His middle name is Neglect
We knew, when Sarah was pregnant with Ty, that we wanted to have a second child. After Ty was born, we talked about it here and there, but mostly during light conversation. It wasn’t until around six months ago that the conversations became more detailed and the planning part began to take shape. After the decision was made – heck, even until, and while, we were “trying” – we never put any serious thought to life with multiple children. Then we got the blue line. That was when the figurative voice boomed through the figurative speakers in our home, “This sh** just got real!”
Where will Version2 sleep? Will I have to clear out the office and turn it into a bedroom? How will Tyler react and adjust? Et cetera ad infinitum.
I asked Sarah if she wanted me to take weekly belly pictures like we did with Ty. She gave me the typical look any loving wife gives her husband for asking a ridiculous question and said, “Of course I do.”
Then she took a sip of her (caffeinated) coffee. Coffee she wouldn’t drink while pregnant with Tyler. This is when *it* began. *It* being one of two things.
On my irrational days, *it* was the fact that this pregnancy isn’t the same because this is our second child. It’s not new, like the pregnancy with Ty was. We don’t care as much.
On my more level-headed days, *it* is the knowledge that we were FREAKS during the first pregnancy. Lay like this, sleep like that, no caffeine, no artificial sweeteners, DO YOUR KEGELS!!!! It was almost to a level of neurosis. Given the opportunity, I would have wrapped Sarah in bubble wrap and locked her in a nuclear fallout shelter until the end of the gestation period. How she stuck with our marriage during the torture I put her through is beyond me. Meanwhile, Ty was partying like a fetal rockstar, taking late-night fetal karate classes, and using Sarah’s bladder to practice for his first boxing match.
I know that I deeply care about this newly created life that is barely larger than the Lightening McQueen Hot Wheels car that Ty loves so much. But…
I’ve already missed the first two OB appointments and have had to admire my beautiful Version2 through printed ultrasound pictures that Sarah brought home. I remind myself that I had no choice due to some important work projects, and take solace in the fact that Ty was there to watch the “baby movie” with his mommy.
It has also occured to me that I’ll either need to delete over 90% of the pictures I have of Ty, or be prepared to take thousands of pictures of Version2. My friends and family would honestly murder me if I did the former, so I’ll get Version2 familiar with the sound of a shutter slamming shut on short order.
Rubbing Sarah’s belly a few mornings ago, nearing in on thirteen weeks pregnant, I said, “We need to start taking belly pictures soon.”
She heard what I didn’t say. That we are slackers. She lowered her head, mildly ashamed.
“His middle name is neglect.”
At the end of the day *it* is the knowledge that Tyler takes up a significant portion of our days now. All the time we sat and admired the growing life form in Sarah’s belly during her pregnancy with Tyler… that time simply doesn’t exist any longer. To feel like we’re neglecting the little one right now is, in and of itself, pretty irrational. I’m sure all parents of multiples went through – or are currently going through – similar thoughts and feelings.
But, we really need to start taking those belly pictures.
Some of my more keen readers may have noticed the word “his” while referring to Version2 a few paragraphs up. No, we do not know the sex of Version2. I find it highly impersonal referring to the baby as “it”, and I only use “Version2″ here on the site, so we refer to the baby as a unknown-gendered “he”.
Don’t feed them after midnight
GAH! Someone call Mr. Wing, quick. I have gremlins in the house, and they’re causing havoc. Things are coming up missing, then reappearing in strange places. My cellphone charging cradle disappeared a few weeks ago. I later found it in Delilah’s dog crate.
You need more? Well, how about this:
Three days ago, the mouse I use for my laptop – the mouse that had been missing for two weeks, which I had all but given up hope on ever finding again – materialized itself under our living room couch. I already know you’re still not convinced of the presence of Stripe, or even Gizmo himself, yet, so I’ll continue.
My missing tape measure suddenly appeared in a box with one of Tyler’s toys.
My camera lens cap disappeared for two MONTHS before being found in Sarah’s Blazer.
One of Delilah’s dog bones somehow ended up in the subwoofer of our surround-sound system. IN the subwoofer. Only a very small hand or arm could achieve such a act of destruction. A gremlin hand, right?
A shoe in the kitchen pantry.
A missing library book under our bed.
Yesterday, I watched Tyler open up the clothes hamper, lean in, and pull out a football.
Just today, TODAY, I found a flashlight (which I didn’t even know was missing until I found it) in Delilah’s crate. There’s something about her crate, I’m sure of it. Then, just a few hours ago, I found one of Tyler’s sandals in our mail slot!! Why is this happening to us?????
The Fight or Flight Response
Is your family important to you? If something were to happen that put the lives of your loved ones in danger, how would you react? It’s not until something really happens that you realize just how important your family is to you and just what you would do to keep them safe.
I swear to you, this is all true.
Sunday night, I slept poorly. It was easily the worst night of sleep I’d had in months. I lay in bed, tired but wide awake, as if there were an energy in the air keeping me awake. I’ve had nights like that before, where my mind was furiously working through a problem that it just couldn’t let go of. That wasn’t the case two nights ago. I simply could not drift off to sleep, and I didn’t know why. I dozed in and out a few times, and finally went downstairs around two in the morning. My head had begun to ache and throb, so I went down for some little white pills and some water. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, aside from the fact that I should have been cycling into a REM sleep cycle. The house was silent.
After swallowing my two pills, I made my way through the dark house and up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Back in the bedroom, and under the covers, I settled in and hoped the sandman would visit.
And I lay there, eyes closed but still wide awake. Tired but alert. Again, I was hit with the feeling that there was something in the air, keeping me awake. Soon, I finally began drifting to sleep. Slowly. Just as I reached that in-between state, the state where we sometimes jerk ourselves awake with a subconscious body spasm, something terrifying happened. I heard somebody in our house. Specifically, I heard a door being shut. A door in my house. The one place where I have an expectation of safety for myself and for my family.
There was no thought. No wondering what I should do, or if I really heard what I know I did. The only thing that ran through my head was “my family.” The next few moments are burned into my memory as a strobe-effect; simply a series of images. The ceiling fan, as my eyes fly open. The bed sheets, in mid-flight, as I rip them away from me. My feet hitting the floor and me pushing off the bed. Delilah taking post at my heel. My hand closing on the door frame. In just one more moment, I will be down the stairs in two jumps, praying that I hit the light switch with my first attempt. Then, I don’t know, but I will protect my family.
In the instant before I pulled myself into the doorway, I remembered something crucial. Earlier this day, my little tyrant of a son learned how to open his own door.
I stepped around the corner to see him standing before me. Innocent. Relief – and fresh anger – swept over me. In the fog of near-sleep, Tyler’s newly acquired skill had been forgotten. Also forgotten was the fact that this was the third or fourth time tonight that he had gotten up. The two main differences were that he was much quieter before, and that Sarah got up those times to put him back to bed. On this particular instance, he opened the door and (I think) accidentally slammed it behind him.
In an angry whisper, I told him, “Get your butt back into bed, right now!” In my head, I added, Jesus Christ, boy, I almost killed you.
“Mommy,” he cried.
“Mommy is making her night nights. You get into your bed, now Tyler!”
As I tucked him in, and my heart slowed back into its normal rhythm, I kissed Tyler’s cheek. “It’s time to sleep, Tyler. You stay in this bed, okay?”
Tyler whispered, “yeah.”
“You do not get out of this bed again, and you do not open your door again, got it?”
Still in a whisper, “yeah.”
“I love you, buddy.”
“luh-loo.”
I pulled his door shut, and tied a shirt sleeve around the knob, hoping to make it more difficult for Tyler to turn, should he disobey my orders. He didn’t, and he slept through the rest of the night, presumably in his bed.
Today, Sarah reversed the door knob so that we can lock him into his room. And, today, Tyler took an unheard-of three and a half hour nap.
We’re still smarter than you Tyler.
A Father’s Guilt Over Imaginary Monkey Poop
Potty training is not, as they sometimes say, “in full swing,” but we’re working on it. We’re at the point that Tyler knows to run his little ass as far away from us as possible when we see that he’s pooping and ask him about it. When asked, he provides no hesitation in telling us that he does not want to use the potty. So, for better or for worse, right or wrong, we’ve resorted to bribery to get Tyler to plant his butt on the potty. Personally, I don’t agree with using candy as a reward, but, well, that’s what we’re doing. Let’s face it, Joe, it’s not always about what you want. It’s a hard realization, and I’m coming to terms with it. All I know for sure is that if we don’t put on a united front, Tyler will conquer us.
When Tyler tries on the potty (a few minutes, at least. None of this sit-down, stand-up, done that he has attempted to pass off as “trying”), he is rewarded with one M&M candy. If he, um, produces results while on the potty, Tyler gets two M&M candies. If you’ve read my previous post, you already know that Tyler tries to convince us that he gets two candies just for trying.
A couple days ago, I was doing dishes in the kitchen, while Sarah slept upstairs, because it was her morning to sleep in. I looked over to Tyler, who had fallen uncharacteristically silent, and saw the tell-tale face. Bulging eyes… Red cheeks… Slightly opened mouth… Stern concentration…
“ARE YOU POOPING?! Let’s go use the potty!”
“NO!”
Tyler turned and ran from the kitchen, shouting, “NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!” He’s a quick little booger, too! I didn’t catch him until he hit the dead-end of the baby gate that led upstairs to the safety of his sleeping mommy.
I picked him up and put his butt to my nose, sniffing. Aww, shit, I thought. I took a moment to both appreciate the irony of that thought, and to wonder when exactly I got to the point of it being second nature to smell my toddler’s butt to check for poop.
I carried Tyler into the bathroom and we talked about where we need to make our pee-pees and poo-poos. He had all the right answers to my inquiries. Upon being asked, he told me he didn’t want to sit on the potty and frankly, I didn’t see the point in making him do so anyway.
“Okay buddy, but you don’t get candy if you don’t try.”
“Ah-ah…. poddy.”
“Do you think Ah-ah needs to use the potty?”
“Yeeeeah.”
We placed Tyler’s monkey on the potty and read a couple books to him. After finishing the second book, Tyler jumped up and yelled, “Candy! Two.” It came out more as “Kaynd! Doo,” but the parental translator that seems to have been implanted in my skull understood perfectly.
I told Tyler that Ah-ah was a good little monkey for making poo-poos in the potty, and would get two M&Ms for doing so.
“Yeeeah,” Tyler yelled while running into the kitchen.
Using slight-of-hand that would never fool the eyes of an adult, I gave Ah-ah two pieces of candy. All the while, Tyler slapped his chest, shouting, “TyTy! TyTy! TyTy! TyTy! TyTy!”
“I’m sorry, Tyler, but you didn’t use the potty. Ah-ah gets candy for using the potty, but not Tyler.”
An immense level of guilt descended and came to rest on my shoulders as I said those words. I’m giving fake candy to a fake monkey for taking a fake dump, and I’m rubbing Tyler’s nose in the fake stink of it.
Recently, I’ve been working with Tyler on faces. He loves making a happy face and a surprised face. Yesterday, we started making a poo-poo face. It’s just as it sounds; we make the face Tyler makes when he’s pooping. a few nights ago, while making poo-poo face for me and Sarah, Tyler peed in the potty! He was so excited (as were we)! Tyler started running in place, clapping his hands and shouting “I DID IT!” and “YAY!”
Then, he suddenly fell silent, looked at Sarah and yelled, “EMM EMM!”
“Yes, Tyler, you get two M&Ms for using the potty!”
All things being said, I’ll call it a success. I still feel guilty about gving Ah-ah candy and shunning Tyler. I’m glad that I didn’t get all hunter/gatherer on Sarah, pound my chest and refuse to hop on the M&M bandwagon with her (yes, I’m eating my words over here. OM NOM NOMNOM). Most of all, I’m hoping this is the last box of diapers we have to buy for Tyler.
Update after writing but before publishing this post:
Tyler has peed in the potty three times, lots of times in his diapers, and twice on the carpet. I don’t know who’s winning, but progress is progress.
Anyone have a spare attitude they can lend us?
Is it considered inappropriate to tell a sixteen month old toddler that he is acting like a dick, and I would be extremely grateful if he would cease in being a dick? I had a less than fantastic day at work today. I spent hours on the phone speaking with customers, quality engineers, and other people that had no desire in making this a great day. This is after having a miserable day yesterday where my wife got mad at me for asking questions about homemade fingerpaint, and I got mad at her for being mad at me for not being able to read minds. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m diagnosed bi-polar, don’t take meds, and have been dealing with gloomy, cold, rainy, and just generally shitty weather for the last couple days.
When I come home to a delicious dinner that Tyler refuses to eat, yet still says “More more more more more more more dada more more mama more more more,” I just want to scream out YES TYLER! I KNOW YOU WANT MORE EVEN THOUGH THERE IS MORE ALL OVER YOUR *#*@&$ PLATE!
We make excuses for him. He’s teething. He had a short nap. He had a really busy day. He’s teething. He didn’t sleep well last night. He’s teething. The fact is, he’s a toddler that can’t communicate with his parents as much as we both wish he could. He wants what he wants when he wants it, but Tyler just doesn’t have the means to tell us what exactly IT is. Last week, Tyler would say “no” to a question if the answer was no. “No” had one meaning. Today, “no” has multiple meanings. If he’s holding his cup and says “no,” it means Tyler doesn’t want his water anymore. Unfortunately, we didn’t know that’s what he was saying, so he threw a fit about it. God forbid he just set his water down and push it away.
Full disclosure though, it doesn’t really help that Sarah and I are pickers. We pick on each other all the time, and sometimes don’t know when is the WRONG time to pick on Tyler. Tonight, for example, Tyler desperately wanted to wear Sarah’s slippers. Sarah decided to put the slipper on her own foot. Meltdown. In her defense, we have been working with Tyler about sharing, and this seemed like a good time to continue those lessons even though we were already dealing with a tired toddler with maybe less patience than I had. Then he wanted to wear his cowboy boots. Bedtime was approaching shortly, so I told Tyler that he couldn’t wear his boots tonight, and that he’d have to wait until tomorrow. Meltdown. We told Tyler it was time to put away his toys. Meltdown. I looked at Tyler. Meltdown. I inhaled a lungful of oxygen. Meltdown. A butterfly in Oklahoma fluttered its wings. Meltdown.
I’m embarrassed to admit that I said, aloud, that, while I loved being a father, this was not one of those days.
There was a moment that made Sarah and I bust a gut though. We built a tower of mega-bloks (think big Lego blocks). Tyler was in mid-meltdown, so Sarah and I were doing our best to just ignore him. His cries and whines were drilling into my already critically low patience level, sucking any reserves dry. I took some spare mega-blocks and built an airplane. With the power of my imagination, and with guidance from my hand, the plane took flight. It circled the tower and soared the skies. In a moment of desperation, I crashed the plane into the tower, sending blocks scattering across the carpeted floor. I closed my eyes, ashamed that I couldn’t keep my cool just a bit longer. Weren’t we just about at the end of this particular nuclear reaction anyway? Why couldn’t I just hold my breath for a couple more seconds? As I lay on the floor, eyes still closed, Tyler fell silent.
“Mess. Booooom.”
The absolute innocence in his sweet little voice melts my soul. I could never imagine not being Tyler’s father. When he hugs me, kisses me, tells me he loves me, when he runs to me when I get home from work and wraps his arms around my legs saying “daddeee”; when he does these things, I feel so full of love and awe that my eyes swim for a moment. Sometimes I’m so caught off guard by these pure moments that I feel my breath catch and hitch in my chest.
I hope you didn’t come here expecting to laugh your ass off today. I’m a little apprehensive about actually putting this post up for the masses to read, but I guess parenting isn’t all sunshine and lollipops. While I really do enjoy talking about the lighter side of parenting, I also just really needed to get this off my chest.
I’m just not in a good place lately
recent videos
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2010-05-15 - The Army Crawl, and Rock on.mpg -
2010-05-09 - Happy Father's Day, Grandpa -
2010-05-07 - Tyler Reads Books -
2010-05-07 - Tyler plays with Luci and says Muffler -
2010-05-07 - A Mile in Daddy's Shoes -
2010-05-04 - Swinging and Getting Attacked by Delilah -
2010-04-27 - Tyler does Shapes and Objects -
2010-04-11 - Attack of the Tyler Monster -
2010-05-29 Tyler and the snake -
2010-05-09 - Happy Mother's Day, Grandma
View my full YouTube channel by clicking on this link. There, you can view all of the videos I have uploaded, as well as some other gems that make me laugh.
other stuffs
