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.

my first father's day (or, how to not repeat past mistakes)

so it was inevitable that father's day would roll around. i have found that father's day does not get nearly enough attention in society that mother's day gets. this is not at all to discount what moms do - it just seems to me that, for the most part, father's day is not that big a deal to a lot of people. i mean, look at the stereotypical gifts: on mother's day, moms get flowers, candy, dinner, etc. all kinds of cool stuff. what do dads get? a tie, or a tool of some sort. chill out, mom, relax! but dad, you go get dressed for work or fix something! just seems a little uneven.

so father's day is different things to different people. for myself, i want to hang out with my wife and my daughter. (actually liking spending time with your family?? what an effin' concept!) i don't wanna be one of these sullen douches who wants to spend the time alone watching the game in his man-cave (a phrase that, might i add, sounds vaguely homosexual.)

so yeah, i wanna spend time with my girls. some people look at me like i have 3 heads when i say i still get along great with my wife. my usual response is, 'it's not my fault that your marriage sucks.' that usually seems to shut the dopes up for a while.

father's day also makes me think about my relationship with my dad. most people don't know this, but we found out my wife was pregnant the same week my dad died last year. you have no idea how much it fucks with your head to lose your dad and find out you're going to be a dad a few days later. my dad and i didn't have a whole lot in common when i was growing up. for a long time i resented the fact that he was such a hardass. it took me until the time emmi was born to finally understand that fathers do what need to be done, even if it means playing the bad cop to my mom's good cop. there may be times when i will have to be the same type of hardass when emmi gets older. i just don't want her resenting me like i did with my dad. i guess that's the part i'll have to figure out.

p.s. for for my father's day gift, my wife set up a surprise photo shoot for me and emmi, and this was the shot we got. she looks great, it's too bad the shot was ruined by putting me in it ;)

thinking too far ahead (or, how to guarantee compliance when the time comes)

emmi is not even crawling yet, but i have already given much thought to the fact that she is a girl. as i have experienced, having a baby girl is a wonderful thing. but having a baby girl also means that in the not too distant future i will have a teenage girl. and along with teenage girls there is the certainty of teenage boys.

i know my kind, and i am seriously distrustful of them. the best (or worst, depending on how you look at it) piece of advice i got about girls vs. boys is: when you have a boy, you only have to worry about one penis. when you have a girl, you have to worry about all of them. and yes, i may be getting a bit too far ahead of myself, but i have already become the overprotective dad.

i already have the lecture planned. it goes a little something like this:

emmi, i'm going to let you in on a secret: boys are stupid. they do not know their ass from their elbow, and when it comes to girls they are especially mentally challenged. it’s nothing you did, and it's not your fault, but unfortunately you have to deal with it. however, if you go into it knowing they are dumb as bricks, you will a. not waste as much time on any one particular dope, and 2. not get your feelings hurt when they act like morons. and they will act like morons.

as for compliance, i have that planned out too! i don’t believe in overt threats. however, like grand moff tarkin in star wars, i believe in fear. i also believe in psychological warfare. i have quite a few large kitchen knives. and on date night, when he comes to pick her up, they will need sharpening. another night, perhaps i’ll be quartering a chicken for dinner using a very large cleaver. maybe her uncle, the licensed texas gun owner, will be over cleaning his 9 millimeter. whichever method, the message should be understood, even if she is dating the densest meathead she can find.

have i over thought all this? i’m sure i have. but in my estimation, it’s never too early to prepare. and to start sharpening the knives.