1-month checkup

Well, I'm back. I didn't put benzoyl peroxide on the baby's pimple. We had a 1-month checkup appointment on Monday anyway so I decided to wait instead of risking an altercation with the Mrs. We are not sure where we have stashed the boxing gloves at the moment. I've hidden the golf clubs, tennis rackets and other potential weapons. I just have to lock up the tools in the garage and worry about the knives later.

Sydney is doing great with her growth. At the 2-week checkup, she weighed 6 lbs even and measured about 19 inches. This time, she weighed in at 8 lb 7 ozs and measured around 20.25 inches. The doctor gave us a prescription for the rash on her bottom and some samples of medication for the acne on her face and chest. My baby is growing up [sniff, sniff]. She is no longer wearing premie-size clothes and is starting to take around 5 ozs of milk/formula at feeding.

The Combi stroller finally arrived on Sunday. Tracie and mom-in-law took Sydney out for a stroll yesterday afternoon since the weather was warm and sunny. It was somewhere around 85 degrees. They decided to head to the daycare center near the house to check it out. It appears that Sydney will be going there soon. Tracie told me that Sydney really enjoyed the walk. She went to sleep soundly shortly after they started walking. Even when I got home, she was almost snoring in the Pack-n-Play. There will be plenty of walks if this is the case.

A friend of mine (Aunt Beth) sent me some suggested rules that I should be familiar with going forward. I love it. These rules will be strictly enforced, as soon as she is old enough to date, since there are already suitors or parents of suitors at my door. I must share these rules, with minor modifications, with them ASAP.

RULES FOR DATING MY DAUGHTER

Rule One:

If you pull into my driveway and honk, you'd better be delivering a package, because you're not picking anything up.

Rule Two:

You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.

Rule Three:

I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers [or diapers] so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear [or diaper] showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in-fact come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers [and diapers, if applicable]securely in place to your waist.

Rule Four:

I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "Barrier Method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you and eat your liver with fava beans and a nice chianti.

Rule Five:

It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is: "early."

Rule Six:

I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven:

As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process than can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight:

The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:

• Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool.

• Places where there is darkness.

• Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness.

• Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka-zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies that feature chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folk’s homes are better.

Rule Nine:

Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten:

Be afraid, be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway, you should exit the car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, and then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

The Pimple, A Father's Story

** I was going to let this go but I thought it needed to be documented. In my defense, I was not fully awake at the time. This story was inspired by a pimple, on Sydney's cheek (no, the real cheek this time). I'm starting to believe I have OCD. **

I woke up bright and early this morning to check on Sydney. What did I see? A huge pimple on the right cheek of my sweet baby girl. It was right there plain as day, a red mound with a white head. I grabbed the digital camera and snapped a picture (Exhibit A, pimple circled as evidence). Afterall, it was my baby's first pimple. Awwwwwwww.

Exhibit A
But then it started to bug me. How could an unsightly pimple take up residence on my baby's delicate skin? It's an abomination. I kept getting up to take a closer look. I had to do something. In the life of every father, there comes a time when he has to come to the rescue of his little girl. I felt this was one of those times. I had 3 courses of action, as I was lying there thinking about it:
A) I could squeeze it out with my fingers,
B) I could lance it with a small needle,
C) I could cover it with a band-aid and smother it to death.

Yeah, that's what I would do. Those were all viable options so I could just try them one by one. I leaned over my baby's sleepy face and approached the pimple with my thumbnails from both sides.

"Be gone, devil!" I whispered under my breath as I was determined to pop the living s*** out of the little zit. Just then, I heard a shriek from the bed. My wife had awaken to spoil my plan. "Don't even think about it," she hissed.

"But, honey, but...but..." I stammered, not sure of how to explain my action. She made sure I stepped away from the baby and scolded me into believing that by popping the zit, I would scar the baby not to mention hurting her.

Ok, maybe squeezing her tender skin was not exactly the best option. I went back to bed, fuming over the fact that the pimple was still there on the baby's precious face. I decided to get up and go for coffee. Then it occurred to me that Plan B would be just fine. A quick lance with a needle and the white head would be gone. No scarring. No pain. After a few sips of coffee and mulling over my strategy, I grabbed the needle and alcohol and sneaked back into the bedroom. My wife must have suspected it because by the time I was within 2 feet from the baby, she was already springing out of bed. I felt a sharp tug at the back of my shirt. Next thing I knew, I was standing outside the bedroom with the door shut firmly behind me. Time for more coffee and rethink the whole situation. This sucks.

For the lack of a better plan, I guess covering the little creep up with a band-aid would just have to do. I found a box of Band-Aids (Exhibit B) and made my way back to the bedroom. The little round band-aids were semi-clear. It will look unobtrusive on her face. Perfect! If you can't pick at them, pop the crap out of them or poke at them, then smother them. My wife greeted me at the door as soon as I turned the doorknob. "Hear me out," I reasoned, "I just want to cover it up with a teeny weensy band-aid so it doesn't get aggravated and get worse. ok?"

Man, I hate it when she's right. She said no and told me just to leave it alone. These band-aids were not made for babies. The adhesive MIGHT aggravate her skin and make things worse, especially when we try to pull it off. "For the last time, leave...it...alone!" she glared at me.

Exhibit B
Even as I sit here typing the blog, the pimple is probably growing to about the size of a small fruit. I have read that it was normal for babies to develop acne, but it is bugging the crap out of me. After suffering for years from acne even to this day, this fate isn't what I want to pass on to my kid, at least not before puberty. Saaaaaaay...I wonder if a tiny dab of 10% benzoyl peroxide on Sydney would go unnoticed. We'll see.

P.S. This might be my last blog if Tracie decides to kill me. If I go for 3 months without another entry here, I hope the police will find this blog and not hold Tracie responsible for her actions.

Party recap

The party for Sydney's First Month Celebration was a splendid success. Guests arrived early. Guests arrived late. There were shoes and sandals lying everywhere near the front door where guests politely took off their shoes before (or shortly thereafter) entering our foyer. My mother-in-law has been up since the crack of dawn preparing for the feast. She made and fried 100 spring rolls, cooked up a platter of mouth-watering fried rice with all the special ingredients and whipped up a HUGE pot of soup resembling egg drop soup but I'm not sure what went in it. I just know it was gooooooood. At some point in the afternoon, she even found time to make deserts -- a multi-layered gelatin of some sort and a sticky rice dish. We filled the cooler with Heinekens, Coke, Sprite, and Nestle Iced Tea cans. Let the party begin!

We ate and ate and ate. Mother-in-law was loving the fact that her food was a hit. Tracie was beaming from all the praises of how beautiful little Sydney was. Everyone was eager to have a glimpse of Sydney in her little yellow dress and to wish her Happy Birthday. They had gifts, lots of gifts. It was tradition to give money at these things, as I found out. Sydney should have these celebrations every month. I could just quit my job and blog about each event. That would be sweet. But alas, the next event will be 11 months from now. I guess there's always Christmas. Muhahahahahaha!!!!

Sydney slept through the entire thing. She didn't wake when the guests smothered her with kisses and pinched her little cheeks. She didn't move when the guests gave up and handed the gifts to Tracie and extended their best wishes. Sydney did manage to stir a little about half way through dinner but went back to sleep, even after we picked her up and prodded her to wake. She was not about to be disturbed from her deep slumber. My baby will make a great CEO someday. Afterall, how many people do I know can make money, a lot of money, in their sleep. You go, girl!!

Overall, the party was a success. I can't believe I didn't take a single picture. I'm sure the family was grateful for a break from the shutterbug.

First Month Celebration

Sunday will be Sydney's 1-month birthday. We will have relatives over on Saturday to participate the First Month Celebration. In honor of the occasion I've put together a short slideshow, courtesy of PictureTrail.com, of our journey from Day 1 to now. I didn't really want to put a naked Sydney on the Internet so the Delivery Room photograph was edited for PG-13 rating.

*Additional Note 4/22/06: It has come to my attention that certain computers may not be able to see the slideshow, if connected through certain corporate firewalls. That's a shame. Oh well. We put Sydney into a little yellow dress this morning. It was just too cute to see my baby in her first dress. We refuse to make her wear a bow or one of those silly headbands. We know she's a girl.*

Silly Bedtime Story

** Inspired by the need to tell my baby a bedtime story and a couple of red pimples on her little butt **

Once upon a time in a land far, far away, a beautiful child was born. Sydney was what her parents named her. Sydney lived in the city of Q.A., sometimes known throughout the land as the City of Anals.


Our heroine
Sydney was no ordinary child. You see, Sydney was bestowed a supernatural gift when she was born. She had the gift of excrement. She was blessed with beauty and charm and had a powerful bladder and extraordinary colon. But she was cursed with a terrible diaper rash. This curse was conjured up by a powerful and unforgiving wizard, Pampers. Pampers was vengeful; he did not like to be wet or soiled or made to feel inadequate. One day, she accidentally defecated on Pampers with such force that caused him to leak. Pampers was infuriated and unleashed his terrible curse on Sydney. She became very irritable and cried all the time.

Sydney's mom and dad were very sad. They called on their friends and relatives for help. People came from far and wide to offer their assistance. Uncle Steve was first in line.

"I know just what to do. I have some cloth diapers that I have saved from my babysitting days. I'll just change her into them and, hopefully, it will break the curse," he suggested. He reached into his bag and brought out a cloth diaper.


Gasp! THE cloth diaper?
Sydney and her parents all gasped at the same time. Sydney's dad had heard of Uncle Steve's reputation for being frugal and practical. He feared that the diaper had been washed military-style, which meant using the same gallon of water that was used before for showering and saved. He shook his head sadly and said, "No, that won't do any good."

Aunt Cassandra offered, "I got it. I'll send her an e-card and some links to the World Wide Web. She will be amused and entertained. She will feel much, much better while we look for a cure for the curse. I can do some Internet searches, too."

Sydney's mom thought that it was a sweet gesture but it was not what Sydney needed. "We need to find a magic potion that would surely break the curse," she begged. "Someone do something."

Uncle Carl sprung into action. He got on his trusty Harley-Davidson and roamed the city for a magic potion. Aunt Sarah dashed to her laptop and hit the slot machines of the online casinos, hoping to raise money to buy the magic potion not knowing what price they would have to pay to obtain this potion if one should exist. Aunt Becky, who was visiting from nearby City of R.A., started organizing documents to plead the case for Sydney should a government inspection is needed. Aunt Joanne sent carrier pigeons out to notify all the local wizards that she is coming to audit them. She had to be sure that they were following good wizardry practices (GWP) while preparing their magical potions. Aunt Willistine got busy on her Blackberry, but no one really knew what she was doing. Aunt Beth, who had just lived in the adjacent city and had just arrived, got busy preparing a fresh batch of trail mix for everyone and organizing a picnic. Sydney had a lot of relatives.

Aunt Lisa wanted so much to help. She saw how miserable Sydney was. Sydney was wailing at the top of her lungs from the discomfort below. She broke into a song:

"I believe the children are our future ~~~~
Teach them well and let them lead the way ~~~~
Show them all the beauty they possess insiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide ~~~~"

Sydney stopped her crying and looked at Aunt Lisa. "Oh, that was just lovely," she said. "I DO feel better!!"


Oh, that was just lovely
Just then, Uncle Carl pulled up on his Harley. "BEHOLD!!" he held up a small tube and declared, "DESITIN !!!"

The crowd ooh'd and ahh'd as he approached Sydney's parents. They were so grateful and eagerly applied a small amount of the magic potion to Sydney's little red bottom. Everyone anxiously waited. Aunt Willistine's Blackberry was springing to life as news spread among the people about the Desitin. She was very busy typing replies.

Aunt Lisa continued in the background:
"Let the children's laughter ~~~~
Remind us how it used to beeeee ~~~~
The GREATEST love of ALLLLLLLL ~~~~"

"Shhhhhhhh," whispered Sydney's dad as he wrung his hands and just wanted to wait things out in silence. "Please let this work."

To the relief of everyone the redness subsided, and Sydney started smiling. "Hold me, Mommy!!!" she whispered. "I'm all better!"


I'm all better!!
The little white lotion had worked wonderfully. Pampers was watching from a distance and knew he had been beatened. He sulked away into a corner trashcan, feeling soggy and dejected. "Cursed. Foiled again." he mumbled.

Sydney and her parents lived happily ever after. They had hired a good wizard named Huggies and swore to always use Desitin with each diaper change if they started to see a little rash surfacing. Huggies kept watch over Sydney, working his magic to always accomodate Sydney's bowel movements and keep things in check. Pampers was banished to a local dumpster, never to be seen in Sydney's household again.

-THE END -

The Cast of thousands:
(By Order of Appearance)
Sydney as herself
DaddyEyeduck as Sydney's Daddy
MommyEyeduck as Sydney's Mommy
SS as Uncle Steve
CJ as Aunt Cassandra
CS as Uncle Carl
LLW as Aunt Lisa
BS as Aunt Becky
JA as Aunt Joanne
WL as Aunt Willistine
BB as Aunt Beth

Special Appearance:
Pampers as himself (the Terrible Wizard)
Huggies as himself (the Good Wizard)

Disclaimer: "The events depicted in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental."

++++

What the critics said:

"I just read your blog and laughed my a-- off. It was SO funny. Only you could come up with something like that." - MommyEyeduck -

"Wingardium Leviosa!! I was flying high after reading this blog. Definitely better than Harry Potter stories!!" - Harry Potter -

I Swiffer Therefore I Am

I brought my Swiffer Duster wand into the office to dust my cubicle today. My wife has asked me more than once if I thought I had borderline OCD (Occlusive Compulsive Disorder). I don't think I do. At least I don't have to arrange my socks a certain way everytime or get dressed in the same order every morning. I'm just one of those people that have certain thresholds that once they are crossed, then I would spring into action. Enough is enough. I just don't like dust. Never have. Never will. I'm allergic to it. It makes my skin puffs up. It makes me sneeze and wheeze. My office cubicle is full of dust. There's so much dust covering my computer and shelves that my Swiffer actually stopped swiffering. As amazing as those little dust wands are, they too have their limits. Their little microfibers simply stopped functioning and atrophied. I was pretty sure they were gagging and spitting back dust balls before becoming catatonic. The air conditioning system isn't filtering it out fast enough, and the office cleaning crew apparently doesn't do windows, chairs, tables, shelves and floors or anything else other than trash cans. I still have bits of food on the carpet of my cubicle that were dropped there more than 2 years ago. I could have picked them up and thrown them in the trash, but it's a matter of principle. Either the cleaning crew will someday vacuum my carpet or the crumbs will just simply decay and disappear among the carpet fibers. 2000 years from now, archeologists will find their way into my cubicle and discover that the typical 21st century man ate Lance crackers and popcorn judging by the crumbs that were left behind. Perhaps a filthy cubicle has a higher purpose. I can leave my marks on the world in my own special way. Many thanks to the cleaning crew. I never thought of it that way before.

I can't just blog without at least mentioning my Sydney at least once every few days. She had an especially difficult day yesterday with spit up. She was spitting up more often yesterday than ever. She was irritable and went without sleep for several hours. It was very unusual. We think she is either gassy or having allergies to the formula we were using. The poor thing was upchucking white stuff all over my clothes. I had to change 3 times since coming home from work. I couldn't wait to hold my little girl as soon as I walked through the door. She looked up at me with those sweet, brown eyes, tucked her chin to her chest and ... bluhhhh, deposited a little stream of milk on my dress shirt and pants. Nice! Throughout the evening, she would repeat the scenario. Each time afterward, she would gaze intently at her work of art.

"Look, Daddy, this one looks like a white bunny!" she seemed to be musing. She would then look at me for a reaction.

"Oh, I think this one is a three-headed snake. See how the third head seems to be bigger than the others? Aren't I clever?" she appeared to be thinking another time while gazing at the grizzly white deposit on my shirt still hanging to her chin by a thin line of saliva.

"I can't think of what this one looks like but it sure is big." I can just imagine her thinking after a particularly large deposit on a fresh blue shirt that I had just changed into. She furrowed her little eyebrows while staring at me as if she was expecting a bit of help from daddy to figure it out.

"I can't help you there," I said while trying not to be grossed out by the warm and sticky substance that is making its way down my shirt along my chest. I should really, really stop jostling her no matter how much she was squirming in my arms.

Her spit ups were so disturbing to us new parents that Tracie actually woke up with a start in the middle of the night and said "She's spitting up again." When we really checked it out, Sydney was fast asleep. Mommy was having a nightmare. Funny how what seems to be the littlest thing in a baby's life can be so scary to the parents. We will just have to keep an eye on the situation before we really panic and call the doctor. We think she is having reflux issues. Tonight, we'll go to Plan B --- feed her less but more often. We'll see how it goes.

Reminiscing

It was 4 years ago yesterday that I asked Tracie to marry me. What a smart move that was. What was not smart was me missing a chance to tell her "Happy Anniversary" yesterday. It slipped both of our minds. Let's chalk it up to sleep deprivation. Tracie doesn't mind it if I forget our engagement date but I better not forget the real important date, which is the date when we got married.

Some people asked me why I haven't tried very hard to find another home for my cat since I am trying to keep her away from the baby. For one thing, the cat is my own "baby", and I love her. I can't just give her away so easily. More importantly, Buffy represents something more symbolic. Buffy was the first "ring bearer." When I had made up my mind that I was going to ask Tracie to marry me, I wanted to try to be a little creative. I was living alone in a small apartment at the time with just my cat. Tracie was coming over to cook dinner that night, and I decided that asking her during dinner would be the perfect time. I had the engagement ring in my pocket all day, mulling over what I would say or do. Would I get on one knee before dinner and ask her the traditional way? Should I just drop the ring in her glass to let her find it like I've seen on TV? Nahhhh....too cheesy. It occurred to me that I should include Buffy in the act somehow.

A few minutes before Tracie came over, I found a ribbon in my apartment as I was looking around for inspiration. I knew just what to do. I slipped it through the ring and tied it loosely around Buffy's neck as if it was a collar. When Tracie comes over, I'll find a way for Buffy to come to her. Hopefully, she will look down and see the ring dangling from Buffy's neck. At that time, I'll propose. Brilliant! I put Buffy in the bedroom for now and closed the door.

All went according to plan...almost. While Tracie was cooking, I went to check on Buffy and the ring. I found her batting it around on the carpet in the bedroom. The knot had come undone, and the ring was fair game as a new toy. Gasp! I picked up the ring and the ribbon. This time, I tied it tighter with a double knot. Brilliant!

At the appointed time, just before Tracie was done cooking I let Buffy out of the bedroom. I casually meandered into the kitchen to "see if I can help." Buffy came into the kitchen to look for me as expected. Tracie never looked down.

"What have you got there, Buffy?" I asked loudly.

Tracie looked down at Buffy and never even saw the glittering diamond ring in all the white fur (Buffy is a long-haired cat). She went back to cutting up veggies.

"Ahem, Tracie, can you help me figure out what it is that Buffy has around her neck?" I inquired.

Tracie looked again and finally noticed the hot pink ribbon around Buffy's neck.

"How did she get that ribbon around her neck?" Tracie asked.

"I don't know. Maybe something is stuck to it." I suggested. (Sheesh, she's making it difficult)

That's when she gasped. She FINALLY noticed the darn ring. She let out a shriek and reached for the ring. Buffy, having been thoroughly freaked out by the shriek, took off into the living room. Mayhem ensued as if it were something out of a TV show. Tracie was chasing after Buffy, who darted behind the couch. Tracie pounced on the couch; Buffy took off from behind the couch to run behind the vertical blinds. Tracie jumped down to cut Buffy off; Buffy screeched to a halt, glared at Tracie with that "What the ..." look and darted behind the couch again to escape to the other end. Tracie pounced again to cut her off while screaming at me to come and help. I was practically frozen in the kitchen wondering how my perfect plan could have gone so wrong. Dinner was about to be burnt on the stove; my cat is about to be strangled; my ring might not make it around Tracie's finger if Buffy had decided to swallow the ring instead of batting it around earlier. All of this is happening, even after the incident where the ring almost did not make it to me from the jeweler in Chicago. But that's another story. I finally came to my senses and rushed into the living room just in time to grab Buffy with both hands and calm her down. Everyone is gasping for air at this point.

Tracie was both laughing and crying at the same time. She was fondling the ring and trying to get it off the ribbon, which is firmly tied to Buffy. I would have to cut the ribbon off later but not before I proposed. I held on to Buffy and got on my knee.

"Will you marry me?" I asked.

"Yes," she said and hugged me, almost crushing the poor squirming cat between us.

A scissor snip and 15 months later, Tracie and I were married. I still talk to Buffy about her role as my original ring bearer. I can't just give her away. Buffy and the engagement ring on Tracie's finger are intricately linked.

Happy Easter!

It's evening on Easter Sunday and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even Sydney. Mommy and Sydney are taking their afternoon nap. Mother-in-law is in her room talking on the phone with father-in-law. I get to take a break and spend a little quiet time upstairs and online. I've spent the day mowing the lawn, babysitting a bit and ironing. Everyone is tired and needing some downtime. We spent yesterday evening at Tracie's aunt's place for a party to celebrate the 1-month birthday of one of her cousin's second child. I'm not sure if that last sentence made much sense but you get the drift. Sydney did great. She was cranky for just a few minutes but Tracie's aunt and cousins took turn holding her. She drifted off to sleep in their arms. Everyone commented on how much she looked like me. I'm so proud. :-)

Earlier this afternoon we tried to leave Sydney in the Take-Along swing to see if it could calm her for awhile. She was becoming cranky after a feeding and diaper change. She was tired but not quite ready to sleep. The Take-Along swing had flashing lights, different speed for the swing and a volume control for the music. It seemed to hold her attention for a few minutes. Then all hell broke loose. She didn't like to be strapped into the swing and not being held as she was falling asleep. It didn't help that she was pooping. She stirred around for about 3 seconds and started crying. I decided to follow a great number of advices to let her cry to train her. Two minutes went by with Tracie and I both sitting back ignoring her cries. Four minutes went by with Sydney now wailing at the top of her powerful lungs and turning 15 shades of blue. Daddy has had enough. I picked her up, and she immediately fell asleep on my chest as she let out a few more intermittent sobs for good measures. She is just too cute. I admit it; I'm whipped. I don't think it's healthy for her to be turning blue for too long anyway. Who wants a blueberry for a daughter?

Note to self: Be a man and let Sydney cry a little longer next time. Maybe I can try it after she is more than a month old.

Three, Two, One...We have liftoff

The last two days have been interesting from a learning standpoint. As a new dad, I have no idea what to expect from diaper changes. Granted that I've had nieces and nephews since forever and have had to change a few diapers in my lifetime, but I've NEVER experienced anything like this.

Just when I thought I was getting the hang of slipping the old diaper off, wiping her down, and slipping the new diaper on, Sydney threw me a curve last Wednesday. She waited until I had lifted her little bottom up with one hand and slipping the new diaper underneath her to rip a good one. All I could say was..."Ohhhhhhh, that was just wrong!!!" Tracie was laughing hysterically and finally recomposed herself enough to slip some new papertowels between Sydney and the changing pad to prevent more damage. At least I had the new diaper to catch most of it. I guess that was the test phase in preparation for launch.

Yesterday, Tracie told me about her own experience with Rocket Sydney. While she was being changed, Sydney decided yesterday to include Tracie in the fun. Tracie made the mistake of looking away for just a second with Sydney's diaper off. She went for launch. Tracie swore that a stream of liquidy poop jettisoned past the edge of our king-size mattress and deposited some "stuff" on the carpet. Gosh, I wish I had been there to witness it.

The number 3 must have some magical meaning to us. Afterall, there are 3 of us (not counting La Cat). Sydney was born in March on the 23rd. I was born in March, and Tracie was born on the 3rd of September. Therefore, our experience would not be complete without a 3rd incident. Last night, we again experience "The Launch". I fed Sydney a full bottle and waited for her to take care of business before setting her down to start changing her diaper. I had just finished telling Tracie to put a few more papertowels down in case Sydney pulls another stunt when it happened. I stared in total amazement at her little bottom while we had ignition. It was like someone opened up a firehose pressurized with goo.

"Houston, we have a problem!!"

The papertowels were soaked, and the changing pad was beginning to show signs of wear and tear. We quickly grabbed a few more towels and shoved them where the sun don't shine to stem the flow. It worked. We began clean up procedures. Two seconds later, she went for seconds. My, oh, my. The kid has serious stomach muscles. I felt the warmth of the aftermath on my hand as I tried with all futility to hold back the tide. I felt as if I were a New Orleans levee during Hurricane Katrina. The power of nature is truly something to behold. NOT.

Well, I can truly laugh about it now but at the time, it sure was not funny. I laughed but there was little else I could have done for a reaction. I can now really understand what people have always said about how poop is not as disgusting when it is from your own kid. I'll gladly handle it again. But hopefully not anytime soon.

She's 3 weeks old today

It hits me like a truck this morning on the way to work. My baby is 3 weeks old today! It seems like a dream that Tracie and I have this beautiful, feisty little girl in our lives. I remember like it was yesterday when Tracie bounded out of the bathroom Saturday morning with a glint in her eyes.

"Guess what?" she delightedly asked.

I sat up sleepily and said "You're pregnant?"

She was practically glowing when she showed me the pregnancy test. It showed a blue cross, which meant it was positive.

"That's great, baby!" I said, "Are you sure?"

Being Mr. Cautious so not to celebrate prematurely, I suggested, "Why don't you go pee on another popsicle stick so we can be sure."

We've been trying to start a family for a few months now so we're being overly cautious. Tracie decided to try the test again and sure enough, it was positive. We decided not to tell her parents who were visiting us for a week. We thought we should wait a little longer to make sure everything was fine before announcing it to the world. Afterall, it's only been a few days since she missed her period. That didn't last long. Tracie told her mom that morning, who told her dad right away. That night, I started calling all of my family to share the good news. That was last July but it felt like yesterday.

My baby is just adorable. Daddy cannot imagine how incomplete his life has been without her. Thank you, Sydney, for bringing more sunshine into Daddy's life. I love you, little girl.

VoIP works for me

I am just tickled with how well my VoIP service has worked out for my in-laws while their visiting from Canada. My father-in-law spent a lot of time making calls to Canada for free and loved it. Except for a glitch when a bad storm came through and fried my cable modem, the service works exceptionally well when I have Internet access. I'm pre-paying a flat rate every 3 months (roughly $22/mo) for the VoIP service that includes unlimited long distance to anywhere in the US and Canada. How sweet is that? I'm thinking about switching plan to pre-paying for two full years (roughly $16/mo) and be done with it. I appreciate the fact that ViaTalk does not have pass-through charges, such as the bogus recovery fee, like other carriers.

I'm using ViaTalk. They sent me a free Linksys phone adapter to hook up to my wireless router and cable modem. It was a piece of cake to plug in 3 cables and I was off making phone calls. I think it took less than 3 minutes to look at the diagram and start connecting the cords. The catch is to make sure I ship the phone adapter back whenever I decide to stop using ViaTalk. The penalty for not returning the equipment is around $50. I got rid of my Bellsouth phone service altogether and plugged my cordless phones into the Linksys adapter. No compatibility issues there.

I guess VoIP is not for everyone. You have to make sure you have a back up plan in case your Internet service is down or if ViaTalk is doing one of its maintenance routines. Since we have our cell phones, it's not a big deal. You also have to trust the e-911 service. I made sure my address is correct on the ViaTalk website so that the correct 911 service will be reached. One of the coolest features is the $3.95/mo virtual phone number. ViaTalk only offers virtual numbers for US cities right now. I am hoping that they will eventually offer the local virtual phone number option for Canada calling areas. I can sign up for a virtual number for Toronto so my in-laws can call that number as a local call and still be able to reach us in the US without incurring a international charge on their phone bill. That would be sweet. I think only Vonage offers the Canada virtual numbers. But for now, I get everything I need in a phone service - voicemail (which I can download, listen on my PC as wav files, and save/delete), call forwarding, three-way calling, free 411 directory service, etc. The voice quality is clear. I get a slight echo or delay when calls are coming from overseas or from cell phones with poor signals.

The best part of the deal is no more long distance charges - ever. Between ViaTalk and my cell phones, I'm golden. Gotta love the VoIP concept.

Episode with the Cat

I suppose my blogs are started because of my new baby girl. So many things have happened in my life that were worth sharing but I imagine having our first baby will completely turn our lives upside down. I'll just start my first blog with my cat.

We have a cream-colored Himalayan cat that I "adopted" about 6 years ago. She has never taken to my wife, Tracie, and remains suspicious of her even now. Buffy WAS the queen of the house. She slept wherever she wanted - on the sofa, at the end of my bed, on my favorite blanket, on my office chair, and even on my flatbed scanner during the hot summer months. That was then. This is now. When we got married moved into our new house, Buffy was banned from the bedroom and the sofa. The cat simply was shedding too much and was killing us by triggering our allergies. At first, I was not very supportive. I would let Buffy hop on the sofa beside me whenever Tracie wasn't around. She would hop off as soon as Tracie approached and glared at her from across the room. It was funny for awhile to witness episodes of "The Mrs vs. The Cat". But I realized I was sending mixed messages so she was completely banned from the sofa. Now, I won't even let her romp across the office desk in front of my computer monitor to get my attention. The clumps of fine cat hair flying around room, in the form of hair bunnies instead of dust bunnies, was just too much to take, and keeping her off the furniture was part of the discipline regiment. That started a little under 3 years ago.


ROUND 1: Needless to say, Buffy was not a happy camper. She still tries to sleep on the sofa whenever we're not around. We tried everything from putting aluminum foil on the cushions to spraying repellant on and around the sofa. It didn't phase her a bit. I sprayed her with water. That didn't help. I bought a "pet motion detector" and placed on on the cushions every night before we go to bed. The detector would emit a high-pitched sound when it is touched or moved. That helped for awhile but Buffy figured out that there were areas that she could sneak around the detector and make herself comfortable for the night. We knew this from the remains of cat hair and little grains of kitty litter where she laid. Ewwww!! We have resorted to putting magazines all over the arms and the back of the sofa to keep her from walking around the cushions. We arrange the pillows, comforter and throws into big piles on the cushions to keep Buffy from finding space to lie down. We put the motion detector in the remaining few inches of open space on one of the cushions. Every night, we still go through this routine. As of a few weeks ago, the motion detector has to be placed on top of the balled up comforter once we discovered that she has learned to tip-toe her way along the back of the sofa to lie down gently on the comforter to avoid triggering the motion sensor. The score is: Cat 1, Human 0 for now.

ROUND 2: For years, I simply put up with it. Anyone who has a cat knows about the infamous......fur balls. Yes, those lovely clumps of hair that a cat will eventually cough up after a few self-cleaning sessions. During the first couple of years, Buffy was pretty good about it. Whenever she felt the urge to let loose a fur ball, she would do it on the linoleum floor for easy cleaning. Somewhere along the line, she discovered the joy of watching me wipe up after her if she were to deposit the fur balls on the carpet. This usually happens after she has eaten a meal of Deli-cat which decorates the carpet horribly with red, yellow or orange stains. But just one spot won't do. She had to gag and gurgle her way for a few feet so that there would be a trail showing me EXACTLY where she started and where she ended up. That just takes away the mystery of figuring out who, what, where, why and how right out of the equation. The question of when is solved when I have to touch the stuff, by having the pleasure of discovering whether it's cold or warm, still wet and slimy or has it dried and caked up among the carpet fibers. Double Ewwwww!!!! By the way, OxiClean works wonders on carpet stains such as these, much better than Resolve or other carpet cleaners. Cat: 2, Human: still 0.

ROUND 3: As if hair and fur balls were not enough to delight and entertain me, Buffy decided that she would grace my entire house with grains of kitty litter and then some, if you know what I mean. Let's just call them fallen Klingons, to borrow a name from Star Trek. Several months ago, we started noticing that we had to sweep the floor more and more often to get rid of the litter grains. We noticed that Buffy was going to the litter box pretty often and had a great time scratching the litter. At first, I thought she was just struggling to cover up her "stuff" after she was done. But then I noticed that she was actually shredding the plastic liner along the edges of the litter box. She was playing. Triple Ewwwww!!! Afterward, she would scurry out of the covered litter box and scattering the litter behind her in a savage trail from the laundry room through the hallway, into the foyer up the stairs, into the office, down the stairs, across the foyer again and into the family room. It was quickly becoming my personal Trail of Tears. Tracie was not a happy wifey, and I was getting frustrated. I took Buffy to the vet to see if there was something wrong with her. Nothing except for racking up $250 in vaccination and examination fees. I decided to buy one of those self-cleaning litter boxes thinking that it would get rid of the plastic liners that she loved so much and keep me from having to scoop the box so often. Hallelujah!!!! Buffy stopped playing in the litter box, and the floor was clean........for exactly 2 days. The self-cleaning litter box has a pretty loud motor that pulls a belt, which drags the sweeper across the litter. The sweeper would sweep clumps of litter into a catch basin at one end of the tray and then return to its resting position several seconds later. The self-cleaner has a motion sensor that activates a timer to start the cleaning process 10 minutes after the cat leaves the box. As it turns out, Buffy is fascinated by this contraption. She never fails to return to the box to investigate the noise, at which time she HAD to use the litter box again. About every 15 minutes of every day, we hear "EhhhhhhhEhhhhhhEhhhhhhh..." as the motor grinds to a start and dragging the sweeper across the box. It was driving us insane. We decided to close the door to the laundry room whenever Buffy is done using the box to give it a chance to clean itself without Buffy returning immediately to play and torture us. Wrong!!! She would start meowing incessantly outside the laundry room or wherever she ended up hiding after I had chased her away. I'm just about ready to cry about now. The score: Cat 3, Human 0.

A couple of times before, I took the advices of friends and had Buffy shaved to control the tangles in her hair and the problem with fur balls. Long-hair cats have to be brushed at least once a day, and I just couldn't keep up. There were weeks when I had to go away on business trips for days only to come home to find Buffy looking like a Jamaican reggae band member. She had dreadlocks in some unmentionable spots that had to be cut out, not just brushed out. The only solution was to have her shaved with a lion's cut because cats could not simply be trimmed the way dogs could. But I just didn't have the heart to have her shaved often because she always looked like an abused Q-tip afterward. It was rather sad to see her mope around for a couple of months with a big head trimmed like a lion's mane, a pink-skinned popsicle stick for a body, 4 legs wearing thick furry boots and a fluffy tail that just seemed enormous compared to her body.

But the thought occurred to me a few weeks ago that I might be able to solve the kitty litter issue, the hair bunnies, and fur balls in one fell swoop by having her shaved again. Off to the groomer she went. She came home half a day later with a lion's cut. They did a good job. She smelled clean, had her nails trimmed and had her tail shaven enough to stop overwhelming the rest of her. The litter problem has been reduced to something manageable. The fur balls have been virtually eliminated somewhat. I haven't quite figured out what to do about the self-cleaning litter box but I'll take any victory I can get for now. The score: Cat 3, Human 1.