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.