilst we’re out and about. She LOVES stink eyeing people; it’s her serious disposition. I love when older women walk up all lovey dovey talking their baby talk to my kid and she just mad dogs them. It results in them a) talking baby talk louder in public in an attempt to make her smile and ultimately b) them taking a step back and saying something like “Oh she’s a serious baby” or “Oh somebody’s grumpy.” No lady, you’re just not as charming as you think you are… now back away.

So we’re out at Costco this week, like we do, and this happens a couple of times. The first time Kelly was there and this Laverne and Shirley looking duo make a b-line right for the stroller. I’m taken aback by this since they approached with such speed and ferocity. I had a bad dad moment. I wanted to whip the stroller around and put myself in a defensive pose between Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum and Emma, but I took a queue from Kelly and observed helplessly as these women descended upon my child, proffering up unsolicited parenting advice. My fave. Kelly knows I hate that and the look she gave me after they resumed their baby-less course told me she knew exactly what I was thinking. I should have stopped them in their path and I feel like I punked out a little bit.

Afterwards, I needed to shop without Kelly since she gets a gift this year, too. My solo experience with Emma being fawned over by strangers wasn’t as bad. Let me preface by saying that I dress differently now-a-days than I used to. I wasn’t necessarily “thugged out”, but I was into a lot of angst alt rock as a kid and some of that style sticks with you. Ya gotta love the 90s. Sometimes, when my wife isn’t around, I slip back into that fashion sense. I don’t have the baggy ripped cargo shorts anymore since Kelly spent 6 or so years trying to get me to throw them out.

What is it with not liking cargo shorts? They have a purpose. Why do women hate pockets? Y’all have these tiny pockets in your own pants barely big enough for an oreo, complain about it, and then try to strip men of their extra pockets. What’s up with that? Pocket envy that is. If I still had my baggy cargo shorts I wouldn’t need to carry around the diaper bag!

Anywho, on this occasion I dressed a little like I did back in the day- shorts, rugged looking kicks, and a baggy black hoodie (courtesy of my lady I might add.) Only this time I have a baby and a beard. I’ve come to realize that in today’s political climate a tan man with a beard isn’t necessarily perceived as your friendly neighborhood hipster barista. On the contrary, I get more looks like I’m about to cause an incident with an incendiary device rather than make you a latte with a perfectly pulled shot of espresso and expertly foamed milk. And the lady who approached Emma this time took notice of me just a little too late. As she approached like a ravenous hyena, she reached out for my child. Without Kelly there to temper my reactions, I recoiled and withdrew the stroller from her grasp. Then she noticed me… the unabomber looking ambiguously Hispanic, maybe Middle Eastern dude who’s probably never perceived as either Italian or Filipino and obviously jumped the border illegally to be here. Then she recoiled. Emma must have been mad dogging her, because she backed away mumbling something about a serious baby and how she wished she was a grandma.

Leaving the store I thought I’d stop by Kelly’s work to grab some lunch with her. “What a nice husband!” THANKS! So I ring her and set up a date, but her lunch is still like 45 minutes out. So I have time to kill and shopping to do, why not go to the mall? Good idea. Wrong. The parking garage at our local mall has the TINIEST parking spots. And as it’s December it was crowded with holiday shoppers. Horrible, greedy holiday shoppers. So after 15 minutes of pulling off a 30 point turn, I squeeze Emma out of the car through the tiniest space between me and a double parked douche only to feel something wet on her back.

What was it, Chris?

The dooks.

She had a blow-out, so we went right back through the tiny car chasm, into her car seat, and on to the tantrum that accompanies someone being made to sit in their own doo doo. It was screaming like you’ve never heard. On occasions like this I usually just go home. With a tear in my eye I called Kelly and canceled our lunch. Driving home Emma’s screaming became horribly, terrifyingly, panicked and louder than I’ve ever heard her cry. So much so that I pulled over to check on her and wound up changing her diaper in the trunk. Afterwards she was all giggles and I called my wife to let her know lunch is back on!

En route the screaming starts up again and this time it was hunger. I didn’t bring enough bottles to make it through a spontaneous lunch with my lady so I called her up and canceled again. Swipe left, huh? And that’s my first Christmas shopping experience with my baby.

Consumerism Sucks

To clarify, Kelly and I aren’t big on gift giving. A few years back, we took a page from our friend’s book and decided to stop giving “things” to each other and spend the money we would have spent on gifts on experiences and trips instead. It’s a hard change in a sense, considering that we’ve grown-up and continue to live in a consumerism driven society where a good deal of self worth and validation comes from material objects. But it’s great to know that we’re getting out, seeing new things, and living life. Plus, my wife is super hard to shop for and super hard to surprise. Since we have a joint Amazon account and a joint bank account it’s pretty hard to buy anything without the other person knowing. If I look up, oh say, a slingshot that shoots arrows on Amazon (it’s a thing) then Google, Facebook, Amazon, and big brother internet at large, flood her online feeds with ads for slingshots that shoot arrows (look it up).

Since it’s Emma’s first Christmas in the new house, though, I wanted to have presents under the tree. So I suggested that maybe this year we be a little materialistic and get gifts. Nothing expensive, just some stuff to open on Christmas morning. But my wife is still hard to shop for because she doesn’t want anything. Or she doesn’t want for anything; as part of the shrinking American middle class (which I’m not sure we are if you consider crippling student loan debt) we have everything and anything we could need or want at our fingertips. If you don’t have cash you have credit. If you can’t leave your house you can order online. It’s kind of gross, if you think about it.

Our deepest desires for each other aren’t things that can be packaged and shipped, though. We want stuff like reaching our fitness goals, will power, a healthy lifestyle and outlook on life, wicked time management skills, time together. And sure, you can buy books and equipment that claim they can help you achieve all that, but really it’s just more consumerism dressed up as a helpful means to an end. Anyway, we already have too much in my opinion. That being said, if we need something we buy it. So we don’t need anything when gift giving occasions come around.

But Emma needs stuff! She’s outgrowing clothes left and right and her books and toys seem old- to me.

Boring Daddy/Digital Daddy

I’m at a point right now where I’m not sure if my child is entertained enough and I’m starting to think that I’m boring. We read, we play, we eat and nap, but for me, it’s the same old stuff. It’s a sort of routine, but is SHE bored? I’ve read all her books to her, but she only chews on them. I’ve played with all her stuffed animals with her, but she only eats the faux fur. We do tummy time and practice sitting up on her own and maybe, hopefully crawling soon. But is it enough? Also, I think I might have as much separation anxiety as she does. If I put her down she screams. If she’s not screaming I think something’s wrong and rush to her side.

Friends have told me it’s when you don’t hear your kids that you worry the most and that’s totally true. If I’m being absolutely honest, though, all the noise is bit of a downer. Here I am caught between a loud place and feeling totally boring.

So this week I turned to the kids programming available through our cable provider for help. It’s this bright over-saturated world of animated kids songs on demand. And it’s blowing my mind. Emma loves it, but like I discussed last week I’m trying to limit how digital her home life is going to be. I even took the leap and bought a companion device. Not the Light Phone or some other secondary tiny phone. I gots me a smart watch with a speaker phone in it. I’ve already reduced my phone usage by like 1000%. The nice thing about the holidays are all the sales and the new Samsung Galaxy Watch was available at a huge discount. So, since we’re part of the shrinking American middle class with crippling student loan debt, I bought it of course, and it really has changed everything! It has a timer app so I can track how long her naps are or how long her bottle has been in the warmer. It also stores and plays music so I loaded some lullabies on it and can play them softly right behind her head as I cradle her to sleep. I can take calls and text without Emma even looking at it. That’s huge for me; there was a point where I swear I was texting or something dumb with my phone and out of the corner of my eye I caught Emma looking down at the phone in my hand and then looking up at me with a little feeling of neglect in her eye. Worst feeling ever.

Amazeballs doesn’t even come close to describing how useful it has been for, ironically, decreasing the amount of tech in Emma’s life. Now when she cries for food or a nap I’m not fumbling with a phone to set up music or a timer.

The Switch-a-roo, Nap Time, and the Sleepy Time BFG.

Speaking of crying, she’s started crying for different reasons now and sadly, my new smart watch isn’t smart enough to make her stop. I mean, crying from being hangry is a constant, but other than this week’s blow out she’s switched it up a bit. Whenever she would soil herself we knew because she would let us know in no uncertain terms that she needed a clean diaper. Screams and tears definitely accompanied a smell, despite what people say about newborn poopies. She doesn’t seem to mind doing her business that much anymore. What sets her off now that she’s all alert and curious is her hatred of sleeping. When before she would sleep without a fuss, now she fights and screams if she gets a little drowsy. So she’s gone from crying everytime she pooped and passing out without a fight to pooping with a certain amount of joy and crying when she’s about to sleep. Is that normal? Should I be concerned? I mean, I understand not crying when you have a decent BM, who doesn’t, am I right?! Lately, to help stem her crying and fits I’ve been reduced to a carnival ride when it’s time for her naps. I’m either walking her around in the daddy saddle like a Big Friendly Giant or I’m loading her up in the car for a little nap time drive. I’m a little concerned about her falling asleep with either method because her head always tilts forward and I don’t know if she’s falling asleep ooooor blacking out because her head’s so heavy that she’s putting herself in a sleeper hold. I don’t want her pulling an elephant man and just clocking out by letting her gigantic head slump too far into her chest. Plus, there was just a story about how a child passed away when a daycare left her/him to sleep in their carseat for too long. I check on her when she falls asleep this way to make sure she’s breathing. I had to do this with my grandma when she got super old. You just walk in on a situation where they’re blacked out and you look for the chest or belly to be going up and down or you creep close and feel for breath under their nose. Getting caught that close to someone’s face is always weird no matter if they’re the elderly or an infant. They always look at you like “WTF, dude?” Is it safe? Do you let your kids fall asleep in the car seat? I’ll ask her pediatrician what we should do at her next visit.

As a friendly reminder, though, always read the safety instructions on your kid’s stuff.

Dad Bod Update

I’m still pudgy.

People Read This?

I recently found out that more people than my five friends read this. That’s awesome! I just wanted to say thanks for taking the time to learn about my family and my journey as a stay-at-home dad. It means a lot! I wish I didn’t write about my daughter’s poops so much, now, but I’m stoked for the audience. As always, if you have any advice for my particular dilemmas feel free to comment below or on social media and as always happy parenting.

UPDATE:

There was an issue where the post from last week was sent out a couple of times. I think the problem was from using the WordPress app and WordPress in a browser. It’s all very technical, I don’t want to bore you with it, but we think we solved it and the interwebs should be all good now. We apologize to anyone who may have subscribed for any misleading and confusing posts. And a special thanks to my father-in-law for giving me a heads up every time it happened.


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