Teething With Anger

Teething With Anger

Thankfully, he won’t remember teething.

He won’t remember shoving his fists in his mouth and chewing on his tiny fingers, just to get some relief. He won’t remember his parents’ frustration and exasperation as they attempted to diagnose and then treat what appeared to be a totally phantom issue (like so many of them are). He won’t even remember the blissful relief a few drops of Baby Orajel afforded him, but that probably has less to do with his unformed brain and more to do with the fact that Baby Orajel doesn’t do shit.

No, he won’t remember the days weeks months of pain that came with the slow emergence of his first teeth. But neither will Mom and Buried and I forget them anytime soon.

I can’t wait until he’s ready to lose his baby teeth in a few years, because at the first sign of a wiggle I am going to pull them out and grind them into dust!

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Old Age vs. Parenthood

Old Age vs. Parenthood

Over the past five months my life has changed a lot, for obvious, baby-related reasons.

But over the past few years, my life has changed in other ways that have nothing to do with the ill-advised and soul-deadening decision to have a child. I’m talking about things that seem to have more to do with the fact that I am rapidly approaching my 35th birthday than the fact that I’ve added yet another mouth with its own carbon footprint to an overpopulated planet on the verge of extinction.

Problem is, with my life so wrapped up in making sure my baby lives long enough to contribute to and eventually witness the final days of the planet he will help destroy, it isn’t always easy to tell the difference between the changes that are his fault and the changes that are my rapidly deteriorating body’s fault.

So I decided to try and figure out what to blame: old age or parenthood?

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The Crying It Out Game

The Crying It Out Game

My son hit the eleven-week mark yesterday.

The bigger news is that he hit the 13 pound mark a few weeks ago. Upon crossing the 12-pound Rubicon (WHY DID THEY CANCEL “RUBICON”?!), our pediatrician told use that he was perfectly capable of sleeping through the night without needing to be fed. “Twelve hours. I know it sounds tough,” she said, “and it is, but you have to establish the routine.”

Apparently he needs to learn to soothe and sedate himself, even if it means crying himself hoarse, and it won’t be until he gets to college that he’ll learn all the fun ways to do that!

Until then, “Crying It Out” is the way to go…or is it?

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How To Take Care of a Fussy Baby

How To Take Care of a Fussy Baby

If you’ve ever raised a baby, you know how the presence of an infant can transform your home into something like Arkham Asylum. It’s just constant chaos, noise, paranoia and catatonia, and I haven’t even mentioned the food and feces that litter the walls, floor and your clothes. But hey, it’s all worth it once they grow up to be ungrateful money grubbers who show you no respect!

Dealing with a baby is hard. Dealing with a crying, frantic, fussy baby is hell on earth. And even just a few weeks in, I’ve learned a few tricks for making life with a baby just a little more tolerable.

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Mmmm… Babies.

Mmmm… Babies.

I know I spend a lot of time on this blog talking shit about how having a baby is going to destroy my life. One week in and it turns out I am freaking Nostradamus: all of my fears are already coming true! No sleep, no sex, no social life. Blah blah blah. And it’s only going to get worse.

But there are some things I am looking forward to, and a lot of things I didn’t expect. Good things.

At the risk of getting all soft and sentimental, I’m going to share the most amazing and unexpected part of being a new dad. No, it’s not how much I already love him, or how little I care about being woken up when he cries, or how inexplicably colorful his crap is.

It’s something even crazier.

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