The Vanishing Spit-Up

GWE discovered that if you let Garrett have 30-40 sucks on the bottle and then immediately burp him, he has a much better chance of not spitting up all over himself, us, the furniture, the plants, the aquarium, etc. We’ve been diligent about getting a burp out of him before we continue to feed him. Last night was no different – It was just past 1am and I had just finished feeding Garrett his bottle. I burped him well and then he lazily “lounged” in my arms in his milk-drunk stupor.

After his feeding, I decided that I was hungry as well. So, I went into the kitchen and made a small bowl of cereal – Frosted Mini-Wheats to be precise. With Garrett cradled in one arm and a cold bowl of cereal in the other, I made my way back to the sofa to watch a little television. As I sat, I balanced Garrett on my left leg and placed the cereal bowl between my legs. I had a bite or two of cereal when all of a sudden Garrett’s eyes popped open. He “flung” his little body forward and proceeded to make a burp/spit-up/heaving sound that reminded me of a large cat coughing up a wet fur ball.

Immediately, I assumed that he spit-up everywhere. I was waiting for the hot (and then instantly cold) splash of vomit to cover my shirt and pants…..but nothing. I looked at my clothes, no spit up. I checked out his Onesie, no spit-up. I looked on the sofa, no spit-up. I looked at the carpet, still – no spit-up. At that point, I thought that I was in the clear – no spit-up! It was just an awful burp.

And then I looked at my lap and saw the bowl of cereal…..my WHITE, MILKY cereal. His head has been directly over it when he burped. I honestly couldn’t tell if there was spit-up in my cereal or not. It looked ok….but all of his spit-ups look WHITE and MILKY!!! I used the spoon to poke at each exposed mini-wheat. Nothing……

At 1:15am I seriously thought – “do I continue eating the cereal or not?” I looked into Garrett’s eyes for answers. He stared back at me, smiled, and then farted.

I decided to throw the cereal out.

Boy – I’m Gonna Make You Squeal like a Pig!

As you may remember, Justin had an accident involving a treadmill, a box of winter clothes, and an idiot parent who was only three feet away. (If not, you can read about it here.) This story has taken an unexpected twist in the past 24 hours. It turns out that the “accident” was only the second most traumatic event Justin experienced this week. What has turned out to be far more psychologically damaging to both Justin and I was the process know as “Band Aid Removal.”

Justin has one large band aid on his elbow and another large one on his thigh. Both needed to be removed yesterday before I could give him a shower. A few times over the course of the evening, I casually mentioned to Justin that we needed to take his bandages off, but it wasn’t until I got off the sofa that he realized what was about to happen. He immediately ran off and I discovered him hiding under his bed.

I ended up closing his bedroom door just to make sure that he couldn’t escape and I began to negotiate with him. He was having none of that. Justin kept telling me “It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt.” and I kept assuring him that I would rip the Band Aids off quickly to minimize the pain. I then pointed to the ceiling with one hand, tried the “Hey – look over there” method, and then attempted to rip off the Band Aid with the other hand while he wasn’t looking. That failed and Justin yelled “NO DADDY, NOOOOOOO” while squishing himself into the corner of his room to get away from me.

I then tried again to coax him out with promises of toys and stories of how I had much bigger boo boos when I was a little boy, but he kept flailing his arm to try and get me to go away. (All of this while crying, mind you.) In a flash, I quickly grabbed his floundering arm, yanked him forward onto the bed, and attacked the Band Aid again. Justin was screaming bloody murder and began punching me in the face with his free elbow. I took blow after blow to the head while trying to get the corner of the Band Aid to lift off of his skin – but the damn thing was stuck! Finally, after pinning Justin down like an out-of-control prisoner on death row, I was able to tear off the Band Aid! Justin screamed as if I had just ripped his whole leg off. With all of his strength, he pushed me away and scampered back to his corner – all the while screaming “AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH.”

There we were – Justin on one side of the room crying and nursing his wound and me in the other corner of the room trying to consol myself after “attacking” Justin. I kept telling myself that they had to come off or his bruises would have gotten infected. The two of us were in shock and breathing heavily like warriors coming off the battlefield.

GWE peeked her head inside and told us to keep it down or someone was going to call Social Services. And then she said, “Oh, and don’t forget about the other Band Aid.” Justin and I looked at each other and thought the same thing – “SHIT!”

Justin made a run for the door. I grabbed him by the leg as he was halfway out and I took him down to the ground in the hallway. Once again, I pounced on top of him as he screamed “GET OFF DADDY, GET OFF,” but I just couldn’t. I had to get that last Band Aid off! He screamed and kicked and I kept trying to find the edge of the bandage. With the heel of his foot, he blasted me in the forehead twice – but I would not give up! Finally, I heard RRRRRIIIPPPPP! I had it! I had the Band Aid in my hand.

With tears rolling down his cheeks, he scooted away from me, looked at me with distain and said. “I don’t like you daddy. You’re not my best friend anymore!!” And with that he stormed off looking for mommy.

I laid on the ground for an extra minute or two thinking – “I am such an asshole. He is never going to trust me again.”

Ten minutes later, he was fine. I was still an asshole.

…But it goes to Eleven!

Let me preface this story by explaining that 1) I was three feet away from Justin when the event happened, 2) He was completely supervised, and 3) Accidents happen even when you are looking!

Halloween was over and I removed all of the decorations from the front of the house. As I do every year, I place everything in a giant black bag and store it in the corner of the garage next to the sub-zero freezer. However, this “corner” of the garage had become the Bermuda Triangle and items that were stored there tended to get lost forever. So this year, I decided to clean out that area of the garage. And, to my surprise, I had a volunteer! Justin asked to help me, which I was very excited about (until I realized that he was using me – for my TV.)

GWE and I are in the process of cutting back Justin’s television viewing time (which is odd considering that’s how I make a living.) When I told Justin that I was going into the garage, he clearly saw an opportunity. He thought “Hey – there is a TV in the garage!” Then he thought, “Daddy’s a sucker and if I’m nice to him, he’ll let me watch a movie.” (I am and I did.) The television is on a stand facing my treadmill so I can watch it when I work out. Justin decided to sit on the bottom of the treadmill and look up at the television.

However, while looking up, Justin noticed all the “bells and whistles” on my treadmill and begged me to turn it on. Since HE WAS SUPERVISED, I decided there would be no harm in turning it on and I put it on the lowest setting – .5. He got up and began walking a half a mile an hour. He said “faster daddy, faster.” I agreed and then put it on 1. Now, he was “speeding” at one mile an hour. And, again, he said “faster.” This time I said “no.”

At that point, I saw him put his hand on the control panel and press “10” (the highest setting) – and then time itself slowed down. I heard the engine kick into high gear and then looked at Justin as he stared back at me. He then said “daddy?” and then “daddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddy……” as his little legs tried to keep up with the track. I reached out, but it was too late. He lost his footing, fell onto his hands and knees, and then finally – his 62 lb body was “shot” backwards at 10 miles an hour into a cardboard box of winter clothes. He collapsed between the box and the rotating tread which continued to “eat” his arm and leg.

I quickly raced over to him, yanked the emergency stop cord, and lifted the treadmill off of him. He looked completely shocked and began to cry while holding his wounds. I quickly scooped him up and brought him into the house. GWE bandaged him up and made sure to kiss his boo-boos.

After the ordeal was over, he came over to me and said, “That was awesome, but I don’t want to do 10 anymore.”

Just a Little off the Top

The clock was ticking. Garrett only had seven days left with his penis intact. I begged him to “use it or lose it,” but he ignored my advice and wisdom. Instead, he continued to drool on himself and poop into a diaper. On the eighth day, (like a gunslinger in the Old West) the Mohel arrived on our doorstep looking for my baby’s schmeckel. He was carrying a satchel of tools, a few extra Tallit (religious robes), and a gleam in his eye. Someone was about to lose their foreskin!

For those of you who don’t know, Jewish law states that a circumcision is a ‘mitzva aseh” (“positive commandment” to perform an act) and is obligatory for Jewish-born males. It is performed at a “party” where family members and close friends gather to hear the child’s Hebrew name, watch a foreskin cutting, and then nosh on mini deli sandwiches. At this party, it is better to be a guest than the Guest of Honor!

Justin’s circumcision was the first one I had attended. It was done by Dr. Fred Kogen. He performed a wonderful, heartfelt ceremony and then he proceeded to remove by son’s foreskin with three or four quick moves. I remember thinking, if he’s this good at circumcision – I bet he’s got fantastic turkey-carving skills at Thanksgiving!

For Garrett’s circumcision, we asked Dr. Kogen to return to do the honors. Once again, he performed a touching ceremony! However, without going into too much detail about the actual procedure, I can tell you that Garrett’s reaction was far different than Justin’s. When Justin was clipped, he cried (even though he was completely numb.) When the time came for Garrett to get cut, we laid him on the table in front of the Mohel. Grandpa Bob held his upper body in place as I held down his right leg and my father held down his left leg. And then, there was silence…..

In the few seconds before the Mohel went to work, Garrett stared at all four of us defiantly. The look in his eyes said, “I know what you’re about to do. Go ahead and take it! I’ve got eight more inches to work with!!”

After it was all said and done (and in accordance with Jewish ritual), I took Garrett’s foreskin (and the umbilical cord that had just fallen off) and went outside to bury it. To this day, Justin and Garrett’s foreskins are buried next to each other under my lemon tree.

If my lemon tree ever decides to produce fruit and I’m able to make juice out of the lemons, I will bottle it like a fine wine and label it, ”Dos Prepucio Vineyards” aka (“Two Foreskin Vineyards”)

My Life with a 9 lb. Terrorist

It is 3:54am and I am awake. I am not tired….I passed “tired” four days ago. However, being awake at this time of night does have its advantages. I usually have my moments of greatest clarity in the middle of the night when I am alone and the world is quiet. Tonight is no different.

I love this kid and he is truly amazing. BUT….I’ve been thinking about Garrett and what this new child has “inflicted” on us since his birth and I have come to one simple realization – my baby is a terrorist!! Even though he is two weeks old, he has managed to effectively use both psychological and chemical warfare on us. He has performed torture techniques on GWE and I that would make a Guantanamo Bay guard blush!

The psychological attacks came first and in two forms. The first was the sleep deprivation. Neither GWE nor I have slept more than a few hours consecutively since Garrett’s birth. I realize that I have less to complain about than GWE (since she was the one actually delivering our massive child while I sat nearby taking pictures), but damn it – I’m tired too! We started off with an hour of sleep here and there. Now we’re up to three consecutive hours of sleep – sometimes. Any normal person can handle that for a few days….but, after a few weeks it starts to take its toll. I knew I was tired, but didn’t realize it fell into the category of “deprivation” until I looked it up and realized that I had a number of the symptoms: muscles tremors, memory confusion (someone asked me for my cell number and I honestly could not remember it!), bloodshot eyes, irrational irritability (hey – fuck you, you fucking fuck!!), and malaise. There have been a couple of times over the past two weeks when I’ve had trouble retaining a coherent thought. I now know what Dr. John was singing about when he wrote, “Brain Salad Surgery!”

The second was “the crying.” With our first son, we decided to try using the “Dunstan Language” to decipher what he wanted. “Neh” meant “Hungry”; “Eh” meant “Chest Gassy”; “Err” meant “Butt Gassy.” It worked well and we were able to communicate with Justin from birth. Garrett has proven more of a challenge. All we’re able to hear from him is “WWWHHHHAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!” Yes, there are only three things that he could need at this point in his short life, but “WWWHHHHAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!” does not narrow it down. And, it gets louder and more intense in a short span of time. Within 5-6 minutes, it sounds like he is being stabbed! I don’t care how patient and understanding you think you are – the sound of this kid crying cuts through your defenses and it’s hard not to get affected by it.

The chemical attacks came next. (In fact, I am writing this after having just been blasted by “The Holy Trinity” – poop, pee pee, and spit-up.) I can handle the pee pee – no problem. I still have a five year old with aiming issues. I’m pretty sure everything in my bathroom has been pissed on at one point or another. Plus, Justin likes to have a conversation with me while peeing and he’s been known to forget what’s going on and turns his body to talk to me while still peeing. You get the picture. So far, Garrett has peed on me, the blinds, the rocker, and the lamp – all while lying on his back on the changing table.

Baby poop is disgusting, but predictable. Garrett makes a grunting sound when he’s going and you pretty much know when he’s done because he looks exhausted. Right now, it looks like dark mustard with seeds. (There is usually a “bomb” of some sort in his diaper. Another act of terrorism!) However, Garrett has sneak-attacked me with poop twice. He has waited until I’ve removed his diaper for changing AND I’m in the process of applying Butt Paste when he has decided to “unleash the hounds” and spray me with poop.

The worst is the spit-up. It usually happens when his head is resting on my chest and he is looking up. With no warning, I hear “BLEECH” and I immediately get a burst of hot, white, projectile, half-digested “milk” in my face, neck, chest, ear, etc. Gross does not begin to describe it. And, what makes it worse is his smile right afterward. I know he feels better, but that smile is just his way of rubbing it in my face – literally!

All in all, we are being tortured by the one we love. If I knew any state secrets, I would have gladly given them up by now. All that’s left is a good water boarding. I love this kid and would not miss these experiences for anything. However, they would be much more enjoyable after a hot shower, a clean change of clothes, and an Ambien!

Mr. Pick-It-And-Flick-It

Like any busy parent, I don’t always get a chance to clean my car as much as I should. While the outside of the car is fine, it’s usually the area around Justin’s car seat that becomes a collection of the “remnants of snacks gone by.” If you are ever hungry and in my car (and can live with not knowing how long a food item has been in the back seat), you can have yourself a feast! I’ve pulled out blueberry muffin pieces, chips, crackers, gummy worms, dried (yet still sticky) soda, raisins, nuts, granola bar pieces, cheerios, gum, more blueberry muffin pieces, Chex Mix, melted M&Ms, etc. When I lift up his car seat to clean under it, it’s like a time capsule!

If there is time to wash the car, I usually opt to do it myself. Justin likes to help and we do a fine job…and then, when Justin is busy, I immediately take the car over to be professionally cleaned by someone else.

Last week, I spent $34.00 to get the car cleaned and waxed from bumper to bumper. And, I took Justin with me so he could see the process. When the job was completed, the car looked amazing! I was truly impressed. I then loaded Justin back into the car to run a few more errands and as we left the parking lot, I head him make a couple of “sniffling” noises. I asked him if he was ok and he assured me that he was. I looked in the rear view mirror and watched him go knuckle deep up his nose to dig out something that was clearly bothering him. After a few more minutes, he announced “BOOGER” and asked me to take it. Since I was driving, I asked him to hold on a few minutes until I could take care of it…..and that was the last I’d heard of the booger – until…..

We got home a few hours later. When I unbuckled him, something in the back of my head said “Ask about the booger.” I released Justin from his car seat and asked, “Justin, where is the booger?” He looked at me with a blank expression. I asked a second time, “Justin, where did you put the booger?” He continued to look at me like he had no idea what I was talking about. I then got nervous and asked the question I didn’t really want the answer to, “Justin, did you eat your booger?” He ERUPTED with laugher as if it were the funniest thing he had ever heard, “EWWWWWW, DADDY. NOOOOOO!”

Relieved, I asked a third and final time. “Justin, you told me you had a booger. Where is it?” He then smiled with pride (as I realized in retrospect) and pointed to the car window. I turned my head and there was his latest art project. Justin had finger-painted with the booger on my newly cleaned windows. My little Priluck had turned “Pollock.” He had flicked his booger onto the window and continued to spread it out into a green, yellow, and clear-ish, gooey smiley face.

The lesson here is – when a child hands you a booger, take it. The other options are much worse!