Posts Tagged With: babies

Sleep In Your Own Damn Bed!

My wife and I have a small bed. It’s really only big enough for two people. Throw a baby into the mix and you have to be a contortionist to get comfortable.  This is why I prefer for the baby to sleep in his crib but like most things in life I seldom get what I want.
When Grayson was born my wife decided to go the breastfeeding route.
“Oh that’s great!” you’re thinking, “it’s more natural and it’s better for the baby”. Yeah, no. What it is is cheaper than formula, all the other stuff is secondary.
Now one of the temptations of breastfeeding is for the mother and baby to fall asleep together. That way if the kid wakes up in a few hours you can just latch him or her back on and fall back to sleep. No muss, no fuss. Except again, tiny bed.
My wife pumps a lot so that I can feed Grayson when I’m watching him. This is perfect at night because I feed him sitting up so that I don’t fall asleep. Once he passes out I put him in his crib….where he promptly wakes up. So I take him out and wear him down until he passes out again. I can’t just let him cry because I live with my in laws and it’s not fair to them. Plus my wife has to get up at five so she needs her sleep.
So Grayson and I battle it out until he’s too tired to resist the crib. This might be 10:30, Midnight or like the other night 1:34 AM. I’m determined to get him to sleep in his own damn bed. I was winning the war until my wife took her vacation.
On her vacation she wanted to feed bubs from the bubbies as much as she could rather than have me bottle feed him. Fine. Except that tweedle G and tweedle Mom kept falling asleep together. I try to move him, he wakes up. I want to give him a bottle so I can put him to bed but she says no I’ll feed him. They fall asleep. I can’t win.
So the whole week mom and dad and baby makes three…in the bed. Finally she goes back to work but it’s like I’ve lost all the progress I made with Grayson. So I start over. Hence the 1:30 AM zonk out. Oh well, no one said parenting would be easy.
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Besides, who could stay mad at those cuties?

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I’m Back!

Hey guys and gals,

Long time no write. I’ve been busy trying to build up my writing resume by writing a lot of stuff for other sites and I fear that I have neglected my Dadventures duties. Worry not though constant readers, I have returned to you with new tales of child rearing!   The baby is no longer too fat to crawl. Grayson is now able to heft is gelatinous gut off of the floor and get up on his hands and knees. Unfortunately, a mobile baby is a dangerous baby. Gone are the days when I could just abandon the child on the floor with the Mickey Mouse Club and then go off and make a coffee and smoke a cigarette. Now I have to actually watch what he’s doing, what’s going into his mouth, what he’s managed to get himself stuck under. This parenting crap has turned into a full-time job.

On the older kid front, the teen and the tween cannot seem to breathe the same air without fighting about it. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. Literally everything one does pisses the other one-off. “Jacob, stop singing, I hate your voice!” “Michael, stop throwing lit matches at me!”. But of course when I suggest that one of them  move away from each other they don’t. In fact, their mother and I decided that it might be good to take each kid separately for a week at a time this summer to get them away from each other. They both expressed their disdain for this idea quite vocally, “But, we want to be together!”. Brothers: can’t stand to be together, can’t stand to be away from each other.

Welp, I hope anyone following this blog didn’t leave due to lack of activity. I promise to try and write here more frequently. However if you find yourself jonesing for a ZackAttack, might I suggest you try reading some of these other articles that I have written for other sites?

http://www.soundonsight.org/robocop-versus-terminator-hc-two-cyborgs-enterone-cyborg-leaves/

http://www.soundonsight.org/robocop-1-brings-robocop-back-to-his-roots/

http://plarko.com/movies/1984-best-year-cinema/

http://plarko.com/movies/6-moments-star-wars-prequels-par-original-trilogy/

http://downrightupleft.com/movie-reviews/x-men-days-of-future-past-brings-back-bryan-singer-and-smoothes-over-all-the-continuity-problems-of-the-previous-films/

Thanks,

Zack

 

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Revenge Poop

Sometimes a bowel movement is so epic it needs to be forever preserved in print for future generations to marvel over. Today I witnessed such a bowel movement.
My wife was feeding the baby, I was eating breakfast all was right with the world.
Grayson gave a little grunt and a little toot and suddenly our world was thrown into a swirling vortex of chaos. This kid somehow managed to fire his colon cannon at such an angle that it flew right through the space between his diaper and his leg and landed on the couch…and my wife’s leg….and the babies leg…and the babies other leg. This was seriously the most explosive blast of liquid nastiness that I have ever had the misfortune of experiencing. I quickly took the little poop monster upstairs in order to clean the feces from his person. Along the way there were more casualties. My shirt got smeared with baby shit, some dripped onto the bathroom floor. I don’t know how a child that small could hold what appeared to be at least a gallon of shit inside his little tummy but somehow he did. The worst part? The little son of a bitch was smiling the whole time. I know, I know, a child of four months old can’t just decide to crap all over everything just to screw with Mom and Dad, but if a shark can follow a family from the east coast to the west in order to get revenge than an infant can poop on purpose. Okay so using Jaws The Revenge probably wasn’t the most sound way to get my point across but it was the first thing I thought of.

This time it's personal, the other times? That was just business.

This time it’s personal, the other times? That was just business.

So what would my four-month old son possibly want to get revenge for? Well, I may have given him a small ice chip to suck on yesterday just to see what how he would react and he may have made the funniest face ever and I may have laughed at him. If I had it all over to do again, shit or no shit, I still would. The kid really did make the funniest face like “Oh my god it’s so cold! What do I do? Oh it’s not cold anymore….” a perfect mixture of horror and perplexity. I regret nothing.

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Sleeping Angels

I know a lot of parents make the joke that their kids are only angels when they’re sleeping, but beyond the  humorous implication that the rest of the time they’re evil little shits, there’s a lot of truth to this.  Angels in the romantic sense are perfect beings created before us imperfect humans. Beautiful and flawless, they give us something to aspire to. Sleeping babies are similar in that they are pure innocence. A blank slate not yet filled with dreams, desires, fears and hopes.
I think the term “I slept like a baby” has less to do with waking up every couple of hours having wet yourself and crying for milk, and more to do with sleeping a sleep devoid of stress from bills, mortgages, jerky bosses and the like.
Sometimes I just watch my kids sleep and a lump catches in my throat. I wish they could sleep like that forever but I know that soon enough they’ll start sleeping like adults. Adults look haggard while they sleep, worn out by another day just surviving. They furrow their brows, they click their teeth they display all manor of nervous ticks and anxious twitches. Adults toss and turn, looking tortured as they try to rest and forget about their troubles.
Babies and young children though look at utter peace while they slumber. A peace unbroken by the cynical adult world.
When I see sleeping children I really do see angels.

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Easter, Schmeaster

I’m not a religious person. As such Easter flummoxes me. Christmas I can put in a secular context no problem: A time of year for giving and family. Take out Christ’s resurrection from Easter and you get: Time of year for candy (though it’s not Halloween) and small gifts (though it’s not Christmas). This Easter was a particularly odd one for me. Being very tight on money right now I felt like it was a waste to buy baskets and grass for my two older sons so I just kind of handed them their candy. Neither kid believes in the Easter Bunny anymore and so it felt weird presenting them with cheap baskets full of plastic grass just so that there was something to put their candy in. Then there was the baby who at three months of age couldn’t care less what day it was. We got him a couple of stuffed animals, not that he can really play with them yet.

I feel bad because I feel like I should care about Easter but I really don’t. Even as a child I wasn’t very excited for Easter. For one thing, Easter never came with any good television specials. Oh they had a couple, there was the obligatory claymation one which I barely recall, and there was a Peanuts one that was highly inferior to The Great Pumpkin and A Charlie Brown Christmas. For another, it just felt like weaker Christmas. You get up in the morning kind of excited knowing that something will be in your basket, but you knew it wasn’t a new bike or a Sega Genesis (yes I’m old). Maybe it would be a single action figure, maybe a yo-yo, who knows. You only knew that it would be something small and inexpensive surrounded by chocolate. I know that I sound materialistic and  cynical but honestly, as a child did you really care about anything on Easter/Christmas/Halloween other than what you were getting? Children seem greedy but it’s only because they can’t process the value of family, or tradition until they get older.

I know that next Easter Grayson will be over a year old and we will pull out all the stops, baskets, bunnies, Easter bunny foot prints going from the basket all the way out the front door. Hell, I’ll probably even do baskets for the older boys just to maintain the illusion. Maybe I’ll feel differently then. Maybe, but for now I maintain my curmudgeonly stance: Easter, Schmeaster.

 

P.S.

I started writing this the day after Easter and just got around to finishing it today. In the time in between Grayson has fallen in love with the stuffed Lamb he got for Easter. Granted he usually just chews on him, but still he does it while gently holding him in the crook of his arm. It’s the first stuffed animal that he has shown any interest in and it’s so friggen cute. Maybe Easter isn’t useless after all.

lambo lambo 2

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Sick Baby, Sick Daddy

I know I haven’t posted anything in a few days and there is a very good reason for that. My baby and I are sick. I’m pretty sure it’s nothing worse than a common cold for the both of us but it still sucks. 

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I mean I hope it’s just a cold and not some kind of Zombie virus…

I’m miserable so I can only imagine how miserable Grayson is. Oh, wait I don’t have to imagine it, I can see it. The poor little guy wakes up  snorting as he tries in vain to breath through his minute snout but as soon as he switches to mouth breathing the coughing starts. It’s a one-two punch of infant misery that I’m powerless to stop. Nothing makes you feel as ineffectual as watching your sick baby and knowing that there isn’t really anything you can do for him.

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Except to wrap him in a towel and put ice on his head like they did it in olden times.

I’ve always been a bit skeptical when it comes to cold remedies over the counter or home. Mainly this is because we learned back in Middle School that a cold was caused by a virus and that you couldn’t kill viruses.  

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I mean you or I couldn’t. Rambo probably could…Rambo could kill ANYTHING.

Ergo, any cold remedy is essentially relieving the symptoms a bit but otherwise doing nothing to the cold virus itself. That’s why NyQuil’s only real use is just to put you into a temporary coma and all the other crap it’s for is just window dressing. None of that matters anyway though because you can’t give almost anything to a child under six months and what you can is certainly not the good shit, as in the ” puts you to sleep so daddy can rest” shit. So I’m stuck just holding the little guy and comforting him as best as I can.

I know that I recently wrote about having to constantly hold the baby in https://zacksdadventures.wordpress.com/2014/04/11/look-ma-one-hands/, but usually I get a reprieve when he takes a nap. Not when baby’s sick. He falls asleep on me and the minute I move him he wakes up and starts crying. I can’t even make one of my usual flippant jokes about him being a whiner or needy because honestly, when any of us are sick, is there anything we want more than to just be held?  

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I mean besides a mountain of gold.

And so essentially, we both sit miserably on the couch just vegging. I can’t type while I’m holding him , and I can’t put daddies little sicky down because he needs comforting. Imagine being sick and not being able to bitch about it? Imagine being a GUY and being sick and not being able to bitch about it (yes ladies I am admitting for all of us what you’ve known for years: Men are the biggest babies when they are sick)?

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Pictured: A sick male.

You’d go crazy suffering in silence. So…..we sit miserably on the couch and veg. It could be worse though, Netflix just added House and I just torrented obtained legally the first three seasons of Game Of Thrones so I can finally watch the show everyone’s been talking about…for the last three years. I know I’m late on this but, can you believe how messed up those Lannisters are? The brother and sister doing all that icky stuff together? And that Joffrey kid seems like a real snot. I hope he eventually gets what’s coming to him!

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That’s right you little turd! You just got Imp-slapped! RECOGNIZE!

 

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The New Dadventures Logo

The New Dadventures Logo

I tried my hand at designing a logo for my blog. If it sucks I’m sorry.

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The Smaller They Are, The Harder Their Falling Hits You

One of the worst moments in my life as a whole was when my oldest son fell down a flight of stairs. I can and probably always will, remember it vividly like it was yesterday. It’s a hard thing to forget, time seeming to stop, frozen in the moment when your hand misses your child’s by a hair’s breadth. I can’t think of a single scarier memory honestly. Everything after that happened in a blur. I remember picking him up of the floor but not running down the stairs. I remember screaming so loudly that my wife heard me from the first floor (we were on the third). Michael was just shy of two when this happened and I felt like a shoo-in for “Worst Father Of The Year”.

See, it's a real thing!

See, it’s a real thing!

Miraculously Michael was fine. Not just fine but after describing the situation frantically over the phone to a doctor we were told not to even bring him in. The kid didn’t even have a scratch on him. He was shaken up of course but no where nearly as badly as his mother and I. That’s when I realized that much like Tiggers, children were made out of rubber, though I don’t suggest throwing your child down the stairs to test this.

Wearing the skin of my enemy gives me his powers.

Wearing the skin of my enemy gives me his powers.

The funny thing about your child getting hurt (not that there is really anything funny about your child getting hurt) is that 90% of the time it doesn’t phase him or her one bit. That is until mom or dad starts freaking out, in which case the baby starts following suit. They freak out because you freak out. People will tell you that the trick is to just stay calm when your child get’s hurt and wait to see what their reaction is. That’s a great idea in theory but when your kid falls off the jungle gym and her knee is bending at an impossible angle, even if she’s cool as a cucumber, your first instinct is going to be a Chernobyl level meltdown. And that’s only natural because you love and care for your kid. These perfect parent’s out there who let their babies cry themselves to sleep, don’t get upset when their kids get hurt, and put their infants on a sleeping and eating schedule are either robots or Scientologists  and I don’t trust either.

Given the choice though I probably go with the robot.

Given the choice though I probably go with the robot.

As a first time parent it takes a few bumps and bruises before you realize that kids get hurt. It’s a natural part of growing up. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad parent, It just means that you’re human and you can’t protect your kid from every hazard no matter how hard you try. Kids despite their fragile outward appearance are built to withstand quite a bit of damage. Of course that doesn’t stop you from freaking out over every hangnail if it’s your first child but when your second baby comes you’ll notice that he or she could be  running around on fire while rabid badgers nip at their heels and the biggest response that it will earn from you as a parent is a quick glance up from your smartphone and a slight shaking of the head. This isn’t to imply that you care less with each subsequent child but just that you start realizing how indestructible the little scamps truly are.

How about a bottle bub.

How about a bottle bub.

Having a baby eleven years after your last one however, feels so much like being a first time parent again that I’m back to worrying about every little pratfall that Grayson takes. Just a couple of weeks ago I was back in the running for “Worst Father Of The Year” when I accidental scalded the baby’s nether region. I thought it would be fun to bathe Grayson in the sink like my parents did when I was a kid. Everything was going fine until, like and idiot, I turned on the hot water to rinse out his washcloth, somehow forgetting that there was a baby in the sink and the poor baby got a crotch full of second degree burns. The noise he made is one I hope that I never hear again for the rest of my life. I immediately felt like the biggest failure a parent could possibly be. I rushed him into the bedroom and put an icepack on him. Within a few minutes he was fine and laughing. Not only was there no real damage but his skin didn’t even peel or anything. He was 100% fine.

All parent’s at some point inadvertently cause or fail to prevent  some degree of harm to their child. The biggest thing to remember is that you are not the only one and that chances are it hurts you WAY more than it hurts them. Children are like Timex watches: They take a licking’ and keep on ticking.

Seriously though, don’t lick your baby, that’s just creepy.

Meh. It's okay but I still prefer milk.

Meh. It’s okay but I still prefer milk.

 

 

 

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Look Ma, One Hands!

Some parents will tell you not to pick your baby up when he or she starts crying. They will tell you that the baby needs to learn to calm itself down without you.

And some parents will tell you you to just throw your screaming baby into the ocean.

And some parents will tell you you to just throw your screaming baby into the ocean.

For all of the parents that are lucky enough to own their own house, with no neighbors close by , in the middle of nowhere this is probably great advice. For the rest of us struggling parents forced to rent apartments with paper thin walls, or stuck living with family, this isn’t such a viable option. Such is the case with my wife and I. For convenience sake (read: we can’t afford our own place) we are currently living with her parents and for dirt cheap no less. Out of respect I try to keep the baby from screaming as much as I can. This usually entails having the little leech stuck to my left arm so much that I can scarcely tell where my appendage ends and the baby starts. Out of necessity I have had to learn to do many things one handed.

ME TOO!

ME TOO!

Some activities aren’t so bad one handed. Making coffee for instance, easy enough to do with one hand just takes a little bit longer. Taking a leak while holding a baby is a little bit tougher but still doable. It’s when you go upstairs to take a shower after your lovely bundle of joy has somehow defecated up the back of his diaper, through his onsie, through the COVER ON HIS SWING, that you realize just how challenging the one arm shuffle can be. Holding the itty bitty shitty commitee with one hand, trying not to get more than a bare minimum of poop on you while you turn on the shower, adjust the temp, strip the baby and take off his diaper with one hand is the kind of fun that people without kids just don’t get to have. In these situations I find it prudent to just hop in the shower with the kid because theres something about handling liquid magma poop that makes me want to cleanse my whole body of filth .Then of course comes the challenge of holding on to him while simultaneously making him ever more slippery with soap. If your lucky you can wash approx. 45% of your own body with your one free hand before your soaped up skin plus the baby’s equally slick exterior start to equal danger will Robinson, danger!

'Bath time Will Robinson! Bath time!"

‘Bath time Will Robinson! Bath time!”

My personal hell favorite is trying sneak in a meal for myself here or there. I don’t know about how your kids were as babies but mine has a “Dad’s trying to eat” sense hardwired into his little brain. Grayson could be passed out cold after ODing on boob treats (what my wife calls breast milk and it’s too cute not to include here) but somehow the minute I sit down to eat his eyes fly open and a sour “HOW DARE YOU FEED YOURSELF!” look occupies his face for the two seconds it takes him to fill his lungs with air and start the bellowing that means “Kindly turn your attention back to me sir, your food can wait”. This is one time when even if I had the option of just letting him cry I still wouldn’t. For some reason high pitched squalling does not aid my digestion in the slightest. So baby ends up in one arm balanced on one knee while I eat with the other arm. Sometimes like today when I made myself a feast of tater tots and chicken fingers (what am I ten?) that works out fine. Other times like the night before last when we were having a turkey dinner with all that that entails it kind of sucks. The logistics of cutting turkey with one hand while not spilling gravy on myself while simultaneously trying to keep the baby’s hands out of my food would give Stephen Hawking a headache. Ok that’s not fair because he can’t do any of those things. How about Neil Degrasse Tyson?

"D-O-N-T B-E A D-I-C-K'

“D-O-N-T B-E  A  D-I-C-K”

Regardless of which astrophysicist would be better suited to solve the problem, I made do as best I could. I’m sure that you’re probably thinking that trying to juggle a baby and a turkey dinner enters ridiculous territory but let me put it this way, my in-laws were all sitting down to the same turkey dinner, and all deserved to eat dinner in peace so I was going to end up holding the baby if only for their sakes so I figured that I might as well try to eat at the same time before it got cold.

Oh you're hungry huh? Howsabout a knuckle sandwich?

Oh you’re hungry huh? howsabout a knuckle sandwich?

I try to remember that holding the baby constantly won’t last forever. Soon he’ll be crawling and then walking which will keep him entertained. After that he’ll be old enough to plunk in front of the tv for a couple of hours so I can do stuff. Pretty soon after that he’ll be to big to hold in my arms and………………………….um………..sorry, I have to go pick up my baby before I start crying.

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Ninja Pee Strikes Again…

I forgot the cardinal rule of diaper changing today: Have the next diaper unfolded and ready to go before even thinking about taking off the current diaper. Maybe I wasn’t as sharp as usual having had to deal with four separate incidences of projectile milk expulsion. Maybe I was still tired from getting up at 4:00am to start a new part time job. Whatever the reason I let my gaurd down and the ninja struck.

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Just picture this guy peeing...or don't actually, that's kinda gross.

It took me second to realize what was going on when I started feeling my leg getting wet. By the time my slothlike reflexes kicked into gear it was too late.The bedsheet was soaked, my leg looked like something out of a porn involving water sports (I’m assuming…), and the baby and I were in desperate need of a shower. The icing on the cake though, had to be the self satisfied smirk on Graysons face. A smug little look that said “I can piss on you, I can throw up on you, anything I want and you can’t do a damn thing about it because I’m a baby. You’re totally my bitch”.
You probably think I’m paranoid right? How could a two month old baby actually be having those sinister thoughts? I don’t know, how do magnets work? Some things are just unexplainable. I swear if you saw his face you’d feel the same .

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I OWN YOU.

I suppose that I have no one but myself to blame really. I should know better by now. I choose to blame the baby anyways because he’s a baby and he can’t defend himself. Picking on those smaller and weaker than me is how I make myself feel like a big man and deal with my inferiority complex. Normally I would assume that everyone knows that I’m joking but seeing as how a few paragraphs ago I made a golden shower joke in the same sentence as the word “baby” I can see where some people wouldn’t be so sure. So yes, I was joking. I don’t pick on people smaller than me to feel like a big man.
I do it because it’s fun and I’m a jerk.

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The kind of jerk who dresses himself and his kid in matching outfits.

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