Up until five weeks ago, that had been the worst that I’d seen in my job.

Recently, one of my peers asked if I could spare a day to help him with a project at one of his hospitals. We had a very productive day, and an all-around good day. As we were wrapping up and getting ready to leave for a late lunch, we were informed that one of the products we had yet to find was located. We found a nurse who led us down the twisting and turning hallways into the pediatric unit and to the room we needed to go into. She peeked her head into the room and asked if we could come in for two or three minutes. In a moment, she opened the door for us to enter.

The patient was a six or seven year old boy. He was sitting, shirtless and pants-less in a chair, wearing only white briefs. Six or more rubber tubes, roughly the diameter of a drinking straw, were inserted into his chest. At least a couple of the tubes were filled with blood. The other tubes were clear, either empty or filled with a clear liquid. He labored to breathe and looked tired. So very tired. His dad sat directly across from him and told him that everything was okay and that we were there to work on something else; not him. At that statement, a lump formed high in my throat.

As we worked, the boy let out a cough. I glanced up to look at him. I didn’t intend to; it was more instinct than desire or intent. He was staring very deliberately at his dad, trying not to cry from the pain that the single cough caused him. I closed my eyes for a moment and looked away before opening them again. As we finished, we wished the boy a fast recovery. I found it extremely difficult to get the words out. The dad thanked us, looked at his son and said “He’s the strongest little man I’ve ever known.” His voice wavered as he said the words.

We left the room and made our way back through the hallways, neither of us speaking. I simply couldn’t find the strength to say anything, for fear that I’d crumble into an emotional mess. As a dad, I see nearly everything through a different set of eyes than I did before. That day, I saw a son trying to be strong and brave for his dad. And I saw a very proud dad… trying to do the same for his son.

I sincerely hope that the little boy recovered. I’m sure he did, and I’m sure he’s running around spreading chaos like every other little kid out there. I’d also like to think that, in some strange six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon way, this post makes its way to that dad. I want to thank him for being the best dad he could be to that little boy, especially in his time of need. And more than anything else in the world, I pray that I’m never in that situation.

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

One of my favorite things to do on a Sunday morning is read the newspaper. This doesn’t usually take much time. Aside from local news relating to my county, I typically just read a couple comic strips and peruse the ads. Anything newsworthy from a national or worldly level, I’ve already read online the day before.

A recent Sunday morning found Tyler sitting in his highchair with breakfast, while I settled into my newspaper reading routine. I prepared a wonderful meal of eggs, ham, and a pancake for my little man. And ketchup. He has to have ketchup to dip his eggs into. And his ham. And his pancake. He gets his taste for ketchup from his mother. I never use it, unless it comes pre-slopped on a Whopper. Otherwise, I don’t touch the stuff. I held onto a secret hope that Tyler wouldn’t like it the first time it was offered, but after personally witnessing him grab a handful of applesauce, dip it into ketchup, and slurp it into his mouth, my little bubble of hope burst ever so silently into an infinity of nothingness.

On this particular morning, Tyler brought his bottomless pit of a stomach to the table. He eats some meals then tells us that he’s all done. And he has some meals where we seriously start to wonder if he has forgotten how to say that he’s all done and is confusing that sign with “more”. This meal was the latter.

“More more more,” he would sign.

Wiggling both of my hands, I asked a leading question. “Are you sure you don’t mean ‘all done?’”

“More more more,” he signed again. This time he followed up by pointing to the bananas on the table.

“Do you want a banana?”

“Dath.”

To drive his point home, Tyler started bouncing in his chair. I peeled a banana, cut it in half and gave one of the two pieces to Tyler. I returned to the newspaper. I looked up after a few moments as I turned the page, and saw Tyler choking. I jumped up and ran to him. Before I got close enough to smash my hand into his back, he was able to dislodge the banana-mush on his own. I pondered exactly how many years have been subtracted from my life due to Tyler’s little escapade. One would think that Tyler would ruminate on the events that triggered his momentary choking. One would be wrong. Instead, Tyler went to work in cramming what was left of the banana into his mouth. And before he had a chance to chew it, he started pointing at the second half of the banana resting on the table.

To his credit, and much to my relief, Tyler took bites and chewed the second half. I watched Tyler adoringly as he took his final bite…

“More more more,” he signed.

Learn speed diapering: Men, when you pull off your baby’s diaper, don’t goof around by tickling his thighs, or saying cute things like "oooooooooo wheeeeee… You are P U STINKY!" Also, make sure all supplies are ready before you pull the diaper off. You want to have the baby wipes out and ready, have the Desitin cap off, and have the new diaper unfolded (and oriented correctly). Failure to explicitly follow these words will result in the baby pretending he is a fireman and you’re on fire.

Perceptiveness and Imitation: Sometimes, your baby will be unhappy. You will learn to make silly faces or noises to elicit a smile or a laugh. Do not (DO NOT) pretend that the kitchen table is a drum set while you are feeding your baby. Your baby will imitate those actions and make a huge mess of his food. Making things worse, said action is horribly cute when your baby does it, which will make you laugh. Laughing is the ONE thing you never want to do in such a situation. Babies like to hear their fathers laugh and will continue doing whatever it was that resulted in a laugh. If you laugh again, they will do it again. If you don’t laugh again, they will keep doing it until you do laugh again. It’s a horrible cycle for which there is no escape.

And now for the one that prompted the publishing of this post. This may or may not have been an incident that took place Wednesday afternoon. Listen up, fellas. If you are daydreaming, please clear your head for a moment, turn off all background music and hop on the focus train.

Know your environment: Do not take a nearly one year old baby to Toys ‘R Us. EVER! Your baby will point at EVERYTHING and say "Dat. Dat. Dat! Dat! Dat!" If you don’t give them whatever "dat" is – in our case, "dat" is every damn toy in the store that wasn’t pink – you will be made sorry. If you do give them a "dat", just to appease the little one, you better be prepared to buy "dat." If not, the world will come crashing upon you when you take "dat" away.

Ok, men, with any luck, these tips will help you survive to fight another day. Good luck and God speed.