The List Means We're Ready

While it's a balmy 15° outside and both of our cars are experiencing issues, we're in the final stages of preparation for our second son.

Know how you can tell we're in the final prep mode? It has nothing to do with anything being dilated, or a percentage of something being effaced. Those are indications doctors look at. After 10 years, I can read the tells my spouse gives off as she is prepping for the finality of something.

The biggest indication that a second child is imminent: my wife has created a list.

How do I know when I really have to pack for vacation? She makes a list. How do I know when we're serious about moving? She makes a list. These lists are put in an old notebook she's had  since college. I know well enough that when the notebook comes out, so does change.

When I got home from work the other day and saw the notebook with a list in it, I knew we were preparing for a change. Nature melts the snow and blossoms the trees to show change; my wife organizes her ordered thoughts and writes a list. The best part of the list? The treat of hearing it read aloud like a children's story. Except it's no Chicka Chicka Boom Boom. She reads it like a general preparing his platoon (no idea if generals lead platoons) for a mission. 



I never listen to the list either. And she calls me on it every time. "You're not listening are you?" she says. And I search the recesses of my right brain to come up with a creative answer that makes it sound like I was. 

The list for the new baby is made. Step-by-step instructions for when I get the call that she's going into labor. All items that need to be brought to the hospital. Everything. The list means it's real now. There is going to be another member to this family sliding it's way into the relentlessly optimistic but often too jaded place we all call the world (you're welcome for the imagery - dull humor is how I cope with stress).

For 8 months I knew this was going to happen. And I've had only one problem when thinking about another son for the past 8 months. 

I'm no good with one son, so there's no way I'm going to be good with two.

Let me be specific and honest (two things I'd rather not be on a public writing platform): My wife and I share a staggered work schedule which leaves the both of us alone with him at different points throughout the week. When it's my turn to be on my own with him, I have to take on both the role of mom and dad. I wouldn't mind attempting the dual roles for a few hours here and there, but oftentimes I maintain that role for a very extended period. 

And here's where the problem emerges: I am terrible at the mother role. I understand that in an increasingly relative world, gender roles are losing value. But I think that there are some things that mothers are intrinsically better with, and some things fathers are intrinsically better with.

(Before I go on, I'd like to note one thing. In the case of an absent or unavailable mother or father, I believe that one parent can become or find the resources to fill the void role. Each day, the structure of the family becomes more ambiguous and difficult to define. Regardless of how a family is defined, a mother's and father's roles are infinitely important.)

My wife has admirable patience with our Kicker. They communicate in an intimate way that only they understand. They have a connection that only they share. When he cries, she somehow knows why. She sings to him. She is so cued in to his behavior patterns that she can predict what kind of day he will have. 

I don't share these gifts. 

I'm better at other stuff. And my inability to do what she can has left me with some long nights and days with our son. In response, I'm mentally in battle with my confidence to have another one right around the corner as the formation of the list has predicted. 

So when I texted a fellow dad about my concerns, he obliged with advice. He said that I can't expect to continue to handle the situations moms are better at by acting like a mom. In his words, "find your own way to do it. Because you can't do it her way." Which makes sense because I lack the qualities and hips that would make me a good mother.

While I'm still lacking the confidence I need to raise a sequel, I know now that I can't take on the mom roles by being a mom. I have to find my own ways to pacify, communicate, calm, and be patient. 

I can only be vulnerable and honest for so long. So it's done here. That took a lot out of me. Pardon me as I go Youtube a few UFC classics. 

One Month

It's a big day for the little man.

The Kicker has been here for a month now. A very Happy One Month to the most handsome little man. 


Our lifestyle in the past month stands in stark contrast to what it looked like the whole 4 years prior. Here's what's different in the last 31 days...

• When we watch movies, they can take up to five hours to finish. We gotta stop to change, feed, and often pacify him. 
• Our living room added more furniture: a swing, change station, and some mat with hanging toys on it that he hits around. 
• Way less sleep for me. Not because he stays up all night, but because I worry a lot if he's still breathing. 
• To prevent permanent leaning to one side, I have to switch hands frequently while carrying the car seat from place to place. 
• I've worn a pacifier around my finger (got to be ready anytime) more than my wedding band. 

The biggest change in the past 31 days: Work has been tough. I'll be sitting (actually, standing) at my desk hammering out some work. About 3 times a day my wife will send me a picture text of the baby. Sometimes awake, sometimes yawning, sometimes with crazy hair. Whatever. Thanks for rubbing it in. Knowing he's at home having a great time with mom makes it difficult to continue to focus on work. It does help me work faster though. 


It's been a great first month. Cant wait for a lot more. 

Red Badge of Courage

We were sitting one evening watching the '89 classic Glory - about the Civil War. Denzel and Morgan give a one-two punch performance bringing to life history shaping events from a hundred-fifty years ago. As the battle scenes intensified, I remarked to my wife, "Why do they stand in a line like that? That doesn't seem like a smart strategy." To which she replied, "Yeah, it's like they're just waiting to get shot." 


Maybe its our 21st century ignorance that blockaded us from knowing the real answers. We continued to banter back and forth about the foolishness of the battle strategies. My comments ranged mostly from how I would run in a zig-zag motion and out flank the enemy instead of just standing in a shooting line. Her comments were more like threats about how if I ever leave the baby and her behind to "run in zig-zags" in some war, she would be what I would have to fear the most. Not the enemy. 


Then our conversation got dangerous:
Wife - What war is this movie based off again?
Me - Seriously. 
Wife - I mean, I used to know, I think I just forgot.
Me - We're three-quarters the way through, and you have no contextual reference for which to understand what's going on? 
Wife - Just tell me.
Me - How do you ever appreciate good cinema? Maybe you should stick to the Bachelor.
Wife - Now.
Me - The Civil War. 
Wife - Ooooohhh yeeeaaah............So what war is The Patriot based off? 
(A long silence ensues. I'm scrambling for the most sarcastic line I can think of, but the speaking part of my brain is shocked from the last question)
Wife - Wait, that's a fictional war right?
Me - (When I can't believe what I hear, my eyes tend to close tight, then open real wide repetitiously - kind of like when you get ocean water in them). I...wha....how do.....pause the movie. Now think, who was the enemy in the Patriot?
Wife - the Redcoats. British?
Me - Who were we pulling for?
Wife - Mel Gibson......America.
Me - Now what war is it Britain against the U.S.?
(long silence)
Me - The Revolutionary War! You know, the war that gave our country independence?!
Wife - I thought the war for independence was against Aliens with Will Smith.


That last line was real. But she assured me she was kidding. I believe her, but my chest pain continues. 


This movie reminded me of a book I had to read during the summer back in High School. Bypassing the short cut provided by Cliffs Notes, I read The Red Badge of Courage. War stories have a gravitating effect - they're stories about experiences I've never had. 


Despite the book taking place during the Civil War, the real conflict in RBoC was about an inner war between the character and himself. That was the hook that snagged my interest. In the story, the main character is a private fighting in the Union Army. During a battle, he flees the field in fear of losing his life. He becomes ashamed of running away and wants a battle wound - a red badge of courage - to counteract his cowardice. The book is about his struggle to earn a badge. 


I respect the character's desire for a wound. The wound is a mark of bravery. It's a visual reminder that he paid a high price for the side he took. It's something he can show off to his family and friends. It would be hard earned, but a permanent fixture on his body and in his memory.  


And because of that, I want a red badge of courage too. Something with a story. A visual reminder.  Something I can point to that shows I paid a price. 


But I have no battle wound. Maybe a few scars from sports and mistakes from work. But no real red badge of courage. 


Instead, the past three weeks have left me with badges of a different kind:


Regurgitated formula stains on 2 pairs of my jeans. 
Stinging, red eyes from reduced sleep due to worrying. 
Sore trapezius muscles from clinching my shoulders to my ears while carrying the baby.
Yellow pee stains on my white t-shirt from the crazy spray of diaper changes. 


They're no musket ball wound; nor are they signs of bravery on a battlefield. But they're indications of sacrifice. My wife and I both share these signs. It's not fair to compare a war injury to the fatigue of raising a child. But there is a light correlation. And I'm happy to share with you those badges of courage anytime. 

Amazing

Let's talk about amazing. I've been fortunate enough to witness a number of amazing events, and experience a handful of amazing times. Here are a few examples...

This is an amazing sunset as seen from our balcony. This view doesn't get old. 

This is an amazing rainbow we saw after a storm. Notice the orange sky? We stared at it for a while. It's a unique sight. 

There are two amazing things in this image. 1.The city in the background is amazing. I'm proud of my hometown Cleveland. 2.The team in the foreground is amazing. Always a Cleveland Indians fan. It will also be an amazing celebration when we win a championship. Hang in there. 

This is a snapshot of an amazing day. Here, we're in the middle of a wild afternoon of being with family and friends. I like this image because it's a still photo of a candid conversation. Of all our wedding pics, this one summarizes us best. 

Above is Ash Cave in Hocking Hills, Ohio. From this angle, we're standing inside looking out. It's amazing how erosion and other elements shaped a mammoth size cave. We traveled here on a very cold day when the snow added an amazing touch. . 

This is an amazing parking job. Looking for a parking spot in Columbus on a Saturday for a Buckeyes football game isn't easy. CJ - the gentleman on the right - parallel parked that car in that spot. Only 3 inches separate the rear and front bumpers from the neighboring cars. Amazing to witness. 

I don't have an image to post about this next amazing event. But I'd like to tell you about how amazing it was. 


A couple years ago, I had appendicitis. I spent a couple hours in some pain waiting for the doctors to remove the angry appendage. I kept telling Wife how much it hurt, and how I haven't felt anything like it before. As the pain intensified, I kept giving Wife updates on how the pain was and where it was at. Eventually, the appendix was removed. 


This past week, my wife spent a total of 39 hours in labor. Her contractions went from frequent painful discomfort to continuous agony in a short time. While it was evident to see she wasn't feeling great, she never complained out loud. At one point, the doctor asked, "On a scale of 1 to 10 - 10 being the worst pain you've ever experienced - what is your pain level?" In a calm tone, Wife replied "A 10." 


10? Based on her body language, I would have guessed it was a 6 - at most. This quiet acceptance of ongoing pain by my wife was amazing. As the day unfolded, I checked the monitor to see her contractions. With them only 3 minutes apart and lasting for 2 minutes, she responded in the same demeanor as she had 30 hours prior - just handling it as it happened. She remained very stoic throughout the whole process; treating labor and delivery like it's something she's done a million times. 


Let's make one thing clear: We are a competitive couple. It takes a lot for us to earn each other's respect. We don't congratulate one other for small accomplishments. Rather, we challenge each other to beat the record, set a new top score, or one-up the other. When I'm complaining, she tells me to stop whining. When she complains, I tell her that her mom is only a phone call away. 

But last week...

She rewrote my perspective of tough. I've been looking for a way to challenge myself and test my toughness - competing in a Tough Mudder race, joining a MMA class, running in freezing temps, finishing a triathlon. But she comes along and smashes to pieces everything I thought tough was, and she didn't even flinch. 

That's amazing. 

I don't think I'll ever see a sunset, or a parallel parking job that will be more amazing than the toughness my Wife showed last week. She has set the bar of amazing to a new height. 


There is an off chance that the celebration for a Cleveland championship may someday be more amazing than that though. 

Off Days Are Now On Days

When did the off day become the busiest day of the week? It was great when the off day meant unlimited possibilities. Now the off day means check marks in the boxes of a to-do list. Has this  happened to you? 


Today was one such example.....


We had a doctor's appointment to check on the baby early this morning. Wife says early appointments are better because you don't get backed up in the waiting room like later in the day. She's right; but now I'm dozing off while reading the news and surrounded by pregnant ladies. Being at these 2 week check ups makes me feel like I'm an important part of the baby process. It makes me feel all grown up and mature asking important questions about the baby.


Still on the topic of being all grown up. The nurse showed us into the room. I went to take my keys out of my pocket and noticed my fly was wide open. Not just cracked open or halfway unzipped; it was as if my zipper called in sick that day and didn't show up for work. At least I hadn't spent the last 23 minutes in a waiting room full of ladies, then standing around a bunch of nurses while Wife's blood pressure was being taken. Could you have imagined if that would have happened?!


There's never a moment so awkward as when you're all alone with your significant other waiting for the nurse. It's like regressing to the moment in the relationship when you both first met. The room sits in complete quiet. Any talking we do is at whisper level for some reason. To break the weird silence, I decided to ask Wife a question I'd been thinking about.


Me: What should we do with the chord blood?
Wife: Nothing. There's no way we can afford to have it frozen and stored.
Me: Idea. What if we took the chord blood and froze it ourselves. Just in case we needed it for a major operation someday (before you wince in disgust, chord blood contains essential stem cells that can treat major diseases or something. Most effective when used within family)
Wife: That's illegal. They didn't let you keep your appendix when they removed that did they?
Me: That's not fair though. It was MY appendix. I grew up with it. Same with the chord blood. 
Wife: It's disgusting. We'll donate it. I'm not having chord blood frozen in our home somewhere.
Me: Fine....................Think it's still possible to get my appendix back?


We headed downtown after the appointment to meet with our financial advisor. She does an incredible job helping us situate our finances and make smart money choices. We thought it wise to seek her counsel with how to strategically allocate our monies with a baby on the way. We sat and spoke for about 3 hours. We left with a plan in place and completely exhausted.  


We got home a full work shift - 8 hours - after we had left in the morning. 


Winding down with a movie sounded good. Wife suggested the movie Sanctum. It's about a team of spelunking cave adventurers that get trapped in the worlds largest underground cave. The whole movie consisted of people swimming and crawling through narrow and closed passes. This was perfect for a guy who's claustrophobic.


Let's be clear about one thing: I'm not afraid of encloses spaces.......I just start to pass out if I happen to have no exit in a small space. There's a difference. After spending the whole movie with my head between my knees to keep the blood flowing to my brain, the movie ended. 


This was the "off day." Waiting, fly open, doctors, driving, downtown, meetings, scary dumb movies, etc. Is this how to spend our time off?


It's good though. What kind of parent's would we be if we weren't taking the proper precautions for the baby? We have peace of mind that his heartbeat is normal, and his health is in check. We're prepared for the delivery. We are taking the right financial steps in considering his future. Watching a movie that induces my fear of enclosed places really has nothing to do with preparing for the baby. But everything else is worth the busy off day. 


He better thank us someday.

How To Wake Up

Here are a variety of things that bother me greatly:

Oreo Packages: The guy who thought it was a great idea to put a resealable opening on the top of the Oreo package must have forgotten about the first and third columns of Oreo's on the side; because they're almost impossible to get to. Oreo's have a strange power over people - me especially. When I get a jonesing for Oreo's, there should be nothing standing in my way. Unfortunately, the stupid opening on top of the package only allows for fast cookie grabbing of the middle column of Oreo's. Once that column is gone, there's no getting the blasted Oreo's from the side. There is virtually no room to grab the Oreo's from. I stand there with the fridge door open (yes, we keep our Oreo's in the fridge) and begin a wrestling match with a pack of cookies. It takes time, the fridge door is letting out all that paid for cold air, and the Oreo's are teasing me!! Should you come over to our place and take a look at our Oreo package, you may find it looking like a raccoon tried tearing into it. Now you know why.


Unnecessary Technology: Not only could this topic take up it's own entry, but I could dedicate a whole other blog to unnecessary technology. I give Wife a lot of credit for putting up with my rants about unnecessary stupid stuff. I almost lost my mind the other day while watching TV. I was minding my own business when Ford decided to pick a fight with me. They wanted to see how I would handle one of the new features on their car. First of all, the woman who was driving the car was way too excited..."Wow! My old car could never do that!" Relax. As she's driving and obsessing about the new car, the voice over man pointed out the new feature: "Select models carry a feature that lights up on the side-view mirror when another car gets too close to you or passes!" A new feature??? I've actually had that feature on all my cars.........I call that feature "my eyeballs." 


Spilling: You would think that spilling a drink is a child's problem. Well then call me a child. The worst part about spilling is that I have no one to blame except myself. Here's how it typically goes down: I sit on ground with large cup of water. My brain is fully conscious that there is a cup in play. After 2 seconds, eyes look at TV to watch show...brain immediately forgets about cup. As commercial time hits, brain tells body to get up fast to retrieve veggie sticks from kitchen. Brain neglects to tell body about full cup to the left. Some flailing body part makes connection with cup, and careens it across room. I think the worst part of spilling is the feeling of absolute helplessness. Gravity works way faster that I do. Once that cup is horizontal, the brain can only send one message to the rest of the body....Noooooooooooo! 

Hours go by after the spill. Just when you think you've dealt with the spill completely and it's out of your mind, you step in the wet spot while wearing socks. "Why does it feel like I'm walking in swamp in my living room?!" All time low. 


Loud Noises: I have an incredible talent; I can relax better than anyone. My heart rate drops to almost 5bpm and my mind goes to worlds far away. But occasionally, I'll be jolted by the most unholy of loud noises. It physically hurts. My heart goes from 5bpm to about 500bmp (I've measured), and my brain doesn't know what to do so it just emits a loud, high pitched screeching noise. My first thoughts are How can this be!? Go crush whatever is alarming you! No lies. These noises can be any one of the following: my cellphone, a slamming door (because all the windows are open), a person yelling my name, The View, a Fred Martin Superstore car commercial, Tyra Banks talking about herself, Tom Hamilton calling a long fly ball out, Grey's Anatomy, my guinea pig squeaking for food, pop music, cups spilling, and my cellphone. 


Uncovered Food In the Microwave: It's not that difficult. Put a napkin over your food while heating it in the microwave. If you don't, the food ends up all over the inside of the microwave. It soon looks like a spaghetti-o grenade went off in there. My mom taught me to cover my food in the microwave before she showed me how to ride a bike. I've been an avid food coverer for years. Wife on the other hand is not a practicing food coverer. I've attempted to convert her many times. But she repeatedly goes behind my back with her big bowls of macaroni and cheese and leaves them uncovered to wreak havoc on our microwave.  


Awaking From My Slumber: I used to be the lightest sleeper in the world. Now that I'm older, sleeping hours are more valuable; and I'm convinced that I slip into a semi-coma when I sleep. When the alarm goes off in the a.m., my first thought is always, "Who super glued my eyes shut??" It's a terrible feeling. It's no fun at all to have to wake up when the body is not ready.

___________________________________________________________

Whenever I get into baby conversations with someone who has already had a baby, I always get the "Wait 'till you have to wake up every 3 hours to feed! Then you still have to go to work the next day!" Thank you for making this intimidating experience a little easier on me. Your words have brought a sense of calmness to my mind now. Please don't stop with the stories, can I hear more of your awesome advice?


This is scary news. I'm not crazy about being awaken from my slumber. Here's what I've noticed though...I find it far easier to wake up when I'm looking forward to the next day. If we're leaving for a trip, or going away for the day, I get excited in the morning and jump out of bed and start rolling. Even if I can't wait to cook breakfast for me and Wife, I find it easy to get out of bed. 


But what about when the baby cries because it's feeding time? What will happen when Wife nudges me that it's my turn to go feed the hungry newborn. I hear that babies sometimes can cry themselves back to sleep. Maybe we can give that a try or two sometime...........Just playin'. Chill out. 


When I was sitting with Wife the other day, I had one hand on her belly feeling the Kicker go to town. He loves to dance, or roll, or something. He's busy though. While feeling the kicks, Wife showed me a new trick she found out: There are harder spots on her stomach that are areas where Kicker (the baby) is actually pressing up against. I felt this area and she seemed correct. Then I got a surprise:


Wife: Can you feel it?
Me: Yes, it just feels like you have solid abs in this one spot.
Wife: Well press down a little bit.
Me: Will I hurt anything?
Wife: No, just try it.
What happened next is tough to describe. But as I pushed down, the hard spot just disappeared. Within a half second though, the baby punched that spot right back! It was like he was saying, 'Hey, I was comfortable until you started pressing down. Back off please.'


I got the biggest kick out of this (pun intended). The baby was trying to connect with me. I wanted to pick him up and hold him right there. Unfortunately, I kept pressing all over Wife's stomach about a million more times to evoke similar kick. This may have bothered her.


Early morning feedings will be tough. Probably the toughest part about having a newborn. The good part is that I'm looking forward to holding the Kicker. When super glue eye syndrome hits at the wee hours, there is something worth jumping out of bed and opening my eyes for.

The Most Dreaded: Part II

We left off with the pre-registry story last time (http://shockedasyouwere.blogspot.com/2011/09/most-dreaded-part-i.html if you need to catch up). Part II of the Dreaded Series continues the following week. Precisely one week from Saturday is - you bet - another Saturday. Fishing...no. Workouts...later. College Football...Nay. Saturday's are all about the baby, and he's not even here yet. This day is dedicated to the actual baby registry. It's sad when I have to put "the actual" in front so no one is confused. On with the saga.


Deja-Vu. Target, it's like we never left you. Not 60 seconds into the actual day of baby registry and I'm already miffed. There is a kiosk to enter your information into for registry. In my opinion, the questions were a bit too personal. (as always, my thoughts in italics)


Me: "Don't put that."
Wife: "Don't put what?"
Me: "Our apartment number at the end of the address line."
Wife: "Why wouldn't I put that?"
Me: "Because I don't want to give The Man too much information."
Wife: "What are you talking about?"
Me: "We'll still receive any mail, but I want to withhold some info just in case."
Wife: "What is wrong with you?"
You'll thank me later.


I'm not sure what it is. Maybe I watched one to many Bourne Identity movies. Why do "they" need all that info anyway? It's not just about the coups arriving at your door. They track your shopping habits, and tie that to your credit card, and study your spending history, and next thing you know..................I don't know about the next thing, but I bet it's something that could be avoided by not putting our apartment number. Whew, crisis avoided.


Before me and Wife can even begin to register, we see IT. The IT item I never want to speak of again. IT was right there in front of us being used by a mom and her baby. The item from last weeks pre-registry I scoffed at; IT was the shopping cart cover. 


Wife: "See, you put the cover down on the seated part of the cart, and the baby can sit right         there without touching the germy handle bar." 
Me: "And look at how she's carrying a diaper bag, purse, child, and shopping bags as well. Putting that thing in is like an Olympic event."
Wife: "We're getting it."
Me: "And burning it."


I got to carry the scanner gun. There is no way of carrying that piece to make it look manly at all.  I couldn't tell which way to point the stupid thing for the first 5 minutes. When I finally figured it out, I found it amusing to see how far you could point it and still see the red laser line. Midway through, I had it locked on the ceiling to create a beautiful laser show while Wife looked at bibs for about 10 minutes. This is my Saturday. 


_______________________________________________


Babies-R-Us is the next stop. They don't provide kiosks for registry, they had a kind lady do all that for us. It was a relief not to have to re-punch all the info in again, until........


Kind Lady: "Name?"
Wife: "Matt and Wife W."
Kind Lady: "Address?"
Wife: "1234 Main Road. Apartment number 124. Oh..." 


What did you do!!!!! Now The Man will be all over us!!! Our cover is blown. We have to move now.


Actually, I wasn't even that mad. What impressed me was how Wife reacted when she disclosed the apartment number. Her eyes got real big and she slowly turned to me. I stared at her with one of those now-look-what-you-did looks and said, "It's no big deal, don't worry about it." The Kind Lady probably thought we stashing large amounts of cocaine at that location and just gave it up to the Baby's-R-Us database. Maybe I should ease up a bit. 


One thing is for sure, baby books have changed since I was a tot. I used to read books that have a cover, various flat and papery pages, and another cover to hold all those pages in. Now books are outrageous. I needed sunglasses to look at a few of 'em due to the boisterous colors. What, are they trying to blind our kids?? And since when do pages jump out at you? I can appreciate a good pop-up as much as the next dad. But these were pop-ups on steroids. The next step were for the actual characters in the book to jump out and chase the reader. And books aren't supposed to make noises either. Since when was the sound of a parent's gentle voice reading the words not enough? Now there's mooing, oinking, laughing, and thunder all coming from a book. What gives?


The best part about Babies-R-Us was the colosseum of rocking chairs and gliders. I was able to chill for a while during the stresses of registry. And I managed to break one of the chairs as well. Who knew? Didn't see that one coming.


What bothered me the most about the baby registry is how darn wimpy all the stuff looked.  There wasn't one item that said, "Hey fathers, be proud to use this item while taking care of your child." No blacks, grays, wood patterns, or metal. I couldn't find one Cleveland sports related item to register for. The tipping point happened during the diaper bag registry:


Wife: "What do you think about diaper bags."
I freaking think a book bag will suffice.
Me: "I freaking think a book bag will suffice." 
Wife: "What about this one?"
It looks like something they carry on the Real Housewives of New York.
Me: "Whatever makes you happy sweets."
Wife: "Oooohhh! I like this bag, it looks just like a purse!"
That's what I want to hear. I can't wait to carry around a bag that resembles a purse.
Me: "Pleeeeease pick something else!"
________________________________________________


The pre-registry is over, the registry is over, and now the Shower is on the way. Will our loving husband make it out alive? Is it possible to be a man and attend a Shower? Found out on Part III of the Most Dreaded Series scheduled to post in late October. 


Get busy and spread the word about Shockedasyouwere. 

The Playlist: Track 3 "Man In the Mirror"

Playlist Monday surges forward with another fine selection added to the comprehensive list to have my child grow up on. No song list is complete without a quick shot from the King of Pop. Of course we're talking about the one, the only, the legendary, Michael Jackson. 


I recently had the privilege of meeting MJ a few weeks ago in Atlantic City. I was humbled to be in the presence of such a star. In all truth, the guy I met was actually an impersonator. But he was such a good impersonator it was like meeting the real MJ. See embarrassing picture at bottom of page. 


What good would MJ have to say to my baby boy? Throughout the Thrillers and Smooth Criminals, where lies the valuable song that will benefit my son for a lifetime to come? 


Option #1: Lengthy explanation: keep reading.
Option #2:  The get to the point explanation (aka - I'm only reading your blog b/c I'm related to you or know you well explanation): skip down to below the line.


(begin lengthy explanation)

Γνώθι σ 'αυτόν

The phrase highlighted above is written in Greek.  It was the inscription written above the entrance gates to the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. Here's how the temple worked: on certain days of the month (usually the 7th), people would be able to go to the temple and ask the Oracle - a beautiful Greek woman whom the gods spoke through - any question they wanted and get an answer. Usually, questions fell along the lines of "Will we win this battle," "Who is the smartest person in the land," and so on. All questions were answered at this temple.


But the inscription above was written on the gates - in plain sight to anyone who entered the temple. The phrase - which translates to "Know Thyself" in English - was possibly the best answer to any question that could be asked to the Oracle. The Greeks thought this phrase to be so valuable, they saw it fitting to put out front for everyone to see. Why did they think this was so important? 


Greek philosopher Socrates believed that self knowledge was a prerequisite for a good life. Self awareness is important for any type of human growth and development, and it's the fundamental element.  Knowing thyself is being able to look in a mirror and recognize my strengths, and weak spots. It's being able to know how far to push my strengths before hubris sets in and weakness begins.  



In summary: It's important to be self aware.


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(the abbreviated explanation starts here)


Sometimes on winter nights when Wife has gone off to work her late shifts and I'm home by myself, I get the urge to dance. Not ashamed. Judge if you'd like. I'll be the first to admit though, I'm far from a great dancer. But that's changed ever since I've been practicing with the Michael Jackson Experience for Wii!!! The MJE game is simple, dance along to MJ's best songs. I'm positive that Baby Whiz will be dancing to this video game before he's even walking. 


Not only does MJ have great dance moves, he has great advice. 

Playlist Monday Track #3: Man in the Mirror by Michael Jackson

(feel free to listen to the song while reading a brief explanation)

This song message is simple: to make a change in the world you have to begin by making a change in yourself. While it's great advice and all, that's not the exact message I want to convey here on the Playlist to Baby Whiz. 


It's just about the simple act of being able to look in the mirror and getting to know oneself. Being able to recognize where his strengths and weaknesses lie so he can go on to be a force of positive change where he goes. Michael Jackson is siding with the ancient Greeks in that they're both claiming: Progress begins with an introspective examination. 


Simple terms: taking a look at yourself is a prerequisite for any positive change in this world. 


Now if you'll excuse me, I have to be getting back to the Michael Jackson Experience on Wii!! This is just a warning, do not play any MJ around me or Baby Whiz if you don't want us to start movin'. 


(cue embarrassing pic)

(that's http://cneading.wordpress.com/ there on the left. Pay a visit sometime.)

What's That Even Mean?

The results are in! A few weeks ago, a list was released that brought wonderful news to the state of Ohio. The Combos Brand unveiled it's 3rd annual Manliest Cities in America review (http://www.americasmanliestcities.com/). Wouldn't you know it, Cinci, Columbus, and Cleveland all finished in the top 20. I could never quite articulate it, but I always felt my testosterone levels drop whenever I exited the borders of The Heart of it All. 

Cleveland showed the strongest ranking of Buckeye cities coming in at a solid number six. I won't lie, I feel a bit of pride knowing that I help masculinize the 6th most masculine city in America. What's most surprising is that Cleveland jumped up nine spots from last year's rankings. This can only mean one thing: the creators of the list remembered that I live in Cleveland and then factored that into this year's results. Hence the sudden spike in manliness for The Forest City. 

How did the Combos Brand come to the results of these rankings? Here are a few things (besides my masculine presence) that helped determine the manliness of a city:

• Sports - number of pro sports teams and other sports related qualities of a city (thank goodness they didn't count number of championships won after 1964).
• Manly Lifestyle - manly behaviors analyzed such as number of pickup trucks owned, fishing equipment, rodeos, home improvement, motorcycles, etc.
• Concentration of Manly retail stores - fishing/hunting shops, BBQ's, etc.
• Manly Occupations - firefighters, police, EMT, and construction job.

Manly Kryptonite points were also taken off of each cities total for the number of: home decor stores, cafe's/coffee shops, sushi restaurants, "modern" male apparel stores, and cupcake shops.

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As mentioned just below the title of this site, I'm not only dedicated to discussing fatherhood and husbandry, but also the responsibilities of being a man. Here is the biggest issue with discussing the responsibilities of being a man: What the heck is a "man" these days?

If the Combos Brand is right, does that mean a guy who picks up Starbucks before he goes to his job in fashion merchandising then meets his buddy for sushi later isn't manly? Do those things make him less of a man? 

I have to think about these questions. While much of this may not pertain to you the reader, understand that if I don't have answers to these questions, I lose credibility at my job. I may have a student who feels less manly because he's more prone to pick up a violin before a barbell. So I have to have a good understanding of manliness if I ever expect to communicate the role of a man to a younger generation (note: that sentence reads just as well by replacing the "I" with "we", give it a try and the responsibility becomes yours as well). 

The question of manhood becomes even more tangled with confusion when we factor in the themes of today's culture. When a female pop star dresses as an Italian teenager, and our male hip-hop artists wear Jeggings, we see a massive grey area in our feminine and masculine roles. Be whatever you want, do whatever you want. 

So what do we say to our violin toting male? Or our frappe drinking fashion merchandiser? More importantly, what do I tell Baby Whiz about being a man? Will his understanding of masculinity be based on his dad? Should men be whatever they want, or do whatever they want???????

I'll spare you the elevendy billion word expository on masculinity and let you know this: Men have a definitive role. In their families, relationships, work, and recreation. It's a heavy responsibility. But the responsibility doesn't center around leadership, or being strong, or making the decisions. It's based on love. So you can run and tell that...homeboy. 

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The guys of this world need advice. More important, my son is going to need advice. So let's come full circle and make...............................a list! List's are always right. 

This list will be advice to guys about being a guy:

• Be confident. Don't be afraid to be who you are.
• Always carry a pocket knife. People will make fun of you, but then they'll be the first ones to ask your help when their feet and hands are roped together by bank robbers - or if they just need help opening Christmas presents. Either one.
• Stand up for people who are getting picked on. 
• Always look out for your mother.
• When you find that special lady, love her more than yourself. 
• And listen to Van Zant when they say: "Don't get too high on the bottle, just a little sip every now and then. Fight your fights, find the grace in all the things that you can't change. And help somebody if you can. And get right with the Man." 

Would love to hear your opinions on which advice should be added to the list. What do you think the guys of this world should always know???

Gosh, all this masculine talk is exhausting. There's only one thing more stressful in this world than trying to raise a little boy:

Raising a little girl. Good luck to whoever has that responsibility on their hands. I know I couldn't do it. I may find myself starting to worry about "guns, weddings, and clothes and all the other stuff that goes along with raising a little girl". Sheesh. 

(http://cneading.wordpress.com/2011/09/09/a-pink-world/ read it, you won't be disappointed).

The Most Dreaded: Part I

Saturdays are great. My job occasionally (about half the time) requires me to work on Saturdays. When a Saturday comes along that nothing is happening, I very much treasure those hours. I fill them with sleeping in, working out, cleaning, running, sitting on the porch and reading...you get the idea. But one of my recent Saturdays was tragically ruined, and it started late one Friday evening. (Remember, my thoughts are in italics).

The setting: a small two-bedroom apartment with a killer sixth floor view facing the west.
The characters: Matt (me) - a father-to-be who works hard to support his wife, gives to charity, helps baby animals, is environmentally conscious, and advocates world peace. Married to...Wife - a master mind who carefully crafts mental domination over her husband, appears innocent and sweet on the outside but carries the "master plan" on the inside, and accuses husband of making up complicated words when they're actually real.
The time: Late Friday evening.

We find Matt on the computer checking on when the next UFC fight will be and where. He's also following the Cleveland Indians game online pitch-by-pitch (this is due to the lack of cable). Furthermore, he's keeping up on the latest training camp notes about the Browns. While in the zone, he hears a question echo from across the room.

"Who should we invite to the baby shower?" asks Wife as she sits on the couch with a notebook in hand and a pen ready.

Well timed Wife. Between innings and finding out about the next fight, I was actually thinking about who we can invite to the baby shower as well. Matter of fact, I was about to abruptly turn and ask you the same, but you beat me to it. Gosh, you know me too well. Keep answer concise. 


"Ummmm, I don't know," I respond. "What were you thinking?" Make her make the first move. 


"Weeeelllllll," she begins, "I think we should........something something....then put the whatever somewhere.......then mail out on the somethingth of a month......"Darn, lost her with the first 5 words but try real hard not to get distracted, or she'll get mad. "then fold the papermajig....and the people from whoknowswhere........" Focus, DO NOT turn back to the computer to check the score. She'll call you on it. Focus! "and put the other invites somewhere where something something something......but we should text to get an address from a name you'll never remember.....and you could probably handle that....." Don't turn away please! "do you need me to write........then we can email to see if they still.......call.....there......when.......are.......you......there..............." Hmmm, how did we give up that run? When will our starting pitching....


"MATTHEW!"

That's my full name. And that's not good.


My guess is that I would get in a lot less trouble if there weren't so many distractions around. Have you ever tried talking to a dog when all of a sudden, the dog sees a squirrel and takes off after it while you're mid-sentence? I think that's how Wife feels while talking to me. I feel sorry. But she brought up baby shower invites. Thanks for wanting to talk about the most boring subject in the world.

Why can't she ever ask me questions that are actually going on in MY mind? Something like, "Do you think you can jump from this balcony to that tree branch and not fall?" Or, "Is it possible to leap from each piece of furniture without hitting the ground?" Or, "What would our feet look like if we never wore shoes?" To those questions, I can give full attention and well thought out answers.

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Fast forward to the following Saturday morning. Since Wife has been so good at dropping questions like bombs out of the sky in the past 12 hours, she tries to continue the trend with this one:

"When do you want to go pre-register today?"


Pre-register? Pre-register what? My car? For a race? What is this pre-register you speak of? "What are you talking about?" is the only response I can muster.

Then came the lengthy explanation, "Well, we have to go look at both Target and Babies-R-Us to see which items we want to register for at each. I don't want to register for a stroller at Target, then see a better one at Babies-R-Us. We need to go today and make a list of which items we want from which store so they don't overlap."

Oh silly me. Obviously that's why we need to venture out on this wonderful Saturday. Because registering for baby stuff isn't hard enough, we have to PRE-register. Excuse me while I celebrate PRE-Opening Day for the Indians. 


It's been a while since I've actually paid any attention to the baby aisles in a store. Check that, this is the first time I have ever paid any attention to the baby aisles in a store. Things sure have changes since I was a kid. I remember my pack n' play when I was a tot. It was a hard base with netted walls on the sides in plain white. Now a pack n' play is comparable to a Sandals Beach Resort for adults. The pack 'n plays have two levels, both with extreme comfort padding. There is an attached changing table with a half-a-million pockets and compartments to hold who knows what. There is the retractable dome on top to provide shade, and allow the baby to play a full nine inning game with no rain delays in a controlled climate. There is a spot to attach a swinging mobile that will soothe baby to sleep. And to top it off, an attached music player; just in case the baby wants to host his first pack 'n play party when the parents are out of town. BYOB (bring your own bottle).

There are so many safety requirements for these products too. I have a real issue with the car seats. Let me clarify, I want my child to be safe. Very safe. Safety first. But when I saw the height and weight requirements for the car seats, I almost passed out. 100 lbs and 57 inches. As a late bloomer in my earlier years, I don't think I hit those numbers until I was in 9th grade. Can you imagine? I roll up to my first day of high school, mom comes by and unstraps me from my car seat, hands me my lunch, and says, "Enjoy your first day of classes!" That's exactly how you want to start your freshman year. What's ironic is that the very next year I was old enough to drive the exact same car I spent strapped in the year before.

Before we left, one particular item caught Wife's eye. It's called a shopping cart cover. "We definitely need to register for one of those." She says. It's supposed to prevent the baby from catching viruses by providing a barrier between baby and shopping cart. I never had one as a kid and I'm fine, so why should my baby? As I looked at it's flowery pattern I thought, There is no way we are registering for a goofy product like that.

The pre-registry day was full of note taking and testing out products. The scary part, it was only half the battle. We still need to endure the actual registering and the, wait for it.....baby shower.


Stay tuned for Part II of the Most Dreaded saga. How did the actual registry go? Did Matt survive the baby shower? How will this end? Subscribe to my Twitter feed, or the email, or become a member (shameless plugs) to find out before anyone else!!!

Swing Sets to Diapers

Remember those old aluminum swing sets that everyone had in their back yard? The swing set consisted of a metal slide, then two single swings, a two-person swing, and a random monkey bar held up by chains. These swing sets were obviously built for safety; they were practically a metal lightning rod stuck in the middle of a flat backyard. Storms rolling in from seventy miles away were eyeing up these jungle gyms filled with happy-go-lucky children. After the rain passed, they would insta-rust. The whole set was held together by four slowly decaying bolts. 

My cousin David had one of those sets in his back yard when we were kids. I remember playing on it every time we went over his house. We would go really high on the swings to where the back legs of the whole set  (which were probably supposed to be anchored into the dirt) would lift about eight inches off the ground. We called those "cherry-bumps". After dislodging the set from the earth, we moved on to jumping off the swing for distance. We alternated swinging on the swings to see who could heave themselves the farthest from the set. 

As unsafe as it was, playing on that swing set was a blast for two six year old's. The adventures on that backyard set are also the earliest memories I have of me and David hanging out together. 

Flash forward 20 years.

Me and David are hanging out together again. This time each of us has a wife and he has newborn twins - one boy, one girl - and we're all in a hospital room celebrating the new births. Wait a sec, what happened? I was just trying to beat your last jump off the swing and now you're changing the diaper of a baby that's 48 hours old. YOUR baby that's 48 hours old! 

This sounds like something out of a Kenny Chesney song. One minute we're playing in the back yard at six years old, then the next there's baby twins and an exhausted wife. I recall watching David change his son's diaper and thinking, where did you learn to do that? It was a flawless change too. Diaper off, wipe, clean, new diaper, done. The old diaper was even folded perfectly in that weird football-looking shape. 

This is a whole new stage for us. No more aluminum swing sets to play on, just plastic and wooden ones to build. Don't blink.

 

Applications Not Accepted

Being a father is an interesting job. But it's not like other jobs in the work world. There's no application for fatherhood (at least I don't remember filling one out). There's no boss looking over your shoulder (maybe the wife counts as one). And a father doesn't only work 5 days a week for 8 hours a day. Dads are always on the job.

My wife and I were recently on vacation in New Jersey. On one particular day we were enjoying the beach. Just as we were in a groove of beaching, grey skies rolled in and it began to rain. We quickly packed up our umbrella and two chairs and started back toward the hotel. As the rain fell heavier, my fast pace walk became a brisk jog. On the way from the beach to the Boardwalk, I bolted past my future. Let me explain.

Everyone was trying to get off the beach. While running up, I passed a variety of people. But I saw one guy struggling as he was attempting to scamper to shelter. He was carrying (not rolling) a stroller, diaper bag, cooler, toys, and various chairs all at once. I felt bad for him. Not long ago, I bet he was carrying only two chairs and an umbrella like I was. Then he became a dad and can barely walk as he's hauling half of his family's worldly possessions between two arms.

Take a good look, that's the future.

I'll bet that guy used to do a lot of stuff before he became a dad. Maybe he was in to music and played a bunch of local gigs in front of a packed bar. He could have been into running marathons always trying to break his PR. It's possible he could have met up with his buddies every Tuesday and Thursday for a sand volleyball league and won some kind of trophy. Hey may have even gone out on the weekends and had a good night on the town.

Whatever it was, his life changed significantly when he became a dad. He traded his own trophies for his kids' Little League trophies. Weekend partying for birthday partying. Running marathons for running errands. Playing music in front of hundreds for telling night time stories to an audience of one or two.

There is no application for this job. But there are expectations. There is a commitment. And there is a lot of hard work involved. Soon enough, I'll be carrying a stroller, diaper bag, toys, chairs, and a cooler across rain soaked sand. No more falling asleep on the beach, or getting to the gym all the time, or watching my favorite shows.

That shows how great the job of being a dad is. Dads that were, dads that are, and dads that will be; they decide that family is more important than themselves. And it's worth carrying all that stuff across the sand in the rain.

There Was The Moment For Me, Then The Moment For Her

After finding out about the pregnancy, the process that follows is a lot like floating down a lazy river.

Lazy River's are my favorite attractions at any water park. There's never a line to get in the river. It's an opportunity to grab a tube and float down a water loop of tranquility and catch up on some rest. Grab your boo and hold hands as the river jets send you both bouncing off rocky walls and through the fun water ways. But, as any lazy river fanatic knows that's never how it works. There's always wacky kids trying to get around the lazy river as fast as they can, completely defeating the purpose of a LAZY river. They nearly tip over other floaters and create too many unnecessary waves. Lifeguards blow the whistles constantly, ruining the peaceful atmosphere. And the trickling water from above bridges and rocks are more like waterfalls of doom.

Here's where the analogy of the lazy river and post-finding-out-pregnancy process relates...(as always, thoughts in italics)

After the wife and I discover the wonderful news of the pregnancy we grab a two-person tube and step into the shallow waters of the lazy river of pregnancy. It's a bit chilly at first, but it doesn't take long to get used to. We sit down on the tube and let the flow of the river wash us toward our 9 month destination. As we grab hands on the tube we look at each other and think, Hmmm, this isn't so bad. We can do this! The flow of the river is steady and light. It's not too fast, and not too slow. Then from out of nowhere, a rowdy group of splashing kids comes by. Look out! Splish-splash! "Is it a boy or girl?" It's been two weeks since we found out we were pregnant. Let's go step by step here.  "Are you gonna find out?" Yes, but you'll be the last to know. "If it's a girl what's the name?" Ira Fuse "What about a boy?" Seymour Butts "You should name it Eduardo!" Do we look Colombian? It's not so much the asking about the gender and name as it is the obtuse suggestions. Eduardo? Really?The splashing children will make their presence known here and there throughout the lazy river of pregnancy.

Just as we get used to the easy going pace of the river, the first ultrasound comes along at 12 weeks. At this point, we realized we have been floating for a good while now. The whole first trimester is over. We've hit the water jets in the river and picked up some speed. With the speed comes a lot of spinning around in the tube. That dizzying feeling is mirrored in the feelings felt after the first couple doctor visits. Eat this, don't eat that. Exercise, but not too vigorously. Take vitamins, walk frequently. Etc......It's a wild ride.

Finally, on any good lazy river there are waterfalls! Everyone tries to do the same thing to avoid these waterfalls too. They'll kick off the wall with their feet, or paddle frantically with their fingers (b/c there's no physical way to get any leverage when your rump sinks and wedges into the impossibly tight tube locking your arms and legs in place). But, the waterfalls plunge off the top of bridges directly onto the middle of the river, or they careen from the side walls along the river. The waterfalls are unavoidable. These waterfalls are a huge part of the pregnancy river too. The fact that they're powerful, unavoidable, and completely dousing make them a perfect analogy.

Waterfalls are the realization that you - yes you - are going to be a father. I enjoy doing things with Wife, or by myself when she's not around.  My life is spent running, working out, swimming, hiking, building fires, working hard, fixing my car, going to the lake, reading, going out the the funnest places around town, and doing about a million more things. Now, I realized that I can't just think about me, or me and Wife. We have to welcome a third party.  Back when me and Wife were dating, I began to realize how selfless the act of love was. Life became less about me, and more about us. Being on this lazy river of pregnancy together, we're about to hit some waterfalls of truth.

My first waterfall on this river came after the first ultrasound (about 13 weeks).  As I saw the images of a child in my wife's uterus, it sank in to my brain that this is real. I am that child's father. I didn't think I could pull it off. Other men can, not me though. A while after the ultrasound I told my wife what I was thinking.  I told her that I still like playing in tree forts, romping through the woods, exploring outside, building things with legos, and playing whiffle ball. "How can a child raise a child!?!" I exclaimed. In her infinite wisdom, my wife's rebuttal was on the money. "Well," she began. "If you still like to do those things, I guess our son is going to be pretty lucky to have you as a dad."

My wife got soaked by a waterfall on the lazy river of pregnancy also. Her body has slowly morphed from usual-her, to this round-bellied version of her. We spent a week on vacation at the Jersey Shore during her 19th week. There weren't any full-length mirrors at our rental house there. She went about 8 days without seeing her full image. Upon our return home, she was shocked. She had the opportunity to see her full figure in our mirror here at home. The realization that her body was physically changing was a lot to digest. She's used to looking in a mirror and seeing usual-her. The petite little figure she is. But staring into a mirror at 20 weeks of pregnancy, a lot changed. And it didn't seem like the real her was being reflected back. I wish I had something wonderfully comforting to say after she told me about crying after looking in the mirror. But she's doing great now regardless. We get to see and feel kicks from her growing belly. And I think she looks better than ever.

I was drenched from the reality of that first waterfall. It overwhelmed me quite a bit. But we got through it. Her waterfall hit hard to. But it wasn't enough to knock either one of us out of the river. The neat part about our trip down the lazy river is that we still sit in the same two-person tube together. That's the best way to travel down the river...together. I wouldn't want to float down this river alone, and I know she's the same way. And we've held hands the whole time. We're over half way around the lazy river of pregnancy at this point. There will be more splashing kids, fast currents, spinning, and big waterfalls too. But it's way more manageable if we're holding hands.