Tummy Time

Sydney went in for her 2-month check up and immunization shots about a week ago. She was right on target with her growth. She weighed in at 10 lb 10 oz and measured 23.25 inches in length. That put her at the 50th percentile in weight and 70th percentile in length. Not bad for a puny baby at 10 percentile for weight and length at birth. I guess we can give the steroids back to Barry Bonds. We won't be needing it. Sydney is doing just fine sucking down the Good Start soy formula and sleeping it off. That's my girl!!

She is good at some things and not so good with others. Tummy time did not go particularly well this morning. We got up bright and early to attend a Saturday picnic at noon. We figured we could get a few things done around the house before heading to the site. Sydney woke up right along side with us. She had decided that she did not want to be left alone on the big ol' bed. After a quick wash, feeding and changing, she was ready to go. We had her on the blanket on the floor in the family room. She was looking around, cooing, sucking on one of her mitts - you know, the usual baby stuff. We decided then to go for another session of tummy time. I got out the Boppy and placed Sydney on her chest on top of the Boppy. It went like this:

7:56 a.m. Sydney tackles the Boppy

7:58 a.m. Sydney gets a little encouragement from Daddy. Left eye starting to close.

8:03 a.m. Sydney said "screw it" and went to sleep

So much for tummy time. She was fast asleep, drooling on the Boppy as if it was Daddy's chest. The only good thing that came out of it is that I found another way to get her to go to sleep without having to hold her. Unfortunately, she did not sleep in this position for very long. We had to pick her up, for fear of SIDS anyway. Another long nap and we were off to the picnic.

Cleared for Take-Off

I've been spending a lot of time during the last year preparing. I want to be a good father and a good husband. So I've been reading books and magazine articles and surfing all the big web sites for new parents. Every week, I pick up the book sent to us from the Publix Baby Club to review the expected development milestones and compare them to how Sydney is actually doing. Some new fathers just want to go along for the ride. They would rather be first-class passengers on the 747 of Air Babies, kicking off their shoes, sitting back and relax, screaming at the flight attendants (the mommies) to keep the noises down and bring them their meals and something alcoholic to drink. They have no tolerance for screaming babies or getting their clothes tainted with sour milk. Not me. I want to be the co-pilot, the entire ground crew, the baggage handler, flight attendant and ticketing/gate agent for all flights to and from Sydney. I want to be in the middle of it all. I want to join the ranks of the thousands of new dads who aren't afraid of the challenges of fatherhood. I want my fingernails dirty. I want my clothes soiled. I want to rush to and fro to find an extra blanket or pillow for my extra special passenger and crew. I want to check under the hood, clean the windshields, and go over the flight plans with the pilot.

Tracie, of course, is the pilot. She charts the course to deliver our lovely little passenger to her destination. She got Sydney past baggage check, ticketing and screening. Sydney (aka Baby Eyeduck, Daddy's Little Monkey) has first-class seating aboard her private jet and going for the ride of her life.

Ready or not. We are cleared for take-off. We are going solo. With Tracie's family 700 miles away and most of my family farther still, we're pretty much on our own. The forecast calls for unpredictable weather, with an occasional turbulence expected but otherwise mostly mild temperature. We ran into some bumps during the boarding and taxiing across the tarmac but now that we're off the runway, there is no turning back. We flew past the frequent breastfeeding every 1.5 hour to 2 hours. We flew past the jaundice and changing diapers 3 times each time. There were times we were not too sure where we were going but here we are, safely in the air and flying high. I haven't felt this high since making it out of our wedding ceremony intact, despite looking like a buffoon worshiping the gods at the altar (that's a separate story altogether). It feels good to be part of the team.

Not to be tooting my own horns, but I think I am doing pretty well so far. I get to feed the baby and change her periodically. I haven't dropped her yet. Sometimes, I just hang around while Tracie feeds the baby, waiting for the chance to swoop in like a vulture and try to burp the baby. It is a great feeling to feel her head against my neck or chest while smelling her sweet baby smell. It feels great to hold her tiny little form in my arms with her little bottom fitting neatly in the palm of my hand and see her face in a peaceful sleep with her mouth gaping open in a deep slumber. All is right in my world.

Baby Sydney is 2-month old today. She is starting to sleep longer at night, sometimes going 5 hours between feeding. She is gaining weight as expected. Her legs have officially been upgraded from frog legs at birth to chicken legs at 1 month and now to turkey legs at 2 months. Her acne and eczema are still problematic. Her forehead is dotted with little pimples, and her cheeks and chest are red with splotches. We have medicine prescribed by the pediatrician for these issues. My anxiety is in check but I am allowed to sigh and lament about her skin problems once in a while. She is doing great with her eye and hand coordination. And she loves her momma. Yesterday at dinner, I couldn't distract her at all from her fixed gaze on Tracie. Her eyes followed Tracie throughout dinner and nothing, except for heavy eyelids, could convince her to look away. She still has not smiled at me, but Tracie has managed to coax a couple more smiles out of Sydney while she was lying on the changing table by popping bubbles with chewing gum. Come to think of it, no one ever smiles at the baggage handlers anyway. Perhaps Sydney doesn't recognize me as one of her elite ground crew member. I'm the one who wanders around in the middle of the night with the little flashlight guiding Tracie to the landing strip (the chaise in the bedroom) for the nightly re-fueling. Perhaps she's just mad that I'm the guy who keeps shining the flashlight up her nose to check for "gold". But Tracie is the one with the bulb to suction them out. So shouldn't she be mad at Tracie instead for being the goldminer? I'm coming to the conclusion that she's not really mad at me. She just doesn't want to make mommy feel bad by smiling at me.

Speaking of mommy, I'm really proud of Tracie. What a lovely mom and wife she is. She is really coming into her own with the motherhood thing. She and Sydney are starting to bond, now that they are all alone with each other during the day. They were on the blanket on the floor playing yesterday when I came home. Sydney had just finished her "tummy time" exercises. Of course, it did not go so well. It's only the third try on the Boppy so she still has her face buried in the blanket most of the time with just enough neck strength to turn her nose and mouth to breathe. But Tracie is right there to watch over her and encourage her. I'm sure Sydney will be strong enough to pass tummy time very soon. Mommy gets a gold star -- and some flowers -- for sticking with it.

So far, the turbulences have been manageable. The pilot is keeping the plane steady. As the co-pilot, I'm just taking over now and then while she gets a break. As the flight attendant, I get to pick up the dirty bottles, pass out the moist warm towels and assist in the bathing of our precious passenger. Yes, the turbulences are not so bad. But then again, we have not dared to tackle the art of nail clipping yet.

A Glimpse into Our Future

"Come see the baby," Tracie said.

The precocious 2-year girl at the next table timidly crawled over her mom to come to us. We were at the restaurant when a young couple with their little girl came in and were seated at the table next to us. I smiled politely at them and nodded to Tracie to check out the cute girl being seated in the high chair at the end of the other table.

"Here is your preview," I whispered. We snickered at the thought of Sydney being 2 years old.

With baby Sydney fast asleep in Tracie's arms after taking in the full bottle of formula, we casted quick glances at the little girl. She was just adorable with unruly long bangs down her forehead and over her eyes. She reminded me of a female version of Harry Potter, without the glasses and the lightning-shaped scar. She did not seem to mind the hair in her eyes and was too busy playing with the silverware. She banged the fork on the glasses of iced water that the waiter carelessly set in front of her. Her mom quickly took the glasses away and warned her that she might break the glasses and hurt herself. Her attention shifted to sticking the fork into her mouth for a sample of metal. Her young dad yanked the fork away. She let out an ear-piercing scream jokingly in protest but was still as happy-go-lucky as she can be. Both parents looked at us apologetically. The little girl pointed shyly to Sydney and looked at her dad. She found a new target.

"It's a baby," he said and smiled at us as if to say, "I hope you don't mind us using your baby to distract her."

"She's a doll but is definitely a handful," I thought. I nodded back with a "no problem 'cos we totally understand" smile. "Will Sydney be the same way? Probably."

With a blink of an eye, the little girl wiggled her way out of the seat belt of the high chair and hopped up on it. She had her arms spread out to her sides in the sign of the cross and was smiling at her mom. She wanted everyone to see her acrobatic moves. Her parents gasped; her dad snatched her from the chair and promptly gave her a good smack on the buttock. She wailed. Tears were streaming down her face although I could tell that she was not really hurt but was embarrassed and scared. Still wailing, her eyes searched her mom's face for help and comfort. Her mom pulled her into her arms and consoled her. "It's ok. You must learn to be more careful," she said without looking like she was upset with her husband.

Tracie and I looked at each other without saying anything but we were communicating.

"Will that be us?" I wondered. "Me as the disciplinarian and you as the voice of comfort?"

"Yup," she nodded and spoke with her eyes. "We should try to help."

We both turned to the little girl and said, "Come see the baby." The little girl didn't wait for a second invitation. Like a shot, she crawled over but hesitated. She did not know if she was going to get in trouble again. Her mom warned her not to touch the baby for fear of her girl hurting someone else's baby.

"It's alright," Tracie said softly. "You can stroke the baby. She will like it. Want to kiss her?"

My wife is such a good person. She seems to know just what to do with kids. She has a lot of love in her heart. The little girl started to lean toward the baby's face to kiss her but at the last second, not sure of what to do, turned her head to press her cheek against the baby's head in an awkward hug.

"Awwwwwwwww!!" we all said. It was such a precious moment. For a split moment, we bonded with a family of perfect strangers through our children. They were innocent and loving. For a split moment, we forgot we had worries and stress. I felt peaceful and joyous. It was nice. I quietly reflected on the event of the moment as Tracie took the little girl's hand and stroked the baby's soft arm with it. The little girl giggled and pulled her hand out of Tracie's hand so she could gently stroke the baby on her own. It was such a Kodak moment. Too bad I was not prepared with a camera.

It was time for us to move on. We needed to shop for groceries, and there were a lot of chores waiting for us at home. I hated to get up to leave but we had better get the baby home soon. It was extremely hot outside. It would take us another hour to get home after shopping. We shouldn't keep the baby in the car seat for hours in the heat.

The little girl waved goodbye enthusiastically at us and Sydney as we strapped the baby into her carseat and headed toward the door. Her parents seemed grateful that we managed to distract her for several minutes and gave them a break. We had caught a glimpse of our possible future. One that would likely be filled with a 2-year old Sydney playing and fidgeting restlessly in restaurants and stores. I could see already with Sydney's emerging personality that she would want to play with everything in sight and keeping us on our toes. I could see Sydney running around the tables at some restaurant with me chasing after her and apologizing to other patrons. I hope not but I could still accept that if my future were to be so.

I smiled at a glimpse into our possible near-future as I put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space. What a cute little girl Sydney will make. I could see a reflection of Sydney's sleeping face in the toy with the unbreakable mirror that we had strapped to the back of the seat. "I'm going to kiss Daddy's little monkey when I get home." She was indeed my "little monkey," and as her big monkey, I could not wait to play with her and watch her grow up. Two months down. A million more to go.

Hammock Time....Can't Touch This

Another day was over. I came home to an empty house after a day dealing with egos and complacencies. Such is the life of a middle manager. I was thankful the house was quiet. The water fountain mounted on the wall in the foyer was a welcome sight and sound. It was soothing. I was content to see the water rushing down the granite surface into the catch basin below, splish-splashing across the smooth pebbles that lined the basin in the process. At least something is still working. I have not refilled the fountain in a few days and was worried that it had run dry.

The rest of the family was visiting with Tracie's aunt nearby. Tracie had called me earlier to tell me how Sydney was behaving. The baby was asleep in the hammock. Tracie was excited to learn that the baby enjoyed sleeping in a hammock and insisted that we get one for our house. I've seen the hammock at Tracie's aunt's house. It was one of those traditional Asian hammocks that did not have wooden bars to hold the weaves open. The hammock pretty much collapses around your body when you lie in it. I was concerned that the baby would get tangled in the webbing, but surprisingly, other babies have slept in that same hammock all these years without any problem, as long as you place them on blankets and other padding. Cool. It's worth a shot to help Sydney take longer naps.

When the family came home, we checked the Internet and learned that hammocks were available at the sporting goods stores. We headed to a sporting goods store nearby. They didn't have the kind that we wanted but we settled for one of those that they had. It had those stupid wooden bars and wide rope weaves but at least it came with a stand. Oh well. I started assembling it as soon as we got home. It wasn't worth a damn. The stand was heavy but rickety, and it was HUGE. It took up almost the entire width of the family room. The box was also missing a part. One of the chains that connected the hammock to the stand was missing. I called the 800 customer service number. Of course, no one answered. I called the store. They told me to disassemble the thing and return it for a replacement. That's not a good sign. I decided to finish setting up the hammock anyway. I hook one end of the hammock to the stand directly without the chain and the other end with the chain. It looks pretty good. The hammock sits about 3 feet off the ground. I slowly backed into the center of the hammock with everyone looking on. It's the litmus test. This is when the rubber hits the road. I laid back with a resounding "Ahhhhhhhhh". My butt smacked the metal cross beam on the floor. The hammock had stretched all the way to the floor, giving my tailbone a nice welcoming whack with the metal beam squarely between my cheeks. How lovely. The instructions did say that a new hammock could accomodate 2 adults for a combination of up to 450 lbs and would stretch a little. A little is obviously a relative term.

In the middle of the roar of laughter, giggles and snickers, I fought my way out the the hammock. I shortened the chain up. The hammock is now stretched about neck high. We'll see how far this rope weave can stretch. I eased back into the hammock, bracing for another spanking. Lo and behold, I was suspended a foot above ground. Eureka! I proceeeded with Phase 2 of the operation. Time to rock. I dangled a leg over the side and pushed off. Oh, yeah. This is more like it. Side to side I went, feeling a slight breeze across my body. Then it happened. The stand was designed to look like a giant bow balanced on two straight metal legs. The arms of the "bow" were fastened by two large bolts to the legs. I made sure the bolts were tight before trying out the hammock. One of the arms of the "bow" started to sway with each swing. It had a hitch in it so that the side to side motion was no longer smooth. There was a slight hesitation and bounce when the hammock swung back in the other direction as the stand gave a little. I scrambled out of the hammock as if a swarm of angry hornets was hot on my trail. Another roar of laughter and another flurry of comments filled the air. That was the last straw. I am going to return the hammock but not get a replacement.

I guess it was a fitting end to my day. I had a strange day at work. I finally had a chance to hold the baby. She was clad in what I called an "M.C. Hammer" diaper. It was way too big for her. The waistband was firmly around her waist but the crotch of the diaper was down past her knees. Tracie had decided to go up one size on the diapers to keep the wetness away from the baby. The baby apparently had been fussing from the discomfort of wet diapers. Her pants were also one size (at least) too big. The waistband was up around her chest, and the pant legs were bunched around her ankles. I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation for my baby to be dressed in her M.C. Hammer pants but I was afraid to ask. At least Sydney looked like she was content and happy to see me. Between the hammock, the diaper and the pants, I saw a theme surfacing. Can't touch this.

A Mother's Day Reflection

A man's perspective on Mother's Day has been changed forever last night. I sat up in the bed typing my post "Let It Shine" about Tracie's experience with her first Mother's Day while Tracie called my mom to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. It was getting late. Sydney was sleeping lightly next to me, so Tracie was almost whispering when she called my mom. Mom. I like the sound of that so much more than Mother or Mommy or Mama. "Mother" sounds ostentatious and a lot like legal-ese. Mommy and Mama simply sound too childish. I think it means that I have finally gotten past puberty mentally and accepted my role as head of a household. Taking away just a syllable somehow renders an occasional "I want my Mom" slightly more mature than the whinny "I want my Mommy". Going once; going twice. Sold to the mature, graying man wearing the pink bunny pajama bottom sitting next to the little girl sleeping in her pink coverall with the green frogs! My mom will be called Mom from now on.

Tracie was letting my mom know that we are printing some digital pictures of Sydney to send to her and my dad to see how Sydney is growing. They live too far away for us to visit frequently so we are trying to go see them this Christmas. In the meantime, we wanted her to at least hear the description of Sydney from my dad looking at the pictures and telling her what he saw. Poor mom's eyes have been ravaged by macular degeneration. There is nothing any doctor can do for her to restore some of her vision. She sees nothing but blurs now. She tells me that viewing things through a large magnifying glass or putting on bright lights no longer helps. She can no longer do some of the things she loves. She can no longer cook, and my mom is a FANTASTIC cook. Most of the time, she places the pot halfway off the burner on the stove and risk toppling the content over on herself. She can no longer watch TV, read a book or look at photographs. She can't even see who she is talking to. It was sad the last time I visited my mom. I was sitting in the living room with a couple of my brothers and nephews. She came out of the bedroom and walked directly up to one of us. She leaned within a couple of feet from one of our faces and spoke a few words. Then she suddenly stopped and asked, "Which one are you?" Mom can't tell us apart without hearing our voices. She had to make sure she was speaking to me, which of course, she wasn't. She was embarrassed, but I was sad. Mom will never see Sydney's beautiful smile.

Mom's hearing is still keen. Oh, she can hear perfectly well even with just one good ear. She somehow managed to puncture one of her ear drums several years ago, which got infected, and completely lost her hearing on that side. We try to tell her everything when we call. She heard Sydney's first soft whimper in the recovery room at the hospital after she was born. I called Mom on the cell phone as soon as we got settle in the room. A few weeks ago, she heard one of Sydney's infamous wails when she was hungry. Mom happened to be on the phone for that. Once Sydney has made audible cooing noises consistently, I will be sure to dial up Mom for give her a sample. I stopped typing on the laptop computer for a few minutes to watch Tracie describe the weekend's events to my mom. I can tell Mom was thrilled to get the play-by-play from Tracie. I am a lot like my mom in that I have a vivid imagination. I am sure Mom could picture images of Sydney and reveled in the occasion. I was never so glad to know that Mom can still hear. It is the one thread that still physically links us across the miles.

I have been taken Mother's Day for granted all these years. Sure I send flowers or a card then follow up with a phone call every year but it was perfunctory as another holiday drummed up by the business world to make money from consumers. With Tracie chatting and laughing with Mom in the background, I no longer see it as just another holiday. Mom and Tracie get along spectacularly. I was never so grateful as I was last night for the bonds between my mom and me, between Mom and Tracie, and now between Mom and little Sydney. Having witnessed the birth of my daughter, I see now why mothers deserved to be honored. My mom gave birth to almost a dozen of us. That was SOME FEAT. I haven't told Mom that I love her lately. I better do it tonight. Who knows when she might not get to hear these words through her one good ear from my own lips again.

One final thought before I drifted off to sleep last night, after speaking to Mom personally to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. I haven't told her that I planted a small blue hydrangea plant next to my house in her honor a couple of years ago. She loves them. I always think of her whenever I see a blue hydrangea bush in bloom. I think she will be glad to know that her baby boy (that's me) thinks fondly of her often and will do his best to make sure his family does the same. Every year, my hydrangea bush blooms sensationally. This year, it explodes with large blooms on every stem. It blooms for Mom.

Let it Shine

We got to truly celebrate Mother's Day at last. Tracie was especially giddy, looking forward to spending time with Sydney on their first Mother's Day together. At Tracie's request, we loaded up the SUV and headed to our favorite Thai restaurant. With her parents in town, it was a good occasion to celebrate 2 generations of motherhood.

Sydney was a charmer. She laid there in her carrier quietly like a little angel in pink, casting glances at other patrons in the restaurant. She caught the attention of everyone passing by. The older lady at the next table was especially charmed. She stopped dead in her tracks and smiled widely at Sydney. "Oh, what a beautiful baby!" she exclaimed, "How old is she?" We told her Sydney was almost 2 months old but I don't think she heard us. Her eyes were fixated on Sydney's face as Sydney was trying to speak.

"You had me at Goo-goo." Her eyes revealed her adoration for Sydney. Sydney had goo-goo'd, ga-ga'd her way into another heart. She had started to coo noticeably just this weekend but she sure knew how to work her magic.

Tonight, Tracie had a special treat. She was tending to the baby while I took a shower. I left the baby lying on the bed and asked Tracie to keep an eye on her. Sydney was fast asleep in her arms when I emerged from the bathroom. Tracie was beaming from ear to ear.

"She smiled at me," she exclaimed excitedly. "When I got close to her, she looked at me and smiled. She smiled for about 10 seconds at ME! It was THE BEST present I ever had!"

I kissed my wife and stroked my sweet baby girl's hair. I was so happy for this monent. Although I was disappointed that I missed my baby's first real smile, I was glad that Sydney's first real smile came on Tracie's first Mother's Day. No one could have scripted a better moment for it. For the record, I made a mental note that Sydney smiled at approximately 9:40 p.m. (give or take a few minutes) on May 14, 2006. For us, it was the Mother of all Mother's Day. Sydney's radiant little smile brought sunshine into our hearts.

She Has Hemerocallis !!

It finally happened. The email came last night from Denise with the results declared by the Subject line "Here It Is!!" We had waited for weeks for the outcome.

This is America. Anything can happen. Just last week, I was reading about the guy who used Craigslist to barter a red paperclip up all the way to a 1-year free rent in a duplex. It's amazing that with a bit of thick skin and determination, someone can achieve so much with just a paperclip. I wanted something cool and different to happen in my life. Cool I wanted. Cool I got. In a surprise email a few weeks back, my close friend, Denise, told me about a brilliant idea that she had. She had contacted a friend who owned Dougs Daylilies Nursery and was breeding new hybrid strains. He was always looking for great names for his new hybrids. She wanted him to use Sydney's name. How cool was that? She told him that Sydney was my frail little baby who had to be placed under filtered sunlight in the morning to help with her jaundice. With that idea, Sydney's Sun daylily was born, and the name reserved with the American Hemerocallis Society. The name Sydney's Sun won't be officially registered for about another month. I didn't even know such a bureaucratic process existed. It was never important to me how flowers were named. The fact that Sydney had a slight touch of jaundice wasn't a big deal; many newborns are like that. But how the idea took off was fantastic. I didn't know "hemerocallis" was even a word much less trying to pronounce it. My baby has it now. She has a hemerocallis of her very own.

I wish someone would name something after me. I used to think getting my face in the local newspaper was the bomb. I was photographed in the 5th grade with my class for winning the "Fire Prevention Week" bulletin board. I saved the newspaper clipping for years. Immortalize me for just 15 minutes of fame even if no one else cares. But this...this is true immortality. Sydney's Sun will bloom and shine in my yard for years, if I don't manage not to kill it first. I am a bit worried of my brown thumb. Plants and I are not the best of friends. Nonetheless, I will be getting the "mother" plant while my friend Denise will receive a "Baby Sydney" plant. Denise told me that Doug won't even have enough Sydney's Sun propagated to sell for another 3 years. You can bet this father is planning on keeping his daylily away from the public, especially those darn dogs in the neighborhood that have no respect for other people's properties. If anyone will be pooping on Sydney's Suns, it will be Sydney. I can't think of a better way to "personalize" one's own flowers, can you?

Sydney's Sun

Doug has my eternal gratitude for Sydney's Sun. I will be sending him a thank you note and a promise to give him my business if I need to order daylilies. Doug, Doug, he's the man. If he can't do it, nobody can. You rock, guy.

Domestic Divo and an Agreement

The other morning, I woke up early (well, 7:00 a.m. is early for a Saturday morning) and went down to the kitchen for coffee. I noticed an assorted pile of bottles, nipples, cups, dishes and utensils on the kitchen counter next to the sink. While everyone was asleep and the house was utterly quiet, I thought I would do a little bit of cleaning up. I started to wash the bottles with soap and warm water and got lost in my morning thoughts. "Hey, this actually isn't too bad." There was something mildly therapeutic about getting the place cleaned up and putting chaos outside with the garbage from the night before. Could it be that I was becoming domesticated?

In the old days, Tracie and I had an agreement. Anything inside the house was her responsibility. Anything in the yard and the garage was mine. It was not to say that there was an exclusivity in chores for anyone in particular, but as a general rule of thumb, we knew where to assign blame. A pile of laundry that was crawling along the closet floor on its own would be an indication that Tracie was falling behind on her domestic duties. A yard full of weeds or a tall hedge that covered up the entire 2-story house would totally be my bad. A trail of kitty litter throughout the house? Well, that would be part of the exception - the fine prints in our domestic agreement where, for once, what's mine is entirely mine. The cat and its caretaking, including cleaning up after it, would still be my duty long after my corpse had rotted and blew away in the wind.

Then BAM. I got Tracie pregnant (or she made me do it, depending on who you ask), and the agreement was in jeopardy. By the doctor's order as well as by our parents' decrees, she was not to be exposed to chemicals, eat chocolate, drink caffeine, do heavy lifting, eat sushi, drink alcohol, pet the cat or climb a ladder. I started doing more around the house. I took comfort in believing that it was a temporary arrangement. Everything would be back to normal once the baby came, except for a few minor adjustments to the contract. Yeah right. I did most of the ironing, vacuuming, dusting and bathroom cleaning. Now and then, I would cook and clean. I even folded women's underwear. Little did I know that I was on my way to bigger and better things.

Back to reality. I looked down. Holy smoke!! I was barefooted and in the kitchen. There was something inherently wrong with this picture. Wasn't I supposed to be the breadwinner of this family who brings home the bacon so that someone else could fry it up in the pan? Now I know a few quick stints at the kichen sink and in the laundry room don't exactly make me Mr. Mom. Heck, I can't even recall when was the last time I rolled up my sleeve to cook dinner for the family. I think I'm just a spoiled ol' fart. The sudden realization of this truth snapped me out of my moment of soul-searching. Yawn. I went back to bed. Maybe I'll attempt to vacuum the house later this week. Why fight it? Tracie is going back to work in a few weeks. She does a ton around the house anyway. It's time I pick up the slack and do my share. Tracie's mom is heading home in a few days. We won't have anyone else to buffer us when we don't feel like cooking or cleaning. Domestic chaos is NOT an option (at least not yet). Tracie and I have to negotiate a new agreement. Unless the agreement involves a new French maid outfit for me (ooh la la), I am ok with being a domestic divo so that Tracie can have more time with her new role as a domestic mama.

A morning with Sydney

Sydney:"Eahhhh .... What's up, ... DAD?"
Dad:"Good morning, Sydney. Want a surprise?"

Sydney: "Whatcha got? I'm all ears. "
Dad:"You'll like it."

Sydney: "Did you say ... FOOD ??"

Dad: "Thought that would get your attention. Any volunteers?"




Sydney: "OOOH .... OOOH ... OOOH .... pick me!! pick me!! ME, ME, ME !!!"

Dad: "Easy, baby girl. Mommy has to bathe you first."



Sydney: "Gimme ... Gimme ... I want it ...
[pant, pant]"

Dad: "Just a taste, ok?"






Sydney: "That was yummy. Got any more, Dad??"

Dad: "That's enough, baby."




Sydney: "Pssssssst, Mom. Can you help me out here??"









Dad: "Ahem. I thought we said just a taste. What are you doing with a bottle???"

Sydney: "What bottle? Where? Who? What?"

Sydney: "You're stressing me out, Dad. Don't you know I need sustenance?"

Tick tock, tick tock

A large quantity of iced tea and a medium Coke consumed with my meals for good measures today rendered me sleepless and restless tonight. It's 2:00 am, and conscious thoughts are still swimming in my head instead of dreams. I should have known better than to test the effect of caffeine on my system today. The results are always the same. The clock on the nightstand is teasing me. The minutes seem to pass by slower and slower. Well then, it seems like it is a perfect time to update my blog while the rest of the family sleeps.

Sydney's sleep pattern is becoming unpredictable during the last few days. She terrorized her mom and granny yesterday when they were going shopping. She was restless and inconsolable. After an hour, they went home. Today, Sydney slept for most of the day and "behaved perfectly", according Tracie. We can't tell if we've done anything differently. I discovered that Sydney was becoming more accepting of the Aquarium Take-Along swing but only if I rock her manually versus setting the knob to swing automatically. I have to push the swing hard, which seems to please her. Only then would she go to sleep in the swing without the usual fussiness. So be it. I just hope the swing set can take it. I should check the screws and bolts again before I have a flying baby on my hand.

She likes a little wind blowing through her wisps of hair. I know so from taking her for a little walk around the yard this evening. A slight breeze and a setting sun was just the right formula for droopy eyelids. She laid perfectly still in my arms as we strolled past the honeysuckles, the roses and the hydrangea bushes. The fragrance from the honeysuckles must have also soothed her senses. I sure love it. My little angel was drifting off fast. I went back inside to get ready to put her down. Wouldn't you know it, she perked right up not more than 5 steps inside the house. I was amazed. So back outside I went for another stroll. In no time at all, she was ready for another nap. Tick tock, tick tock. She was out for a couple of hours in pleasant sleep. She is even sleeping well tonight. We put her to bed more than 4 hours ago. She has barely stirred.

I learned a new word this week: Untoward. A colleague apparently used this word in a document, and another colleague told me about it. She looked it up and told me that it meant unruly. Seriously, how people would actually use this word in their regular vocabulary? I've never heard of it, at least noticed it before. I learn best when I use a new word in a sentence, so I guess after posting this blog, I should go comb my untoward hair and check up on my untoward, energy-filled daughter. Better yet, I am looking toward another untoward day since my plan towards working in the yard is looking untowardly with the untowardness of Georgia weather in the Spring. Maybe I should just look up the friggin' word myself and understand it once and for all. What fun would that be?

And another thing. Why do people, who are not of Mexican descent, celebrate Cinco de Mayo with such fervor and reckless abandonment? We went to a Mexican restaurant Friday night to, what else, celebrate Cinco de Mayo with some chimichangas and margaritas (author's note: those are not code words for our female friends). The wait was an hour. The place was set up with tents in the parking lot and a DJ jockeying some party tunes. The parking lot was packed with people running around with beers and margaritas. Not more than 1% of them were Hispanic. What's up with that? Were the Hispanics not back yet from the boycott march? (I'm going to get beat up for that one) For years I thought Cinco de Mayo was the Mexican's version Independence Day. I bet most of the people there thought the same. In fact, it is the celebration of the defeat of the French at the Battle of Puebla. People, you beat the French!! It was the French, for heaven's sake. What did you do? Send an army of your finest chihuahuas? Can someone tell me how many wars have the French actually won? (I'm going to get it from the French, too) I don't know why Tracie and I bother to celebrate Cinco de Mayo. I guess we need something in May to celebrate, just like everyone else at the restaurant. I just know I love Mexican food and would take whatever opportunity I got to down a margarita and munch on some nachos. Ole!!

Babysitting

I spent part of Saturday babysitting Sydney while the Mrs. and the mother-in-law headed to the doctor and the grocery store. I was a bit apprehensive at first but put on a brave face and agreed to take on the task when Tracie asked if I could watch the baby. Why not, I could handle it with nooooooo problemo. Nada. Zip. Piece of cake. [gulp] I'm DA MAN and the boss, while Sydney is just a tiny little baby. No problem.

I have seen the fits that little babies throw when they want to let it be known that they are not happy with something. It is the kind of fit that has the baby's eyes shut so tightly that they had crow's feet at the corners of their eyes, their fists clenched so tightly that there is hardly any blood left in their palms, and their legs extended and toes pointed so stiffly that they could pass for ballerinas dancing en pointe if these babies could stand up. I was preparing for the worst since I can't recall the last time I had to handle a crying baby all by myself. My baby could wail with the best of them. I went through my mental checklist as Tracie and her mom prepared to head out the door.

(diapers...check)
(wipes...check)
(3 full bottles of formula in the fridge...check)
(blankets...check)
(Kleenex...check)
(clean clothes for baby...check)
(clean shirts for me...check)

"Bye, honey. Drive carefully." I waved goodbye cheerful as they closed the door behind them.

And just like that, I was alone...with a baby.

"NOOOOOOOOOO. Come back. Don't leave me with the baby!!!" I staggered to the door, feeling the panic wash over me like a tidal wave over a sandcastle. "I'm dead meat. I'm toast. Stick a fork in me, I'm done."

My mind started ripping through another checklist.

(Advils....check)
(working phone...check)
(address book...check)

Actually, it wasn't that bad. My hysteria was getting the best of me. Sydney behaved perfectly and was not much a problem for Daddy. She did not spit up after feeding. She did cry a little around 10:00am. She was tired but didn't want to go to sleep. I took care of it by softly singing one of my patented lullabies.

Hush little baby, don't you cry
Daddy's going to buy us a pizza pie
If that pizza pie is no good
Daddy's gonna mess up the pizza dude

If pizza dude starts to cry
Daddy is going to poke him in the eye
And if that wasn't enough fun
Dad will get him with a Taser gun

And if that Taser gun won't stun
Daddy's going to kick him in the.....sun
Now all this is just to sing
Dad hope you don't understand a thing

After hearing that heart-felt but tone-deaf rendition, she was fast asleep in the swing for almost 3 hours. She was not ready for any more singing and was probably faking sleep until her mom came home to rescue her. I seriously hope that Sydney really does not understand English yet. Otherwise, I better start saving up money for her therapy.