Another year is ending.  2012 has been pretty awesome to say the least.  We learned of our pregnancy in early December 2011, but we didn’t say anything to family members until after we’d been to the doctor.  In January, Katy was around 10 weeks along, so we made the tour of family’s homes to relay the exciting news.  During these visits, two things happened:  most people stated their previous suspicions of the upcoming addition to our family, and my mom gave me a high-five coupled with her pleasure with the fact that I was going to become a father before I turned 40.

It’s 6:33 EST on a Monday morning.  Two weeks ago, I was celebrating the fact that it was my last Monday morning (for a while) that I had to get up, shower, complete a short list of daily tasks, and go to school to continue my quest of enlightening American youths.  My son, clearly oblivious to my “insane” desire to “sleep” longer than five consecutive hours on any given night, is now able to see me more often, especially in the morning hours.  So far, one full week removed from my duties as a schoolteacher, we have developed the following morning schedule:

approx. 5:05–5:30 A cry emerges from the baby monitor beside my head.  Unlike a fire alarm’s screeching immediacy, this sound begins more like a drunken man’s slow gurgle and, over the course of about twenty seconds, grows into a “Get the F Up, Dad” squelch.

While enjoying his first meal of the day beside his mother  (whose inability to acknowledge his morning announcement is inconsistent with her ability to hear me say the slightest comment at any other part of the day), I bask in the glory of seventeen more seconds of shut-eye.  It’s probably longer, but whatever the duration is is exactly the amount of time it takes for me to fall asleep again.  Upon finishing his first breakfast, I take the reigns again and attempt to convince him that sleep is much more appealing than, say anything else imaginable.  Usually, this works, but there has already been one morning when my pride and joy seemed to believe it was a much more reasonable hour to be awake and alert.

7:02.  Again approximate, and this is only possible if he has fallen asleep again.  [That gives me about 20 minutes to finish this blog, btw]

We have adopted the routine of playing a Baby Einstein video once he’s finally awake-awake.  Judge if you must, but this 30 minutes (again, approximate) allows one or both of us to fully emerge from our own sleep states, sloppily make coffee, survey the apartment for tasks that must be completed, consume of said coffee, and perhaps have an opportunity to catch up with our friends via the InterWeb.

7:30ish  He’s clearly done with the movie for the day, and our morning begins.   The dog becomes thrilled to see me hoist the boy into the high chair because he (the dog) knows some remnants are sure to fall to the floor.   For those of you who have never owned a dog, please take into account that dog-owning parents do not need vacuum cleaners.   A full breakfast of a few of the following delicacies follows:

homemade applesauce

dry cereal bits

unseen lint formerly attached to the boy’s bib

itty bitty banana slices

torn-up pieces of silver-dollar whole grain pancakes

the boy’s own toes

water–sometimes consumed orally; the rest just soaks through his shirt/belly

Will you see anything like what you’ve just read in a parenting book?  Unlikely.  I don’t mean to complain; nor do I wish to present myself as anything short of stoked for being a Dad.  The simple point of this blog this morning was for me to express to you and to myself that I’m pretty sure my sleeping past 8am days are over, but that I will have approximately 90 minutes to write most mornings.

Yippee!

Have a great day!

PS:  This is an edit completed during his mid-morning nap.  For the record, he woke up again at 6:53.

Cheers!

A million-dollar idea just came to me!  This is gonna be HUUUGGEEE!  I’ll make up Tweets that I think my kid (or other kids) might have taken the time out of their incredibly UNbusy schedule to type.  The craziest thing about this idea is that it is worth absolutely nothing and will be really unfunny by the time you finish.  ENJOY!

1.  My dad thinks I can read, but I just chew the corners and laugh when he does.  #dads

2.  Can’t believe the ‘rents don’t appreciate how I can wake either one of them up at 4am just to say “Hey!” (though it comes out “WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”  #alarmclock

3.  Hey, guys?  I’m not seeing the nutritional value in these blocks.  Thumbs down.  

Ya see?  I’m already losing steam.  But I’ll work on it and blow up your news feed with more gibberish.  At least for this week while I’m on spring break.   

Okay, my boy.  It’s been about three months since you exited your mother and entered Terre Haute Union Hospital Birth Suite 5.  Right now, I’m absolutely in love with you primarily because you successfully went to sleep after only about 90 minutes of Mom and me doing everything in our growing book of tricks.  Don’t get me/us wrong:  we adore playing with you, reading to you, laughing with you and all of the other wonderful stuff that goes with raising a child.  It’s just…our sleep schedules aren’t exactly synced yet.  Again, we will never stop loving you but your resilience to sleep is Ghandi-like sometimes.  As i type this on a frosty Sunday morning, you’re currently swaying back and forth and Mom is getting some well-deserved sleep.  I’m typing this silly blog and wishing Starbucks delivered.  Anyway, I bought this new laptop the other day (yes, the one you will make fun of in about six years) and read through some old blogs from before you were born.  I’m going to add a few things to my list of things to think about/do as you grow up and become your own man.  Dads apparently do this stuff, so I feel an obligation.  Of course, you can always ask for advice yourself when you’re able to form words other than “Bhzghpl” and “Hiccup.”

11.  Don’t encourage us to carve the pumpkins too early.  There’s nothing scarier than a maniacal jack-o-lantern whose teeth are literally rotting.

12.  All that candy you will accumulate between now and the year that trick-or-treating becomes “stupid” or “medically disastrous” is for the family.   Think of it as your once-a-year contribution to the Lively Food Pantry.

13.  Never end a list of anything with 13.  It’s a stupid superstition, but you come from creative genes so just come up with more.

14.  You owe your mother….freaking everything.  It’s a simple fact.  So, this is less advice and more of an apology in advance in case I smack you in the head for being rude to your mother.  If we had the technology, we would have been recording everything so you can have an idea what she does for you every blanking day.

15.  Acting on impulse is among the most exhilarating aspects of being alive.  Just.  Be.  Safe.  🙂

More later.  I’m going back to my novel.  Or maybe get coffee.

-Dad

This will be a list in progress.  It will consist of the things I think of as they happen/occur to me so I never forget.  Thankfully, the Internet is an excellent substitute for my short-term memory.  Thanks, Internet. 

1.  Never trust anyone who tells you he/she has “an incredible offer.” 

2.  Cross-contamination is a real thing and when cooking, you need to wash everything all the time.  Constantly.

3.  If your boxers hang above your pants line at a measurable level, I will disown you and you’ll have to live with one of your two creepy uncles.

4.  Country music blows.

5.  I never understood the concept of gutters either, but you should probably get them when you actually buy a house. 

6.  Same with guest towels.

7.  Let the charcoal cook for a while.  You’re not on television, and no one wants to interrupt a perfectly good meal with a trip to the ER only to have an overweight nurse tell you your eyebrows have been permanently singed. 

8.  Oil changes are really okay longer than 3K miles.  I’m not conspiracy theorist, but I know it’s not going to ruin your car if you go over that much.

9.  Wear gloves when you do yardwork.  I know it’s not manly, but even if you work for six seconds, you’re my son.  Thus, you’re bound to find the poison ivy.

10.  Stretch.  

I will continue this list later.  My pork chops are done.