the wiggle worm (or, how to say 'no' 37 times in 10 seconds)

i don't know when exactly this happened, but my nearly 10 month old daughter can now physically overpower me. i know i am not the most athletic of specimens, but i would have thought i could outmuscle a baby. yeah, well...

first off, she head butts like she's the effin' junk yard dog. one second she's sitting nicely in your lap, then *wigglewiggleconk!!* she has almost broken mine and kathy's nose. it has gotten to the point that i flinch when she moves at all.

she also moves around very easily as well, which makes diaper changing and loading into the car seat a challenge. it used to be easy when she couldn't flip onto her belly, now she twists and turns like a frickin' gymnast. the only chance you have to get the diaper on and her pants back in place is whatever the closest distraction you can find. otherwise, she does her best mary lou retton impersonation and you are left with a baby on her belly, a diaper half attached to her ass, and a knotted pair of pants in your hand. when you finally get one leg in, she kicks out of that leg just as you've struggled to get the other leg in. (repeat this process about 4 times) then there is the onesie. there is nothing more deflating than finally getting her pants on and then realizing you forgot to button up the damn onesie. now you are hoping you can lower the pants down just enough that she can't kick a leg off before you can snap the effin' thing under her butt.

wanna go for a drive? hope you got an extra 15 minutes so that you can tire her out enough to strap her into the carseat. she will twist, turn, stand up, stretch out, wiggle, flail, and kick until you manage to get her finally buckled in. and the strength and speed with which she does this would make houdini jealous. every now and then she will cooperate, but some days there are so many limbs flailing that you'd think you were trying to strap in a greased up epileptic squid.

so yes, she's gotten to the point that i've seen a lot of kids go through, what i call the 'wiggle worm' stage. i know she can do things that i would get a hernia if i were to try, but at least i know i can beat her at arm wrestling. i'm pretty sure anyway.

level up! (or, how to know when it's time)

well, i'm a month in to my daddy leave. it's been an adjustment for me. i used to concern myself with beer bottles, then wine bottles. now? baby bottles. however, i have tamed those twin evil monsters in the basement: the washer and dryer. i haven't ruined any clothes or flooded the basement (again) either, yet.

emmi is growing pretty quickly. or so it seems. just last week she was at the point in which we have to get her the bigger diapers. diapers go by weight, and there is really only one way to find out when it is time to switch, and it is not pretty. let's just call it, 'her butt runneth over.'

she's also moving around really well now too. when she first started to crawl, it was very slow and deliberate. now, i pull an effin' hamstring trying to catch up with her. she can pull herself up very easily as well. she's trying to balance herself and let go, and when she does she looks up at me with an expression that can only be described as half pride and half fear. it is this moment that i realize that she puts her full, complete trust in me. I had a similar experience with her as a newborn when we gave her her first bath. she had no idea how to react, and as kathy was washing her, she looked up at me with a look as if to say 'you got me daddy??' then as i smiled, held her hand and comforted her, she seemed to relax and let kathy clean her up. it's these moments that both make me proud, and scare the ever loving shit out of me. how do you balance letting her learn on her own, including falling and getting up and trying again, without making her think you aren't going to help? it's a balance; comfort her when she falls, but make sure she doesn't really get hurt.

i have a feeling that this is going to be a recurring theme.

3rd gear (or, how to cram a month of progress into two weeks)

ok, now we're moving! no really, emmi has figured out the whole crawling thing. she was stuck in neutral for a bit, just kinda on all fours rocking back and forth, like she wanted to go, but couldn't figure out the mechanism of moving. then she hit reverse, and was going places, only she was getting there backwards. then, finally, on vacation she took her first bold crawls forward. it seems to me that her whole idea of crawling is to get to a place where she can stand, because inevitably she leads herself to something she can use to her her push herself up. that, or she will go straight for whatever it is in the room you don't want her to go near. trash bin, bookshelf, coffee table, if you don't want her near it, that's exactly where she'll be.

it must be a great feeling though. i mean, for months she has probably thought: 'i'd sure love to touch all this stuff all around me, and hell, now i can!' (ok maybe not exactly, but you get the idea.) i almost feel bad when i have to point her away from something, (for safety, you know; not because she's managed to pull every dvd off the shelf.)

this newfound power of hers coincides with my taking 12 weeks off from work to play househusband/mr. mom. it has only been a few days so far, and (not that i would have before) but any douchenozzle dad that has to ask 'what have you been doing all day?' to a mom with an infant, that mom should have the right to kick him in the nuts repeatedly. when someone said motherhood is a full time job, they lied. it's a 24 hour, always on call, holy-shit-where-is-my-caffeine-iv type job. at least at a full time job you get an hour for lunch.

i don't mind being the househusband. i welcome it, in fact. i don't want to be one of these aforementioned douchenozzles that don't want to be involved because 'it's mom's job.' i hear that at the gymboreee class from the moms a lot: 'oh he doesn't wanna go because he feels out of place' or 'it's not his thing.' well shit! anything that has to do with emmi is gonna be 'my thing!' i hope she likes the stuff i like - i'd sure love to see her strike out all the boys in little league, but if not and she wants to take ballet, i'll cram my ass into a leotard and tutu to help her practice!

so look out world. i have a daughter that is on the move, and i am now a blood-oath made member of the stroller mafia. and i think i'd look great in a tutu.

photo caption fun (or, how to cure writer's block)

i know, i haven't posted anything in a while, it's been a busy couple of weeks, which i'll get into later. in the meantime, i saw this picture in kathy's camera and thought it would be amusing to put corny captions to it.

'you want me on that wall. you need me on that wall!'



'mr. gorbachev, tear down this wall!'



'we don't need no education...'

in diapers (or, how to tempt fate)

so i've talked a little about diapers in other posts, but it's the kinda subject that needs a little bit more elaboration. the diaper change can put a person in a most precarious position, because in those few seconds, you are vulnerable to attack. i have never gotten mad at emmi, because i know she can't control it (yet). but i have been the victim of an undiapered sneak attack on more than a few occasions. a pee attack from a girl is not the same as a boy. instead of resembling an out of control hose, sometimes it can be a little dribble, other times it flows like a venetian fountain. i used to think of mcdonald's when i heard the phrase 'golden arches'. not anymore. the mess is usually confined to the space directly under her also, and usually is followed by an entire outfit change. and changing the clothes of a wet, agitated baby that is laying in a puddle and kicking like effin' bruce lee is not easy.

then there is number two. we have talked about the road tar stage, and the mustard butt stage, but since going to solid food, we are now at full on crap. there's a scene in 'three men & a baby' in which steve guttenberg (remember him? whatever happened to him anyway?) says, 'how can something so little make so much of something so disgusting?' we're at that point. there haven't been any sneak attacks at this stage yet, but if there's too much, the diaper might lose the battle. it is really not fun, because it usually ends with emmi going right into the bath tub, a pile of poopy pants making it's way to the floor, and mommy and daddy scrambling as if we were in pearl harbor in 1941. it's not that common though, because when we see emmi making a face that looks like she's trying to bend a spoon with her mind, we know something is on it's way out.

i'm not the swiftest and the most graceful with regards to diaper changing, but i will admit, i got cocky (no pun intended). i went so far as to change her in her crib at night. the first few times went off without a hitch. as long as i have everything ready, swoop the old one out and the new one in, there won't be any problem.

wrong.

the sneak attack comes swiftly and silently, like a yellow ninja in the night.

i have since learned my lesson. use the change table, no matter what.

music for the miss (or, how to ruin classics)

one thing i'd really like to pass down to emmi is a love of music. music is a big part of my life, and i hope it becomes a big part of her's as well. i think it's working, because lately emmi's baby talk has taken on a singsong kind of sound. i'm hoping i can steer her in a similar direction as kathy and me, but i'm pretty much preparing for her to be into whatever the boy-band-hannah montana-bieber flavor of the month is when she gets old enough to care. this hasn't stopped me from trying though. i found the rockabye baby series, which is lullaby versions of everything from nine inch nails to queen to guns n' roses. (if you have a baby and have not heard these yet, stop reading now, go to itunes and listen to them. you'll thank me later). i've also sung to her, everything from erasure to black sabbath. i always wondered why i can remember lyrics from a song i once heard in 1987 - this is why. i have become a human baby jukebox.

sometimes i even make up my own lyrics. some are pretty simple: for instance, i seriously think she's going to grow up thinking the ramones sang 'emmi is a punk rocker.' some are a little more elaborate. and with apologies to judas priest, gary numan, talking heads, and the beatles (sorta) here are some of her favorites:

'poopin' after midnight!
cryin' til the dawn!
screamin' til the morning,
then I'm gone!'

'here in my carseat, i feel safest of all, i can lock all my doors, it's the only way to live, in carseats!'

'psycho baby!
qu'est que c'est
fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa better crawl crawl crawl crawl crawl crawl crawl away!'

'there was a band who had a drummer and ringo was his name-o. r-i-n-g-o…'

eat your heart out, weird al.

the ball popper (or, how to eliminate fringe career choices)

so kathy found this video on youtube and became enamored with this toy:



the first thing i thought of is that it reminded me of a pick 4 lottery ball machine. in my head, i flash forward and think emmi will have a career as the girl who reads the winning numbers (it's sorta show business right? how did yolanda vega get that job anyway?) needless to say, we went out and got the playskool busy ball popper.



well, as you can see, we not only managed to traumatize emmi, we successfully ensured she will cower in fear at 9pm every night during the lottery drawing. a career in calling bingo is probably out of the question as well.

p.s. the ball popper is now in the closet until further notice.