I swear too much, and now my 23 month old son, Leo does too. I should be ashamed, but when I hear the words and see his angelic face, it’s awfully hard not to feel some pride. I’ve tried hard to curb my language in the presence of my son- but some people drive me over the edge. The other day I was on the phone with our health insurance company, Aetna, trying to renew a prescription. Believe me when I tell you that I would rather be a prisoner at Abu Ghraib circa 2004 than deal with Aetna regarding even the most trifling issue, and this instance was no different. The Aetna rep was trying to convince me- with all of the zeal of a Hitler Youth Group member- that my prescription- which is normally a $150 co-pay, should be $525. And 96 cents. At some point during our conversation, she elected to try to pawn me off on someone else. A common tactic for these types of scoundrels.
I listened to Bach for 35 minutes, preparing to battle with one of her colleagues, and then finally silence. Then the loud cacophony of that indescribable noise you hear when you’ve been disconnected. “F**K YOU!” I shouted into the receiver. Leo wasn’t in the room, but I was loud enough for him to hear me, and for the next hour or so, he sauntered around the house saying the same thing, but in a much cuter and provocative way. He’d say the first word like someone from South Boston, faahk, and would drag out the YOOOOOOOUUUUU, and then smile broadly, knowing that he was saying something naughty. Its funny, but when you strip away all of the customary anger from the phrase, and say it with a big smile, the words lose their normal connotation. My wife, Jen, however, was not nearly as amused by this as I was. We had to quarantine the boy in the house until he stopped saying it for fear that we’d lose custody of him when some over-officious soccer mom from our all too busybody neighborhood was told to f’ off by my charming 23 month old son.
On another recent occasion the word for the day was “bullshit.” Everything was “BOOOL-SHEEET!” It was so damn funny, I had to record the moment for posterity.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZXOFQsEwAbI Even while the camera rolled my wife was telling him it wasn’t a good word to say. His response? “BULLSHIT!” I guess the pride that I feel in him is bizarre- and my poor parenting here is something that could come back to haunt us when he tries to send us his therapy bills as an adult. But for now, I’m OK with letting my son imitate some of my less than truly outstanding character traits. Though I have to admit the one trait of mine he apes which is not amusing is his picky eating. The boy's diet is about as diverse as a Klu Klux Klan meeting in North Dakota. Perhaps though, Leo will inspire me to eat better and clean up my act. But don’t f*!ing count on it.
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Friday, December 12, 2008
Confessions of a New Father: Question: How Big is Leo? Answer: He's Getting Pretty Damn Big
Leo is now nearly fifteen months old and is already well on his way to being a big boy. How big, you might ask? My son could tell you: “Soooooooooooo Big.” That’s pretty damn big for those of you scoring along at home. Other questions we’ve taken to asking Leo include:
“How smart is Leo?”
“How handsome is Leo?”
“How gifted is Leo?”
The answer, which Leo invariably gives with a raise of both hands over his head as though he were in a sports arena doing the wave, is always, “So _______”
Luckily for him, we haven’t started to resort to trick questions yet like, “How smelly is Leo?” (hint: the answer is “So ____!”)
On November 2nd Leo was christened. Good thing for him too, because the devil was probably starting to wonder if the procrastinating parents were prepared to let him play for the wrong team. Leo was decked out like a little John Travolta circa the Saturday Night Fever era, with a stunning three piece dove white suit and tie, made complete by his curly, long locks (which have since been cut). Like most children, he wasn’t too stoked about being dunked in a cauldron of holy water, though after I lifted him out and the deacon said a few words, he then told the gathered audience to give Leo a little cheer. I hoisted the boy up and down over my head a few times and he delighted in the cries of “Yeah Leo!” that came from the pews. He is nothing if not a sucker for adulation-there are few things he enjoys more than hearing his name accompanied by a good round of applause.
Another significant milestone in Leo’s life was his first trip to the barbershop. We had to wait about an hour to have a private audience with Frank, my Sicilian-American barber from my grandma’s hometown of Villarosa, Sicily. Frank let Leo play on one of the vacant barber chairs and look at himself in the mirror. Leo was cool at the beginning of the cut, though his mood deteriorated rapidly as the cut wore on. Perhaps he wanted to wear his hair longer than Frank had in mind, but we’ll never know. Afterwards, we all repaired to a Greek dinner to split a massive chocolate milkshake- one of Leo’s favorites. The interesting thing about Leo and milkshakes though, is that he’s smart enough to not just want any old shake. One afternoon I brought him home one of those cheapie $1.50 shakes that comes out of a machine at a fast food restaurant and probably contains no actual milk or ice cream, thinking I was giving him a treat. He wanted no part of it. But offer the boy a sip of a $5 milkshake from the Oberweis Dairy, and he will howl with disgust if you try to take it away from him- even if its just you trying to get in a quick sip.
Leo started to walk about a month or so ago, and has actually gotten serious about it in the last couple weeks. The interesting thing about Leo’s walk is that its something of a cross between a drunken stagger and a confident swagger. Maybe we could call it a stwagger. He’s bold in the movement of his hips and in his pace- but he is also sometimes uncertain about whether he’ll careen out of control. Begin cliché’d, yet true, observation. Watching my son walk around the apartment is quite a site- somehow I just look at him and have a hard time believing how quickly he’s growing up. End cliché’d, yet true, observation. (I hope)
Leo’s a man of few, or more accurately, no real words at the moment, though he is fond of stringing together unrelated syllables and sounds. I’m fairly certain his first real, complete word is going to be “cookie.” Like his dad, he loves cookies, and is smart enough to know where we keep them. When he wants one, he points up to the cabinet and says loudly, “COOOH!” When I pull out the package he starts to smile and give himself a small round of applause. Yes, he must think, he’s going to get me a cookie, I’m training this sucker pretty good. Other foods that Leo likes include raspberries- he can eat them by the dozen- strawberries, soft pretzels, toast, jam, and teddy grahams. Boy can he take down the teddy grahams.
Of course, cookies and teddy grahams aren't his only guilty pleasures. He still enjoys breast milk as well- not so much for the milk itself mind you (he won't drink regular milk- only chocolate), but more for the sheer joie de vivre of it. When the chips are down- i.e. he's tired, hungry, bored, or has just had one of us take some item away from him when he was determined to have it- a little breast feeding is just the ticket to bring him down out of the doldrums or put him to sleep. Its also his early morning ritual. Typically sometime around 6.30 a.m. we'll hear some light clucking sounds emanating from his crib and echoing through our monitor system. The clucks become more insistent and louder if we try to ignore them and sleep in. Which we often do. Without success, I might add. When I liberate the boy from his crib and bring him into the bedroom, he reaches for Jen in bed instantaneously. I could easily sink into a pile of quicksand and the boy would not notice- which I'm ok with, given the circumstances.
After a brief and vigorous snack, the boy searches around our king size bed for the remote control, which he knows is the key to getting Sesame Street turned on. He'll snack a bit intermittently throughout the show, as red blooded Americans are wont to do, though rarely during the segments of his favorite characters- Elmo, Cookie Monster or Oscar the Grouch. Throughout the program though, he wants to have one hand on a breast- sometimes letting his little fingers just fish around as though he were reaching into a bowl of popcorn. Jen finds this habit to be most annoying and slightly embarrassing- particularly as he often starts putting his hand down her shirt in public when he wants a snack, though I do not fault the boy in the least. A young man needs something to fiddle with when he's watching telly or simply out in public having a good time, and a breast is just as good as a remote control or anything else. Begin cliché'd, yet true observation. Come to think of it, beyond breasts and remote controls, what else is there for the average American male? End, clichéd observation. (I hope) Whatever his motivations, its clear that the boy likes to breast-feed and weaning him is going to be a chore- though we hope to get it done sometime before he heads off to university. Breast feeding is Leo's way of unwinding after or before a long, stressful day of throwing food and toys and making random unintelligible proclamations, so we aren't ready to deny him the pleasure just yet.
Parents often like to speculate on what their children are going to be when they grow up. Typically that speculation involves lofty, high profile callings like law, medicine, garbage collecting or professional wrestling. I actually think Leo's going to be a demolition crew member. Who knows, maybe even a demolition crew leader. We do dare to dream in this household. The kid likes to destroy stuff. I bought him a whole bunch of elaborate Lego Duplo's a couple weeks ago in the hopes it would inspire him to build. I make him all kinds of elaborate stuff with them to get him interested in them, but all he wants to do is essentially wreck them. I build, he demolishes. The grander my structure, the more his glee as he dismantles it. Try to read the boy a book, he tries to rip the pages. Provide him with an in-flight magazine (we do this only if there is a significant delay) and he'll happily shred it. Ok, so perhaps his destructive tendencies aren't always a bad thing. If the demolition stuff doesn't pan out, he could also be a cable guy, as he loves to play with cords and wires.
Leo's a happy kid though, I must say. His default setting is a mischievous smile and a laugh. His laugh is one of the most pleasant sounds I've ever heard. It's impossible for me to be down about anything at all, when my son is happy. On rare occasions when he is angry- usually when something has been unjustifiably (in his mind) taken away from him- his look of disgust is almost comical, and we try hard not to laugh at him. I feel pride in him in even the oddest things- a particularly loud burp, a prominent fart, his propensity for gobbling cookies, when he throws a piece of food clear across the room! Damn, he's good, I think to myself, or sometimes out loud. I guess that, for a father, there is nothing more gratifying than seeing your son demonstrate your own traits, even if they aren't ones you are really proud of.
“How smart is Leo?”
“How handsome is Leo?”
“How gifted is Leo?”
The answer, which Leo invariably gives with a raise of both hands over his head as though he were in a sports arena doing the wave, is always, “So _______”
Luckily for him, we haven’t started to resort to trick questions yet like, “How smelly is Leo?” (hint: the answer is “So ____!”)
On November 2nd Leo was christened. Good thing for him too, because the devil was probably starting to wonder if the procrastinating parents were prepared to let him play for the wrong team. Leo was decked out like a little John Travolta circa the Saturday Night Fever era, with a stunning three piece dove white suit and tie, made complete by his curly, long locks (which have since been cut). Like most children, he wasn’t too stoked about being dunked in a cauldron of holy water, though after I lifted him out and the deacon said a few words, he then told the gathered audience to give Leo a little cheer. I hoisted the boy up and down over my head a few times and he delighted in the cries of “Yeah Leo!” that came from the pews. He is nothing if not a sucker for adulation-there are few things he enjoys more than hearing his name accompanied by a good round of applause.
Another significant milestone in Leo’s life was his first trip to the barbershop. We had to wait about an hour to have a private audience with Frank, my Sicilian-American barber from my grandma’s hometown of Villarosa, Sicily. Frank let Leo play on one of the vacant barber chairs and look at himself in the mirror. Leo was cool at the beginning of the cut, though his mood deteriorated rapidly as the cut wore on. Perhaps he wanted to wear his hair longer than Frank had in mind, but we’ll never know. Afterwards, we all repaired to a Greek dinner to split a massive chocolate milkshake- one of Leo’s favorites. The interesting thing about Leo and milkshakes though, is that he’s smart enough to not just want any old shake. One afternoon I brought him home one of those cheapie $1.50 shakes that comes out of a machine at a fast food restaurant and probably contains no actual milk or ice cream, thinking I was giving him a treat. He wanted no part of it. But offer the boy a sip of a $5 milkshake from the Oberweis Dairy, and he will howl with disgust if you try to take it away from him- even if its just you trying to get in a quick sip.
Leo started to walk about a month or so ago, and has actually gotten serious about it in the last couple weeks. The interesting thing about Leo’s walk is that its something of a cross between a drunken stagger and a confident swagger. Maybe we could call it a stwagger. He’s bold in the movement of his hips and in his pace- but he is also sometimes uncertain about whether he’ll careen out of control. Begin cliché’d, yet true, observation. Watching my son walk around the apartment is quite a site- somehow I just look at him and have a hard time believing how quickly he’s growing up. End cliché’d, yet true, observation. (I hope)
Leo’s a man of few, or more accurately, no real words at the moment, though he is fond of stringing together unrelated syllables and sounds. I’m fairly certain his first real, complete word is going to be “cookie.” Like his dad, he loves cookies, and is smart enough to know where we keep them. When he wants one, he points up to the cabinet and says loudly, “COOOH!” When I pull out the package he starts to smile and give himself a small round of applause. Yes, he must think, he’s going to get me a cookie, I’m training this sucker pretty good. Other foods that Leo likes include raspberries- he can eat them by the dozen- strawberries, soft pretzels, toast, jam, and teddy grahams. Boy can he take down the teddy grahams.
Of course, cookies and teddy grahams aren't his only guilty pleasures. He still enjoys breast milk as well- not so much for the milk itself mind you (he won't drink regular milk- only chocolate), but more for the sheer joie de vivre of it. When the chips are down- i.e. he's tired, hungry, bored, or has just had one of us take some item away from him when he was determined to have it- a little breast feeding is just the ticket to bring him down out of the doldrums or put him to sleep. Its also his early morning ritual. Typically sometime around 6.30 a.m. we'll hear some light clucking sounds emanating from his crib and echoing through our monitor system. The clucks become more insistent and louder if we try to ignore them and sleep in. Which we often do. Without success, I might add. When I liberate the boy from his crib and bring him into the bedroom, he reaches for Jen in bed instantaneously. I could easily sink into a pile of quicksand and the boy would not notice- which I'm ok with, given the circumstances.
After a brief and vigorous snack, the boy searches around our king size bed for the remote control, which he knows is the key to getting Sesame Street turned on. He'll snack a bit intermittently throughout the show, as red blooded Americans are wont to do, though rarely during the segments of his favorite characters- Elmo, Cookie Monster or Oscar the Grouch. Throughout the program though, he wants to have one hand on a breast- sometimes letting his little fingers just fish around as though he were reaching into a bowl of popcorn. Jen finds this habit to be most annoying and slightly embarrassing- particularly as he often starts putting his hand down her shirt in public when he wants a snack, though I do not fault the boy in the least. A young man needs something to fiddle with when he's watching telly or simply out in public having a good time, and a breast is just as good as a remote control or anything else. Begin cliché'd, yet true observation. Come to think of it, beyond breasts and remote controls, what else is there for the average American male? End, clichéd observation. (I hope) Whatever his motivations, its clear that the boy likes to breast-feed and weaning him is going to be a chore- though we hope to get it done sometime before he heads off to university. Breast feeding is Leo's way of unwinding after or before a long, stressful day of throwing food and toys and making random unintelligible proclamations, so we aren't ready to deny him the pleasure just yet.
Parents often like to speculate on what their children are going to be when they grow up. Typically that speculation involves lofty, high profile callings like law, medicine, garbage collecting or professional wrestling. I actually think Leo's going to be a demolition crew member. Who knows, maybe even a demolition crew leader. We do dare to dream in this household. The kid likes to destroy stuff. I bought him a whole bunch of elaborate Lego Duplo's a couple weeks ago in the hopes it would inspire him to build. I make him all kinds of elaborate stuff with them to get him interested in them, but all he wants to do is essentially wreck them. I build, he demolishes. The grander my structure, the more his glee as he dismantles it. Try to read the boy a book, he tries to rip the pages. Provide him with an in-flight magazine (we do this only if there is a significant delay) and he'll happily shred it. Ok, so perhaps his destructive tendencies aren't always a bad thing. If the demolition stuff doesn't pan out, he could also be a cable guy, as he loves to play with cords and wires.
Leo's a happy kid though, I must say. His default setting is a mischievous smile and a laugh. His laugh is one of the most pleasant sounds I've ever heard. It's impossible for me to be down about anything at all, when my son is happy. On rare occasions when he is angry- usually when something has been unjustifiably (in his mind) taken away from him- his look of disgust is almost comical, and we try hard not to laugh at him. I feel pride in him in even the oddest things- a particularly loud burp, a prominent fart, his propensity for gobbling cookies, when he throws a piece of food clear across the room! Damn, he's good, I think to myself, or sometimes out loud. I guess that, for a father, there is nothing more gratifying than seeing your son demonstrate your own traits, even if they aren't ones you are really proud of.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Confessions of a New Father: 8 States in 8 Months
Leo is now eight months old and has already lived a richer, fuller life than most of the people you see on Wife Swap- save for perhaps the family of traveling carnies that was on recently. (I swear I don't watch this show regularly) They had it pretty good. But Leo has been living a bit of la vida loca himself lately. He's already been to two NHL games, two MLB games, and done enough airline travel to know that when the pilot says, "we'll be getting cleared for takeoff shortly," that he needn't rush to secure his seat back or tray table. He's also learned that, if its raining, even sprinkling anywhere in the continental United States, Alaska, Puerto Rico, or Guam, the airlines will claim that the delays you are suffering through are related to "bad weather" rather than their own general ineptitude- even if you are flying from Cedar Rapids to Des Moines, and the bad weather is in the Netherlands Antilles.
Leo has flown to Buffalo, New York, Boston, Albuquerque (might I suggest that this city change its name to someting easier to spell?) and San Jose. He's been a real trooper on each and every flight- and that is saying something in this era of no-frills, hi-cost, delay ridden domestic travel. On our trip home from California, we had to sit on the runway at O'hare for "just a few moments" because our gate was occupied. The "few moments" turned into just under an hour on a sweltering hot plane filled with angry people. Leo was perhaps the most content chap on the plane, however, as we authorized him to shred the in-flight and Sky Mall magazines in his seat. For some reason the boy loves to rip and shred documents. He would probably fit in nicely on Hillary Clinton or Scooter Libby's staff in that regard.
We also had to sit on a hot plane at Logan for 2 hours before our flight took off a few months ago. He was also allowed to shred during that delay as well, so the basic rule of thumb has become: if there is a delay, the boy gets to rip, otherwise he has to make due with crawling around our laps and trying to eat whatever he can get his hands on. Lord knows its not easy to avoid hunger in the air these days- you're lucky if you get a bag of peanuts, even on a long haul flight.
Being a handsome eight month old boy certainly has its advantages. Leo has strangers doting on him wherever he goes, and he lapps up the attention like a hungry dog- returning every smile that comes his way and making friends wherever he goes. Leo is so popular,that when we're in an enclosed space with a stranger that doesn't remark on him, we find ourselves wondering about the deficiencies in that persons character. A small sample size of the people that Leo has charmed lately: a cashier at a health food store in Nederland, Colorado that wanted to hold him, the Mexican waitresses at Nuevo Leon in the Pilsen neighborhood of Chicago- who like to carry Leo around the restaraunt and speak to him in Spanish, the concierges at the Hyatt in Denver- who remembered Leo by name and wanted to know about his every move in their city, the staff members of several wineries in the Sonoma Valley who no doubt poured us better wine because they liked Leo so much, and a slew of high school girls that played peek a boo with him for half of our flight home from Denver. Someday I aspire to be as popular as my son is now, or as my dog Homer used to be, but I'm not holding my breath.
Meanwhile, the boy's development is pretty astonishing. He can shimmy around the house as though he were a NAVY SEAL stealthily sneaking up a hill along enemy lines. Aside from shimmying and shredding, he also loves to handle cords, wires, remote controls, cable boxes, and/or any other electrical devices he can get his hands on. If he did't have my genes, I'd say he might make a really good electrician when he grows up. He's a damn good traveler-in fact, he probably throws less tantrums than his dad does while on the road. As far as his reading habits go, he's still a bit more into chewing on his literature, which is probably a good thing- the boy's a deep thinker that likes to work through the ideas in his own way. Recently, Leo learned how to use his mom's stomache to make fart noises- and this makes him very happy. He still loves to breast-feed, but he's no longer into the traditional sit down at the table kind of meal anymore. No sir- he likes to feed standing up, or better yet, take ocassional sips while jumping on his mom as though she were a trampoline while intermittently looking at me to see if I'm looking at him.
The most remarkable thing about this age, IMO, is how infectious his smile and laugh are. Leo is one happy little guy- and when he's laughing and smiling and squeling, flashing his two little teeth, you really can't help but feel the warm glow of his charm. Of course, the boy is still not without his peculiarities and phobias. His smile turns to howls of anger when you have to take his shirt on or off. Don't even think about trying to strap him into a car seat, stroller, hi-chair, etc- if he's in a cranky mood, and, don't even think about putting that damn suction thing he hates up his nose to suck boogers out. He hasn't yet learned to throw a tantrum when you take something away from him, though, and we aren't planning on giving him any lessons in this behavior either.
Leo is 3/4 of a year old- and he has improved the quality of our lives immensely- when I'm gone, I miss him within an hour, and when I get home, I practically want to run up the steps to get my hands on him. More experienced parents say it'll just keep getting better. Ummm, right, but only up until a point right? When they start requesting Hannah Montana tickets and iphones- surely that won't be better than the hi-times we are having now?
Leo has flown to Buffalo, New York, Boston, Albuquerque (might I suggest that this city change its name to someting easier to spell?) and San Jose. He's been a real trooper on each and every flight- and that is saying something in this era of no-frills, hi-cost, delay ridden domestic travel. On our trip home from California, we had to sit on the runway at O'hare for "just a few moments" because our gate was occupied. The "few moments" turned into just under an hour on a sweltering hot plane filled with angry people. Leo was perhaps the most content chap on the plane, however, as we authorized him to shred the in-flight and Sky Mall magazines in his seat. For some reason the boy loves to rip and shred documents. He would probably fit in nicely on Hillary Clinton or Scooter Libby's staff in that regard.
We also had to sit on a hot plane at Logan for 2 hours before our flight took off a few months ago. He was also allowed to shred during that delay as well, so the basic rule of thumb has become: if there is a delay, the boy gets to rip, otherwise he has to make due with crawling around our laps and trying to eat whatever he can get his hands on. Lord knows its not easy to avoid hunger in the air these days- you're lucky if you get a bag of peanuts, even on a long haul flight.
Being a handsome eight month old boy certainly has its advantages. Leo has strangers doting on him wherever he goes, and he lapps up the attention like a hungry dog- returning every smile that comes his way and making friends wherever he goes. Leo is so popular,that when we're in an enclosed space with a stranger that doesn't remark on him, we find ourselves wondering about the deficiencies in that persons character. A small sample size of the people that Leo has charmed lately: a cashier at a health food store in Nederland, Colorado that wanted to hold him, the Mexican waitresses at Nuevo Leon in the Pilsen neighborhood of Chicago- who like to carry Leo around the restaraunt and speak to him in Spanish, the concierges at the Hyatt in Denver- who remembered Leo by name and wanted to know about his every move in their city, the staff members of several wineries in the Sonoma Valley who no doubt poured us better wine because they liked Leo so much, and a slew of high school girls that played peek a boo with him for half of our flight home from Denver. Someday I aspire to be as popular as my son is now, or as my dog Homer used to be, but I'm not holding my breath.
Meanwhile, the boy's development is pretty astonishing. He can shimmy around the house as though he were a NAVY SEAL stealthily sneaking up a hill along enemy lines. Aside from shimmying and shredding, he also loves to handle cords, wires, remote controls, cable boxes, and/or any other electrical devices he can get his hands on. If he did't have my genes, I'd say he might make a really good electrician when he grows up. He's a damn good traveler-in fact, he probably throws less tantrums than his dad does while on the road. As far as his reading habits go, he's still a bit more into chewing on his literature, which is probably a good thing- the boy's a deep thinker that likes to work through the ideas in his own way. Recently, Leo learned how to use his mom's stomache to make fart noises- and this makes him very happy. He still loves to breast-feed, but he's no longer into the traditional sit down at the table kind of meal anymore. No sir- he likes to feed standing up, or better yet, take ocassional sips while jumping on his mom as though she were a trampoline while intermittently looking at me to see if I'm looking at him.
The most remarkable thing about this age, IMO, is how infectious his smile and laugh are. Leo is one happy little guy- and when he's laughing and smiling and squeling, flashing his two little teeth, you really can't help but feel the warm glow of his charm. Of course, the boy is still not without his peculiarities and phobias. His smile turns to howls of anger when you have to take his shirt on or off. Don't even think about trying to strap him into a car seat, stroller, hi-chair, etc- if he's in a cranky mood, and, don't even think about putting that damn suction thing he hates up his nose to suck boogers out. He hasn't yet learned to throw a tantrum when you take something away from him, though, and we aren't planning on giving him any lessons in this behavior either.
Leo is 3/4 of a year old- and he has improved the quality of our lives immensely- when I'm gone, I miss him within an hour, and when I get home, I practically want to run up the steps to get my hands on him. More experienced parents say it'll just keep getting better. Ummm, right, but only up until a point right? When they start requesting Hannah Montana tickets and iphones- surely that won't be better than the hi-times we are having now?
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Confessions of a New Father Part Four
Countdown to Armageddon
February 8- the date loomed before me ominously on the calendar. My wife, Jen, needed to travel to Washington, D.C. for a meeting, and I was to be left nominally in charge of my four month old son, Leo, for an intimidating fifteen consecutive hours. I say nominally, because, in fairness, he is always more in control of the situation than I am- he has the power to make life very pleasant or quite miserable, depending on his whims and fancies. The longest I’d ever been in sole custody of my son prior to the dooms-date was about 3-4 hours, so I was fairly worried about how we’d both make it through the day.
My fears intensified in the days leading up to the dooms-date as we practiced bottle-feeding Leo in preparation for the big day. As I’ve noted before, Leo is a big fan of breast-feeding, and will only deign to bottle-feed if he is desperately hungry, and even then, he makes it abundantly clear that he views the whole bottle thing as an affront- an assault, in fact, on his good name. As soon as you pull the damn bottle out, you get a look that says, you expect me to lower myself to this indignity? And our prep feedings in the lead up to dooms-day were worse than ever. Leo would grudgingly allow his mom to bottle-feed him, but wanted nothing to do with me when I’d try to assume the position. Every time I’d get the bottle near his face, he’d swat it away, with a shockingly powerful thrust, almost like Shacquille O’Neil stuffing an opponent in the paint- get that shit outta here!
So I took to employing unusual, coercive tactics on him, as though I were some unethical government operative dealing with an uncooperative detainee at Guantanomo Bay. It was relatively easy to smother one of his arms up against my body and hold it there, but subduing the second arm, in order to prevent him from swatting away his bottle like a meddlesome fly, proved somewhat more difficult. The problem is, that when he’s dealing with me, he’ll only consider eating from the bottle when I’m standing up, and preferably when I’m upright and walking. Please don’t ask me why, but I have the feeling it has something to do with him making sure that I’m as uncomfortable as possible- I guess he figures that if he’s losing the breast, that he’s at least going to make sure I’m not happy either. So one of my arms is occupied holding him, and the other arm is holding the bottle- so subduing Leo’s second arm is something of a challenge. I’ve tried placing something interesting in his hand for him to grasp- but that usually only works momentarily- until he decides he wants to swat the bottle. I can try to reach around and physically restrain his second arm, but that makes him angry and it’s hard to hold him that way anyways. The last thing that entered my mind was handcuffs- but I soon thought better of it, remembering that in this country, you could probably lose custody for employing such a tactic.
A Crisis Averted
Jen left us around 5.30AM on March 8, and even before she was out the door, Leo was crying. Only 15 more hours of this, I told myself, fully expecting the boy to be inconsolable for the entire time his mom was away. At four months, he was already a moma’s boy, and this was going to be his first time without Jen for an extended period. I was certain that we were going to have a miserable time together. I put my head right up against my son- with my forehead flush up against his, and said something to the effect of, “Its just you and me today, tough guy, like or not, I’m all you’ve got.” A couple minutes later he stopped crying and we drifted off back to sleep together. I woke up some time later and was reassured to see the boy lying perpendicular to me on the bed, still asleep. I looked at my watch and was stunned, and frankly thrilled to see that it was 8.15! How on earth had we slept in so late?
Leo woke up a few minutes later, and I brought him on a little tour of our apartment, poking him in and out of every room, pointedly showing him that his mom was nowhere to be found. Everywhere we went, he was sort of craning his neck, looking to see where his mom was. Again, I worried that he’d melt down. But a remarkable thing happened- the boy rolled with it, and we ended up having a great day together. He still wasn’t happy about the whole bottle-feeding arrangement- but he did it with some coaxing- and he behaved like a gentleman for nearly the whole day. Normally, I’m accustomed to being second fiddle around the house- and I’ve come to grips with the fact that Leo would rather usually be with his mom- but on this day, he seemed to understand that I was the only game in town, and he adjusted his behavior to me accordingly, treating me to dozens of smiles and laughs the whole day.
Later in the afternoon, Jen’s mom, Kathy relieved me for a few hours and I was able to run some errands, and Jen ended up coming home on an earlier flight that evening. Leo and I had managed to make it though the day together- he tired me out but was a really good kid-but I was happy to hand him over to Jen when she got home, but part of me was already missing the good times Leo and I had together. “Someone’s happy to see his mom,” I told Leo as I handed him over to his beaming mother. For some reason, we often refer to Leo by the word “someone” instead of Leo, as in, “someone filled up his diaper,” or “someone woke up on the wrong side of his Moses basket today.” Somehow in our weird parental parlance, someone=Leo. “He doesn’t’ seem that happy to see me!” Jen complained as Leo sat content, but not ecstatic in her arms. “Jen, he’s not like a dog that’s going to attack you at the door, and its not like he didn’t have fun with me today,” I told her. The sheriff was back in town, and I knew I was again going to be relegated to deputy, but, as I lay down on the sofa and unfurled my newspaper, I felt pretty good about it.
February 8- the date loomed before me ominously on the calendar. My wife, Jen, needed to travel to Washington, D.C. for a meeting, and I was to be left nominally in charge of my four month old son, Leo, for an intimidating fifteen consecutive hours. I say nominally, because, in fairness, he is always more in control of the situation than I am- he has the power to make life very pleasant or quite miserable, depending on his whims and fancies. The longest I’d ever been in sole custody of my son prior to the dooms-date was about 3-4 hours, so I was fairly worried about how we’d both make it through the day.
My fears intensified in the days leading up to the dooms-date as we practiced bottle-feeding Leo in preparation for the big day. As I’ve noted before, Leo is a big fan of breast-feeding, and will only deign to bottle-feed if he is desperately hungry, and even then, he makes it abundantly clear that he views the whole bottle thing as an affront- an assault, in fact, on his good name. As soon as you pull the damn bottle out, you get a look that says, you expect me to lower myself to this indignity? And our prep feedings in the lead up to dooms-day were worse than ever. Leo would grudgingly allow his mom to bottle-feed him, but wanted nothing to do with me when I’d try to assume the position. Every time I’d get the bottle near his face, he’d swat it away, with a shockingly powerful thrust, almost like Shacquille O’Neil stuffing an opponent in the paint- get that shit outta here!
So I took to employing unusual, coercive tactics on him, as though I were some unethical government operative dealing with an uncooperative detainee at Guantanomo Bay. It was relatively easy to smother one of his arms up against my body and hold it there, but subduing the second arm, in order to prevent him from swatting away his bottle like a meddlesome fly, proved somewhat more difficult. The problem is, that when he’s dealing with me, he’ll only consider eating from the bottle when I’m standing up, and preferably when I’m upright and walking. Please don’t ask me why, but I have the feeling it has something to do with him making sure that I’m as uncomfortable as possible- I guess he figures that if he’s losing the breast, that he’s at least going to make sure I’m not happy either. So one of my arms is occupied holding him, and the other arm is holding the bottle- so subduing Leo’s second arm is something of a challenge. I’ve tried placing something interesting in his hand for him to grasp- but that usually only works momentarily- until he decides he wants to swat the bottle. I can try to reach around and physically restrain his second arm, but that makes him angry and it’s hard to hold him that way anyways. The last thing that entered my mind was handcuffs- but I soon thought better of it, remembering that in this country, you could probably lose custody for employing such a tactic.
A Crisis Averted
Jen left us around 5.30AM on March 8, and even before she was out the door, Leo was crying. Only 15 more hours of this, I told myself, fully expecting the boy to be inconsolable for the entire time his mom was away. At four months, he was already a moma’s boy, and this was going to be his first time without Jen for an extended period. I was certain that we were going to have a miserable time together. I put my head right up against my son- with my forehead flush up against his, and said something to the effect of, “Its just you and me today, tough guy, like or not, I’m all you’ve got.” A couple minutes later he stopped crying and we drifted off back to sleep together. I woke up some time later and was reassured to see the boy lying perpendicular to me on the bed, still asleep. I looked at my watch and was stunned, and frankly thrilled to see that it was 8.15! How on earth had we slept in so late?
Leo woke up a few minutes later, and I brought him on a little tour of our apartment, poking him in and out of every room, pointedly showing him that his mom was nowhere to be found. Everywhere we went, he was sort of craning his neck, looking to see where his mom was. Again, I worried that he’d melt down. But a remarkable thing happened- the boy rolled with it, and we ended up having a great day together. He still wasn’t happy about the whole bottle-feeding arrangement- but he did it with some coaxing- and he behaved like a gentleman for nearly the whole day. Normally, I’m accustomed to being second fiddle around the house- and I’ve come to grips with the fact that Leo would rather usually be with his mom- but on this day, he seemed to understand that I was the only game in town, and he adjusted his behavior to me accordingly, treating me to dozens of smiles and laughs the whole day.
Later in the afternoon, Jen’s mom, Kathy relieved me for a few hours and I was able to run some errands, and Jen ended up coming home on an earlier flight that evening. Leo and I had managed to make it though the day together- he tired me out but was a really good kid-but I was happy to hand him over to Jen when she got home, but part of me was already missing the good times Leo and I had together. “Someone’s happy to see his mom,” I told Leo as I handed him over to his beaming mother. For some reason, we often refer to Leo by the word “someone” instead of Leo, as in, “someone filled up his diaper,” or “someone woke up on the wrong side of his Moses basket today.” Somehow in our weird parental parlance, someone=Leo. “He doesn’t’ seem that happy to see me!” Jen complained as Leo sat content, but not ecstatic in her arms. “Jen, he’s not like a dog that’s going to attack you at the door, and its not like he didn’t have fun with me today,” I told her. The sheriff was back in town, and I knew I was again going to be relegated to deputy, but, as I lay down on the sofa and unfurled my newspaper, I felt pretty good about it.
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