Part II

It's difficult to retell a baby story keeping male audiences in mind.  Nothing draws guy readers like diapers at the top of the page.

I swept my right arm to an empty spot in the bed at exactly 1:46 am. Part of me thought, Stay in bed you gotta be up in a few hours for work. Another part reminded, Better get out and check, she's probably having contractions. The sides were split even. I searched for another opinion to break the tie. The only one left with a thought was common sense. He chimed in: Only a selfish husband wouldn't care about his wife's cramping uterus at 1:46 am. Don't be one of them. 

I'm up. 

71 North is quiet at 3:15 in the morning. Only the crater-like pot holes on the highway slowed us down. Those and the possibility of Linndale police being out patrolling their 500 ft of holy interstate. I was in a hurry, but nothing felt urgent. The last time she was pregnant, we waited in the delivery room for 18 hours. I expected to get to the hospital and live-Tweet this experience. Not typical "4cm we're almost there!" kind of stuff. Just my interpretation of things. Hospitals always hurt my head and tweeting would be my self-imposed means of coping.

I started to throw some dumb tweets out there early on. For example...

Note the time. Also, be sure to follow me. You can count on half-minded attempts at wit and opinions on Cleveland sports.

After that, I only remember things in pieces. 

• This is taking a long time.
• "Ok, she's at 9 centimeters. We need to get her into delivery now."
• "Can I get an epidural?" - "I'm sorry, but I don't think that's going to happen."
• These hallways are bright for 4 in the morning. They should come with a dimmer.
• "This is going to move quick, I need you to push very hard!"
• The view from our room isn't very good. And the sun's not up yet.
• "Ok, I can see the head."
• Ok, I can see the floor moving at me very quickly.
• "Here you go dad, cut between the clamp and my finger. Be sure you don't cut the baby.
• I'm gonna accidentally cut the baby.
• "Congratulations, he's 6 pounds 12 ounces."

We spent exactly 15 minutes in the delivery room. There was little time to tweet anything. And it was difficult to concentrate with all the noise anyway. With no epidural, my wife went with natural birth (not her choice). Which I think means she's felt every bit of pain through the process. While I thought she was amazing during the delivery before, she raised the bar even higher this time.

_______________________________________________

Briefing my future crime-fighting team.

We've been home for a while. It's my two sons, wife, and myself all here trying to figure out a schedule that works. Only 14 months separates my boys. The dynamic is tough to adjust to. While one shoots streams of pee over his head, the other scoops the grease from the track of the sliding door to wipe on his face. They look good together though. Shouldn't be long until I post a pic of them burning leaves with a magnifying glass. 

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. 

Numbers Game

On Dec. 16th of '11, I recall logging about 4 hours of sleep. That's because we just had our baby late that night. For the rest of that year and all of 2012 so far, I've been in this endless pursuit to catch up on sleep. It's as though the full nights sleep is 10 feet in front of me, but I'm sprinting toward it on a treadmill. 

Experienced parents say you never catch up (And they're always so happy to tell you. Almost like they're welcoming you to their side). I have found that by not anticipating catching up on sleep, it helps getting up in the morning easier. Progress.

That's where the numbers game starts, 0. 0 is the amount of sleep I've caught up on.

2 - The amount of times our child has fallen off a couch.

3 - The number of colds he has caught.

11 - Baby Einstein DVD's from the Library that are next to our TV.

5 - The amount of time - in minutes - Kicker can devote to a DVD now before he's distracted by something and walks away.

4 - The number of words I need to be an effective "Couch Parent". Here's how it works: sometimes I sit down with a good book or magazine. As Kicker wanders the home, instead of getting up, I just scream these four words in any order - Hey! No! Get! Good. 

Say he's screwing with the outlet in the wall. Rather than get up, I throw out, "Hey! Hey! No! Hey! Get! No! Hey! No! No!...............Good." Works about 5% of the time. Not a clever tactic.

1 million - close guess to the amount of diapers I've changed. Most of them full of yesterday's meal.

7 - How many days it takes us to watch a movie since we can't carve out 2 hours together.

300 - seconds it takes to get him into a car seat. 

And finally...

0 - again. But this time its the number of ways we would have done his first year different. It's been a trip. Can't wait for more.

27

Me: "I'm going to write a quick blog about my birthday tonight."

Her: "What are you going to write about? You didn't even do anything for your birthday."

If you would have asked 8-year old Matt what life would be like at 27, he would have said the following:

• in his 7th year playing for the Cleveland Indians
• have 7 World Series rings and 7 walk-off home runs to win them all
• have 100 acres of forest to romp around in
• own a boat
• drink a milk shake every day. 
• have an awesome wife 

Unfortunately, I'd tell young Matt that only one thing from the list is true today - and I'm not sure a two-person inflatable raft counts as a boat. 

Just playin'! My wife is my best friend and teaches me what selfless love looks like every day. She even approves of me using lame jokes on a public website at her expense. So we've got two things from that list. Not bad.

In 27 years so far, there haven't been any World Series appearances for me. And the closest brush with 100 acres of woods has been in a Winnie the Pooh book with the Kicker before bed. Maybe 8-year old me would be let down with himself 19 years ahead. 

But I would say a couple other things to him. Reading that book before bed will be one of the best parts of your day. And it may not be the World Series, but you'll be buying your son his first glove this winter. 

27 didn't meet all of the 8-year old expectations; it likely exceeded them. Looking forward to not meeting my 27-year old expectations of older versions of myself as well. 

It's a Nokona BC-1200C designed for infielders and pitchers. At a cool $260 it can be the Kickers first glove. Any contributions toward this mortgage glove payment can be forwarded to me. 

Sandy Came to Town

It's 6:20 on a Tuesday evening. Let me paint you a picture of what I'm looking at...

My wife is pressed against our patio door with her cell phone raised in the air searching for a trace of a signal to send a text. She keeps bringing it down to look at the screen, and then lifts it again to the sky in hopes of sending her message.

My 10 month old son is cradling an iPod touch as it plays the song Notorious B.I.G. He gives an occasional bounce up and down during the hook. 

We've arrived at this place because of one reason:  SANDY.

The name Sandy should have always remained associated with the great Cleveland Indians catcher of the '90's. But as a Hurricane that managed to affect Cleveland, Ohio, Sandy will be remembered as a super storm for a while.

On Monday afternoon I drove up to Lake Erie to see the storm. Crazy stuff. 

I also took a weak video. You'll have to excuse the quality. I was trying to not get blown off a cliff into a waterfall.

We lost 1/2 of our electricity. Our light bulbs work at about half-wattage, and none of our appliances work. But obviously the computer works. 

Here's the deal: between my wife being plastered to the window in search of cell signal, and my son clinging to one of the few battery operated devices we own, our family as a whole looks like a panicked mess without electricity. Meanwhile I've been setting up candle stations, carrying around my flashlight, and making sure I have my watch on at all times for accurate time readings. 

This is not typical for a Tuesday night. But it is kind of fun.