Tunnel vision, in medical terms, is the loss of peripheral vision with retention of central vision, resulting in a constricted circular tunnel-like field of vision. In layman’s terms, something has drawn your focus and you see nothing else. When you hit a patch of ice, sending your car on an intersecting path with a telephone pole, you don’t see the field or the cows or the barn. You only see the immovable object that will shortly send you and your family to the hospital. That is tunnel vision.

On a very recent afternoon, I walked out of a business meeting feeling very well about it. As I retreived my phone to turn the ringers on again, I looked first to the icons on the screen. One missed call and two text messages. The missed call was from Sarah. Of course, I thought nothing of it. I usually talk with her and/or Tyler a few times a day. Mostly because Sarah needs to tell me a funny story about our little man, or she’s taking dinner requests (yeah, she’s that awesome, even though I usually leave it up to her judgment), or because Tyler misses his daddy and wants to say “hi.” I pressed the left convenience key on the phone to open up my messages. I didn’t remember stopping in the middle of the parking lot, unable to visually process anything except the first text message. I do remember my next breath because it burned when my diaphragm hitched.

911. Please call.

I’ve always told Sarah to send me a text message if there was ever an emergency. It seems that text messages and emails always come through my phone, even when I have no cell signal. If I miss a phone call while I’m in an area with no service, I’ll never know you called unless you leave a voicemail. And even then, the voicemail notification doesn’t show up until I’ve been in a service area for a while. A text message sits on the airwaves for up to three days, waiting for the phone to turn on or enter a service area. So, I explained to Sarah that with all the driving I do to sometimes very rural areas, a text mesage is the most reliable way to reach me, especially in an emergency. I also never answer the phone when I’m in front of a customer, but I do glance at the screen when messages come in. Just. In. Case.

And here I was, three hours from home, looking at a text message that I’ve never seen before. My initial reaction was one of confusion. Pure confusion.

And then, fear.

I pressed and held the “S” button on my phone, the screen read “Calling Sarah… Connected.” My earpiece beeped twice, signalling that it was connected, via bluetooth, to my phone, and then began ringing in my ear. I viewed the second text message as my earpiece rang a second time.

She picked up before the third ring. I inquired almost before Sarah could finish saying “hello.”

After the last few months of cold and dreary weather, the 40ºf (4ºc) temperature this particular afternoon felt very nice. Sarah, Tyler, and Delilah all walked to the park to play in the mild weather. Some previous park-goers left a basketball there. While playing with this basketball, Tyler fell hard, and face-first, on the concrete. He began screaming before even attempting to raise his head. Sarah ran to Tyler as he lifted his head.

“Joe, there was blood everywhere.”

She carried him to the stroller in a run, remaining calm on the exterior, for Tyler. Internally, every other bad feeling and emotion swirled violently. Tyler continued to scream while blood flowed down his face. Sarah opened her water bottle and poured it on his face, hoping to both see the wound and gauge its severity. His nose and uper lip were were lacerated. She watched his upper lip inflate as more blood flowed from inside Tyler’s mouth. Delilah thought she was in trouble when Sarah yelled at her to “come,” and was slow and hesitant in returning. Very quickly, she leashed Delilah and buckled Tyler in his stroller. The trek home was paced somewhere between a speedwalk and a jog. She very desperately wanted to break into a full run, but that would allow the panic overtake the control she was barely able to keep a grasp onto. Knowing she was completely helpless for the moment, Sarah could do nothing more than mentally run through scenarios and options, and tell Tyler that he would be okay.

Sarah finished her story as I drove. They were presently snuggling together on the couch, watching Bolt, while Sarah held an ice pack to Tyler’s mouth. The bleeding was under control shortly after they arrived home. Tyler cut the inside of his lip really bad, but not stitches-worthy. His nose and the area under was also scraped and cut. All that in addition to a very swollen lip made a very sad sight. I pushed and pulled on his teeth when I got home that evening, to make sure he didn’t knock them loose. Tyler pointed to his lip (as if I wouldn’t have noticed it otherwise) and said “ouch.”

The next morning, I deleted the two texts.

911. Please call
Nevermind. I think we’re ok.

We got there just a few minutes early. The receptionist had to keep her distance because she was pregnant and the smell of coffee makes her puke. To reward ourselves for getting up and around so early, Sarah and I treated ourselves to some Starbucks (read: insanely overpriced normal coffee with a million calories). With the coffee cups sitting on the counter, the receptionist took off like she owed us money. Very shortly after, we were called into the pre-op area. I wish I had brought my camera, because Tyler looked freakin’ adorable in his hospital gown. Without an ounce of shyness (or respect for other people’s space) Tyler crawled into the room next to ours – where there was another couple with a baby waiting for the same procedure – and started playing with toys that were not his.

We met the anesthesiologist (my WPM dropped to around 2 while trying to type that word), who explained to us that they would be putting a mask on Tyler so that he would breathe in some type of gas mixture. He would quickly fall asleep and would not need any IVs. A very nice nurse came to take Tyler away at 7:30. We went back to the waiting room and tried to pass the time by reading a book (Sarah) and getting caught up on work emails (me). Sarah read two pages and I sent 3 emails when the doctor came out to tell us that they were done and that Tyler was in recovery, in the process of waking up.

”Done? Already?”

”Yes,” the doctor said. He continued to tell us that his left ear looked good and that his right ear had a lot of “goop” in it. They cleaned both ears out before putting the tubes in. He also told us that Tyler took to the anesthesia very well. I can’t say I fully understand what that means or why he told us, but I couldn’t help but to be proud. Tyler, if you ever read this, good job on your gas induced loss of consciousness; we couldn’t be prouder of the fact that the gas did exactly what it was supposed to do to you. In the doctor’s defense, he did clarify a bit by saying that he was just looking around (i.e. not being a hell-spawn child who thrashes around and fights off the gas mask) and then closed his eyes when they put the mask over his mouth.

A few minutes later, we were called back to see Tyler in the recovery room. Sarah didn’t even have to ask which room it was because she could hear his cries. It took me a couple extra seconds to single his cry out from the other – very few – noises in the hall. Sarah cuddled him up and breastfed him. Poor Tyler had little muscle control and couldn’t lift his head up. I’ve read online that babies tend to be fussy and grumpy after coming out of anesthesia, and Tyler was no exception. I suspect that it has less to do with pain and confusion, and more to do with being really upset that his brain couldn’t make his muscles operate correctly. The little guy’s head just kept flopping backwards and Sarah had to use her hands to pick it back up.

By 8:15, we were on our way home. Tyler stopped crying as soon as the car started moving. He cried for just a bit longer when we got home. I had to get into the office to start work (I decided to work from home this day). Sarah fed Tyler breakfast and very shortly thereafter he was in a fantastic mood. He was a little wobbly on his feet for a bit, but quickly got that under control. Here’s a video of him later that afternoon.

Everything I read says that it’ll be "like having a brand new baby" and, while I can’t completely agree with that statement, there certainly is a level of truth to it. Today, Tyler is walking exponentially better than he was just yesterday. He’s walking in circles, room to room, and even trying to make an attempt at running. He has been in a great mood as well. He’s generally a very happy baby, so it’s hard for me to gauge if there’s a difference.

A couple weeks ago, while on the floor and playing with Tyler, a mischievous little smile danced across his face. Luckily, those looks don’t instill fear in me. Yet. I’m sure the day will come where I’ll find myself in fear of what he had planned or already done. For now though, I had time to register mild curiosity before Tyler charged across the floor and bonked me in the head with his own. I am really not sure who was more amused over the event between the two of us. I said “BONK” while he laughed. Then he gave me that look again. Tyler rocked forward and thumped me again.

”BONK”, I gleefully reported back.

I backed away a few feet, hunkered down on all fours and echoed Tyler’s sly smile. His smile grew larger with each thump, thump, thump of his hands as they marched across the floor towards me.

BONK.

”BONK.”

We played this spin of “cat and mouse” that Tyler developed for about six or seven more BONKs. The light splashed across Tyler’s face just right and I noticed around ten red marks on his forehead. I checked the mirror to see that I had a similar pattern of marks on my forehead. For fear of giving Tyler brain damage, or him doing the same to me, I had to halt the game for the evening. We’ve played this game a few more times – actually, just about every day since the first – and he’s been BONKing me harder and harder each time. Thankfully, I can stop short of saying that it’s painful, but the boy definitely likes to BONK.

A few days ago, I was videotaping some of Tyler’s activities (which I’ll share very soon) when he saw the camcorder on the tripod. Just as I released the camcorder from it, Tyler grabbed the tripod, pulled it over, and BONKed himself real good in the head. Good enough to make him cry. I believe his tears were alligator tears and while I’m sure he was shocked, there’s no way it hurt him based on how hard he had previously been BONKing me in the head.

Yesterday, we were all sitting on the couch. I can sometimes get quite animated when I tell stories to people. I was telling Sarah something about Tyler and stood up while doing all sorts of hand motions to better emphasize my point. Tyler was sitting on the couch, facing the back of it and grabbed for Sarah’s phone. In the split second that we both had our attention diverted, he leaned back. Since he was facing the wrong way, he had nothing to lean back against, aside from air. Unfortunately for everyone involved, air can be displaced quite easily and provides little to no resistance. Imagine a scuba diver who just falls backwards off a boat into the water. Except the water is a floor, the scuba diver is an eight month old baby, and the boat is a couch that is a few feet above sea level. The sound of his head BONKing on the floor stopped my heart cold.

When Tyler hits his head, or gets smacked in the face by Delilah’s tail, a few things happen. First, I try to evaluate the situation and decide whether the incident would likely hurt an eight month old baby or not. Then, I purposely blank my face and look at him indifferently. If he starts crying and I’ve decided that it probably did hurt him, I pick him up and comfort him. If he cries and I’ve decided that – without a doubt – it did not hurt, I tell him, “That didn’t hurt baby boy.” If I’ve decided that it did hurt but he doesn’t cry, I modify my standards for Tyler’s pain threshold, and pretend nothing happened.

I was absolutely certain that this hurt Tyler.

In the times that I’ve observed Tyler with his fake tears and with his real tears, I’ve found that I can judge when he is legitimately hurt about 95% of the time. If he just starts yelling and crying, he’s probably faking it. He did not just yell and cry this time. He did the other thing; the thing that tells me he is really hurt.

It starts with no sound at all. First, he draws his lower lip up and pushes the corners down, into an open-mouthed frown. Then he pushes his bottom lip out into the common “pout” look. After this, he will then take a few hitching breathes while he opens and closes his mouth, ever so slightly, in time with the hitches. At this point, the cries will begin. That pouty face is the signal that he isn’t faking. I know that he’ll soon realize the power behind the pouty look, but I can definitely use it to my advantage for the time being.

Bumps, thumps, bonks, cracks, smacks. All this and no worse for the wear. This parenting this isn’t so bad.

When Tyler wakes up in the wee hours between sunset and sunrise (you know the hours. Before parenthood, these would be the hours that you would just be stumbling towards bed, sometimes in a slightly inebriated stupor. These would be the hours that we now cherish as quiet, sleepy time), Sarah takes care of him nine times out of ten. It would be more accurate to say 99 times out of a hundred, but who’s keeping track?

Sometimes, he needs nursies. Other times, he just wakes up and can’t go back to sleep until someone picks his pacifier off the floor and gives it back to him. That cursed (please pronounce it “curs-ed”, not “cursd”, because that’s how I’m saying it as I type it out) pacifier. When Tyler was born, I told EVERYONE that I would rather give Tyler a pacifier than have him be a thumbsucker. My reasoning? Well, because I can take away a pacifier. I can’t take away Tyler’s thumbs. If I could go back and talk to the Joe of seven months ago, I’d slap the white off my own face.

I never considered the flipside of such a scenario. When Tyler falls asleep, his pacifier falls out of his mouth, and ALWAYS drops off his crib to the floor. Upon waking up and realizing his pacifier is not within reach, he will gently call for his parents to come and rectify the situation. If we do not oblige within half a second, he cranks the volume up to 11 until we do so. Many a time have we walked into Tyler’s room to see him reaching through the slats of his crib, looking at us as if to say “What? I tried getting it myself before asking for help.”

Normally, this doesn’t really bother me. Sure, it’s a tad frustrating and a bit of a nuisance, but when I go up there to plug his mouth, it’s usually between 3 or 5 in the afternoon. In the middle of the night, Sarah gets up and tends to him. When a couple sleep in the same bed, the wife will grow accustomed to the husband’s alarm clock going off every morning. Eventually, she won’t even hear it anymore. I can’t exactly say that I don’t hear Tyler yelling, but I hear it in a deep part of my head, and it takes a while to wake me.

Well, Monday morning, almost simultaneous to my alarm going off, Sarah cried out in pain next to me. We’re both unsure of what exactly happened. She either pulled a muscle in her neck, pinched a nerve, or “something” that would cause severe pain to shoot down her neck and shoulders. Pain so intense that she was sure that she was going to vomit, and actually had to rush – well, as much as a person in that kind of pain can rush – downstairs to the bathroom. After a few moments, it was obvious that she was in no condition to care for Tyler. Feeding him and playing with him would already be quite a chore for her. Picking him up and moving him back to an area where we could keep an eye on him after he crawled into another room and started pounding on Delilah’s crate would be quite another.

We managed to get through the day unscathed, with daddy at the caretaking helm. Sarah and Tyler have their daily routines, and I’m sure I did some things differently, but like I said, all came out fine. He’s still got ten fingers and ten toes, and I’m still breathing, so we won’t talk about the new bruise that is forming next to his right ear.

Tyler was definitely tired when we put him to bed. A few hours later, we heard him crying. I went up to his room to find him sitting upright, just crying. It was a comical sight, and I did laugh. As a matter of fact, I laughed again when I “drew the picture” for Sarah. It wasn’t a big deal, because I hadn’t gone to bed yet. I was simply hanging out, downstairs, watching TV or cruising the information superhighway, I can’t remember which.

Later that night (*cough* one thirty in the morning *cough*), I found my dreams being infiltrated by a strange noise. It almost sounded like…

Screaming? Crying? Is that a baby crying?

“Gimme a break”, I grumbled as I flung the covers off myself. Promptly, I discovered that our house is cold at night! I don’t mean the cold where I need to put on a pair of socks. I’m talking about the cold where I should be wearing a snow suit, over three or four layers of pajamas and shirts, and have all that stuffed with those warm-packs that hunters take with them in sub-zero temperatures. We have one of those smart, energy efficient thermostats. At night, it drops down to 62ºf (17ºc) and I’m here to tell you that the piece of junk is defective. It was cold enough to make a polar bear migrate south. Sarah said that she had just finished breastfeeding Tyler, so he probably just needed his paci. That was fine with me, because I wanted to get under the snuggly covers again as quickly as possible.

“Of course he does”, I thought, as I quickly walked as quietly as I could, or quietly walked as quickly as I could, “Why couldn’t he just be a thumb sucker?”

I walked into his room to see him standing up in his crib, pacifier in mouth, crying. I kept thinking, “I have to be awake in four hours. I have to give a two hour presentation today. And he’s crying just because he doesn’t want to sleep?” *sigh*

I put him back to bed and tucked him in. After listening to him cry for another fifteen minutes, I went back in there to give him his paci that somehow managed to drop to the floor. I swear he must be pulling it out of his mouth and throwing it, just to get a rise out of us. He went to sleep for the rest of the night shortly after that.

Why is it that I get exactly what I wish for when it turns out to be exactly what I don’t want. He shows no interest at all in his thumbs. I’ve changed my mind! I want him to give up the paci and discover his thumbs. I wonder if it would be acceptable to fashion a rubber band on the pacifier, so I could wrap it around his head to keep it in his mouth. Like a doctor’s facemask.

Everything you are about to read is completely true, and really did happen last night.

*Reenactment*
This is the Brown Farm

This is the Brown farm. It is run by Farmer Brown. I was catching up on a couple blogs last night (I’ve been slacking, I know), while Sarah and Tyler were on the floor, playing with the Brown farm and Farmer Brown (Sarah and Tyler chose that name earlier). They were having a good time when Sarah says to me, “feel free to join us down here.”

If any of us had any idea what would happen as a result of that statement, she would have opted, instead, to say nothing! I’m sure of this.

So I get down on the floor and start moving the animals around. One of the first things I notice is that the chicken is HUGE! It’s the same size as the horse!

“What kind of farm are you running here?” I asked Farmer Brown.

*Reenactment*
Say “HI” to Farmer Brown

This is Farmer Brown. As I was “walking” him across his farm, he got stuck on the velcro that holds the animals in place. In a high-pitched Farmer Brown voice, I said, “Help me. Help Meeeeeeeeeeee.”, and I shook him back and forth.

In a throwback to Knight Rider, I added, “Kitt, I need help.”

Sarah manned the tractor and backed it up to Farmer Brown, presumably, to hook a tow line to him and pull him out. I completely misunderstood the intention, because there is something wrong with my head.

I asked Sarah, “What exactly are you making that tractor do to Farmer Brown, sicko?”

Traumatized, Farmer Brown walked to the back of the farm and said, “I need a drink”.

At this point, Sarah and I were cracking up. Tyler was lying on the floor between us, but he was no longer a part of this. Sarah and I were playing with tiny, stuffed toys, and it was a riot.

*Reenactment*
Farmer Brown had a few too many

Then, Farmer Brown came back. He stumbled back towards the farm, speaking jibberish. In my best Farmer Brown voice, I said, “Ooom uuuhlll flubber fack uuuuhhhh chicken dagnab mutant blargh.”

With my almighty hand, I guided Farmer Brown towards the chicken.

*Reenactment*
Farmer Brown sneaks up on a chicken

I snuck Farmer Brown up behind the chicken. At this point, there were no longer any streams of thought in my head. Things were happening wholly on their own.

Farmer Brown crowed, “Damn chicken!”

*Reenactment*
“Damn Chicken!”

Farmer Brown threw his leg forward and launched the chicken into the air.

*Reenactment*
The chicken flies

There was no arc to its flight path. The chicken launched and soared like a missle.

In his drunken stupor, Farmer Brown failed to make himself aware of his surroundings, or where the chicken’s tragectory may take it.

*Reenactment*
LOOK OUT!

Following the law named for Edward Murphy, the chicken popped Sarah directly in her eye.

Farmer Brown, along with the hand controlling him, were scared. Naturally, he hightailed it out of there.

*Reenactment*
Farmer Brown hightails it

Farmer Brown is not a fast runner.

*Reenactment*
Farmer Brown finds an escape

Knowing that he wouldn’t stand a chance against Sarah on foot, he hopped onto his tractor.

*Reenactment*
“RRRRRRRRrrrrRRRuuuuuUUUUuuumMMMmmmMMMMM”

Luckily for him, the tractor fired right up. I displayed my horrible ability to make sound effects with my mouth. Making my best impression of a tractor, I growled, “RRRRRRRRrrrrRRRuuuuuUUUUuuumMMMmmmMMMMM.” He dropped it into gear, and nailed the throttle. The front wheels left the ground. The rear tires broke traction…

and this is where things went HORRIBLY wrong…

*Reenactment*
Joe goes too far

Trying my best to emulate the sound of tires screeching, I put my voice up a few octaves to a “shrill” level and bellowed, “ERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!”

Guided by my hand, the tractor – along with Farmer Brown – tore off into the distance and to safety.

Very quietly, Sarah says, “Uh oh.”

I look back to her and see that she is looking at Tyler, quite apprehensively…

*Reenactment*
Tyler reacts
(Sorry, I don’t have any recent pics of Tyler screaming)

Turns out, my screeching tire impression scared the jeepers out of Tyler, causing him to begin screaming his head off. It took a long time… a LONG TIME to calm him back down. We’re talking about 45 minutes. He was over-tired anyway (didn’t nap at all yesterday), so I’m sure that added to it.

Needless to say, Brown Farm playtime was over. We put Tyler to bed soon after that. I looked at Sarah and said “We need to reenact this, so I can get some pictures.”

We had a lot of fun with the reenactment. We constantly found ourselves stifling laughter, for fear of waking Tyler up.

Sorry for my absence. Blame it on work, Tyler, Sarah, and FOOTBALL! That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, my beloved Wolverines came away, sloppily, with a win. In the NFL, I was sad to see my Lions and my Colts lose, but Tom Brady’s SEASON ENDING injury made everything good again.

Last night, I was watching the Packers game (props to Aaron Rodgers, by the way) and Sarah was giving Tyler his bath. Well, she’s in there laughing her ass off, and calls me to come “look at Tyler”.

Tyler takes his bath in a tiny plastic tub. We set that tub inside our tub. I walked in the bathroom and looked. What I saw left me speechless. After a few moments of staring, slack-jawed, all I could muster up was, “I’m getting the camcorder”. Instead of trying to come up with a creative way to explain it, just watch:

Splish splash, Tyler’s thrashin’ in the bath,
I recorded it on Monday night.
Rub-a-dub, then he pisses in the tub,
It’s sterile, so I guess it’s alright.

He was a splishin’ and a splashin’, peeing to the ceiling, movin’ and a groovin’, gigglin’ and a wigglin’, yeah.

This may all just be a matter of perspective, but I thought it was friggin’ hilarious!

Also, because I was trying out some new video editing software (Sony Vegas), here’s two more – short – videos of Tyler crying.

Tyler wants his paci, NOW:

Tyler needs his nursies:

I fully admit, sometimes I can be rather irrational. I even toyed with naming my blog “Irrational Dad”, and I may still do that. “Who’s Your Daddy”… I may as well be named “John Smith” for the amount of originality in that title. I didn’t come here today to discuss titles with you, though.

Sarah was gone all day yesterday. Her sister is ill, blah blah blah. Read yesterday’s post if you don’t know the background. Well, Sarah called me around, I don’t know, 6ish to tel me that they were heading to the hospital because her sis wasn’t doing so well.

Oh hey, look, a tangent. Mind if I jump on it? I love all of Sarah’s sisters (3 of them) as if they are my own sisters. Heck, I consider them my own sisters. It breaks my heart that she’s hurting, and I sincerely wish her the best. I’ll be giving her a giant hug tomorrow.

*jumps off the tangent*

So, Sarah’s at the hospital and will be on her way home soon. Fine by me, no problem, take your time.

She got home around 8p or so. After giving Sarah her X’s and O’s, I scooped Tyler up to give him some lovins too. He responded by screaming.

After a bit, I read him “The Alphabet Book”, by Dr. Seuss, and “I Know an Old Lady”. Tyler still had wide eyes, so I sang the alphabet song to him, forwards and backwards (yes, I am that good. Sarah asked how the heck I did that, the first time she heard me. I don’t care if you can say the alphabet backwards, you have to sing it to the tune of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”), and then read him some farm book. I dressed him in his jammies, and carried him upstairs.

I put Tyler in his crib and told him that I love him forever and ever… And he screamed. I gave him his paci and he calmed down and closed his eyes. Upon crossing my left foot over the threshold between his room and freedom… errr… I mean the hallway, he spit the paci out and screamed.

He continued to scream at me while I held him, quietly shushing him and telling him it’s time to make his night-nights come. He continued to scream while I walked with him, swayed him, and rocked him. That’s about the time where I became “irrational dad”. I started wondering why Tyler doesn’t like me, if he’ll ever learn to love me, and what I did to make him feel that way towards me. I can’t be the only person to have ever felt that. At least, I hope I’m not the only one.

The logical part of me (94%, according to some bloodwork I got back in March) tells me that I’m being, well, irrational. I know that he’s used to being put to bed by Sarah. I know that he prefers to fall asleep at the boob, although we *try* to discourage that. BUT… Irrational dad is screaming at me, telling me I’m a horrible father, and he’s quite convincing.

Tyler finally fell asleep, so I put him in his crib. I headed downstairs so that Sarah and I could watch a couple episodes of Dexter (awesome, albeit a little dark, show. We’re halfway thru season 1). About 10 minutes in, something caught my eye. I looked over towards the coffee table to see what moved. Nothing. Must’ve been my imagination. But, wait, I see it again! The arch of lights on the baby monitor flickered. Just the first light. I watched the monitor with suspenseful anticipation, as if it was going to sprout legs and start dancing any moment now.

“Please Lord, let it just be a fart.”

As if on cue, all 6 lights sprang to life. The flickering lights, a perfect visual compliment to the cries that seemed to be originating from the upper level. Watson, my dear friend, I do believe that our guest has awakened. The word that formed across my lips starts with an “s” and rhymes with “hit”. On I trudged my way up the stairs, I mumbled something about my son hating me.

I put my hand on Tyler’s chest. After telling him he was safe and that his mommy and daddy were still here, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

About 10 minutes later, something caught my eye. A glimmer of red light. Do you see where this is going? Sarah said she’d go up. A few minutes later, she brought him downstairs and put him to the boob. He ate very lazily, then fell asleep.

FOR 7 HOURS. Is it considered bad form to call one’s own son a jerk? I’m pretty sure he did that on purpose, just to spite me.

Tyler likes to learn new tricks. Last night, at around 2am, Tyler woke up, screaming bloody murder. It was a scream that Sarah and I have never heard, and it scared the ever-living crap out of us. Sarah was out of bed and on her feet before my eyes were completely open. I honestly have no idea how she can move so fast.

Within 2 seconds of being scooped up, he was silent again, heading back towards sleep. I mumbled something – to myself – about waking me up for nothing, and also started heading back towards sleep. I assume that Sarah did the same.

Then, at 5:55am, Tyler woke up, screaming bloody murder.

I don’t like having to admit this, but Sarah and I have grown accustomed to Tyler’s cries. Sarah, more so than me. We can differentiate between hungry-cries, diaper-cries, and gassy-cries. My displeasure in admitting that is due to the fact that I used to consider it a bunch of hogwash. I’ve heard babies cry and scream before, mostly at Wal-Mart, and they’ve ALL sounded identical to me: annoying. I used to mumble, (again) to myself, “shut that baby up”. I know I’m not the only person who’s ever had that thought, although I may be one of the very few to admit it. Now that I’m a parent, and have had some first-hand experience, I would like to use this blog to offer a public apology to anyone who has been in the care of a crying baby while in public. Truly, I am sorry.

This new scream, coming in the darkest of the night, stopped our hearts, cold. It was very reassuring that he calmed immediately after being held.

The fact that he was awake, and that he calmed down, steers me away from thinking they were night terrors. However, I could easily believe they were nightMARES. Google seems to agree.

But then it begs the question… What the heck can a 41-day-old baby be having nightmares about? He doesn’t know who Frankenstein‘s monster is (who just so happens to have been the subject of my childhood recurring nightmares). He has no knowledge of Freddy Krueger, Jason Voorhees, Mike Myers, or Bubba Sawyer (a.k.a. Leatherface ).

Racking my brain, I’ve come up with two possible sources of this nightmare. The first is “tummy-time”. He does not like, at all, being on his belly for more than a few minutes. As a matter of fact, I believe Tyler is going to skip crawling, and go directly to walking. He absolutely LOVES standing up – with me supporting him, of course. When we do this, the expression on his face reads, “zOMG, I don’t know what this is, but I want more of it!!!!” I’ll have Sarah help me get a picture of it. It’s awesome.

My other thought is that he was reliving the experience of his mother nearly dropping him. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BURRRRNNNNNNN!!!!!!

I’m going to pay for that comment later.