LITTLE WILLIS RULES HIS WORLD

Dear Berkley: Sleep Well

2011-11-03T18:00:00.000-07:00

We're about 5 days into teaching Berkley to lay down in a big boy bed (no more crib), stay there, and then sleep there all nightttttttttttttttttttttttt. Sorry, I just fell asleep for 30 minutes from being awake for 4.92 days.

Berk moved into a real bed about 3 weeks ago. He was crawling out of his own bed, so it made sense. 3 seconds later I got a concussion mountain biking. So, for a good week I was useless, and Courtney wasn't up to the whole sleep training while as the same time I wasn't up to not sleeping. On the contrary, I slept about 20 hours a day. Thanks Courtney.

After that Courtney picked up a rough cold/cough. I think she's got tuberculosis. She sounds like Doc Holliday on Tombstone. Finally Sunday that started to let up.

So Sunday night, off we go. A typical evening can go like this:
7pm to 8pm: Go through normal relaxing bedtime routine
8pm: go up and put Berkley to bed
8:01pm: sing some songs, read a book, say some prayers
8:05pm: kiss obviously sleepy child, go to leave room
8:05pm + 1 millisecond: crying begins, followed by tantrum
8:15pm: Berkley comes out of room, Courtney puts him back in bed

Oh yeah, she's right there, sitting in a chair outside the room. Want to know what's super fun? Sitting on the other side of a door from your screaming child. Yay.

8:16pm: repeat crying, open door, back to bed routine 13 times.
8:40pm: Berkley goes back to sleep
11:56pm: Berkley wakes up. Nap over mama! Repeat back to bed, scream, door, bed scream, want to commit suicide routine 9 times.

So you get it. Admittedly, it's gotten easier the last couple of nights.

Nap time? Yeah, that's pretty much gone.

Dear Berkley: Nobody Likes a Copycat

2011-08-30T13:48:00.001-07:00

Whenever I start to do something now, and I do mean anything. Berkley wants to do it too. Or, just do it instead of me.

Today, I was going to mop the bedroom floor and get rid of the dust bunnies. But oh no, Berkley decided he wanted to "sweep." Awesome, go sweep then. Except Berkley's sweeping is not so effective. I think it's roughly 4% coverage, or lasts until his attention span rolls onto something else. That's about 19 seconds of sweeping.

Berkley, let Daddy sweep when he gets started, it doesn't happen often.

Dear Berkley: You Make Vacation Kinda High Stress

2011-08-29T13:44:00.001-07:00

We dont' really have time for summer vacation. I have a few organization-defining projects due this fall, and Courtney is working out of town about 562 weeks this summer. BUT, we found some time, and here's how it went with a 2 year old.

Myrtle Beach.
Did you notice "beach" in the name up there? Well, I should just call it Myrtle Swimming Pool, because that's where I'll be. You can have the beach and every single sweaty, dirty, sticky grain of sand on it. I have no love for this sand. And if it's not the above type of sand, it's soft, fluffy sand between the house and the packed down dirty sand that has warmed to roughly 4000 degrees by 9am. Oh yes, let's walk around on that as long as possible while dragging three armloads of beach crap that will be forgotten the second a giant hole is dug by yours truly. Next year I'm just bringing a full-size shovel.

Berkley was pretty dang good on the beach trip, I have to admit. He slept well, played in the pool in at least 45 second blocks, and in general did not drown. Here's a typical day for him at the beach:
1) Wake up
2) Shit! I'm in a room with other people? Well, let me say their names as many times as humanly possible until they get me out of here.
3) Thanks for getting me up. Now, where is that train the other kid brought?
4) I SAID TRAIN, DAMMIT!
5) Whew, the train. And I'm hungry.
6) Pancakes are the elixir of the gods. I need more. What is this bacon you mention? I need all of it.
7) Time to swim. Yes, I hear you say it's 8am. Get your bathing suit on, slave.
8) Nope. Tricked ya. I am going to open and close the gate to the pool 700 times. You stand in the pool and call my name over and over.
9) Allrighty, let's swim, mofo.
10) Throw me. Again. Again x 100.
11) GATE! Now, x 500.
12) LUNCH, now. I will literally die of hunger if I'm not fed in 14 seconds.
13) Ham? WTF? I like pancakes, and bacon, but I'm starving so this will do.
14) Train please. TRAIN DAMMIT.
15) The TV is on? WTF is this news stuff? YO GABBA or you die.
16) Swim.
17) Got you again, sucka. GATE!
18) Actual swim. I pooped in the pool. Whose your daddy now?
19) Hey, all these adults are laughing a lot. Must be that giant cooler of beer.
20) Empty beer bottle? Yes, that is a toy. I should play with all things that I do not recognize.
21) Why is Mom always saying "No" to the toys I pick out?
22) I'm swimming with you, but I'm thinking... Train.
23) Beach? Hell yeah. Dig me a hole you man slave.
24) What is that? Ocean? I should run into that without an adult.
25) This sand is annoying. I should shove it in my eyes.
26) GATE. Seriously, I have to open and close this here gate. Somebody said if I close it 100 more times I get a train set.
27) FOOD. SNACK. HUNGRY.
28) Oh, everyone is on the porch relaxing after taking a shower? That's sweet. I'd like to go to the ocean now, unless I can play trains.
29) STILL HUNGRY. Whew. Thanks for the dinner. Pizza is my fav.
30) I'm dead tired, but can I play with the train? That wasn't a request, BTW.
31) Read books, sleep.

Camping.
This one was a grand total of one night. But it was pretty good. Berkley has no concept of "our campsite" so he just wandered all over the campground looking at other people's stuff. They were nice about it. The water was too low to swim in the lake by the campsite. I'll remember to check that next time, because camping 100 miles away was the same as camping at my house, except it was 80 degrees in the tent as we tried to sleep. Super fun.

Berkley was very good for this trip too. Even slept in the tent alone while Courtney and I lit a campfire which lasted long enough to roast a grand total of 2 marshmallows before it burned out.

We're going to Knoxville for Labor Day to see old friends. Report to come.

Dear Berkley: You're Pretty Heavy For a Skinny Kid

2011-05-26T16:06:00.000-07:00

Anyone who sees Courtney's blog on Berkley knows he's a skinny guy. I say good. Clothes are expensive, and I saw a report not long ago showing that people who are slightly starving live longer. We've got him on the part to happiness: starvation.

But for a skinny kid, he's pretty dang heavy when I load him up in a jog-stroller and try to run a 5k. That was the case this past weekend when we ran a 5k in downtown GSO to benefit the Children Museum.

Of course, I ran to benefit my wallet: so I wouldn't have to buy new pants for my big ole' butt. And I figured pushing Berk would be no big deal. WRONG-O.

He's heavy, and our ridiculously nice and expensive stroller has an equally ridiculous tendency to turn right at all times. Sort of like when you're in the car and it's always drifting one direction.

So Berk: eat, don't eat, whatever. I'm not encouraging you to gain any more weight as long as I'm doing the pushing.

Dear Berkley: Hats Are For Outside

2011-03-04T16:03:00.001-08:00

Really, that's all. I just want to remember to educate Berkley to dress like a grown up once he's out of school. That means no hats inside.

Dear Berkley: You Cannot Have a Handgun

2011-02-20T16:08:00.000-08:00

I've noticed a tidal wave of people (people I know) getting their concealed carry permit so they won't have to wait for a background check before buying a firearm. I think it's in the event someone like President Obama thwarts the NRA and makes people wait longer, or makes less people eligible for gun ownership. I also noticed the NRA (whose board of directors seem to be awfully in bed with the gun industry) has had many of their gun toting myths debunked lately, and has gone back to the "gun control is a socialist plot to disarm America then make us all eat organic food and recycle everything" myth.

Anyhow, I'm not for or against guns. I've hunted a lot and had an amazing time, I enjoy shooting a gun. On the flip side I would not trust 80% of the people I know with a gun. I barely trust me, and have missed many ducks because I'm always putting my gun back on safety then forgetting it's on.

What I am against in general is shooting someone. In war, yes, shoot away. Hunting? Bang bang, get some meat. But in the house? Seems like a bad idea.

I realize that in order to shoot an armed intruder hell-bent on killing everyone in my house and then stealing my Rooms-To-Go furniture I'm going to need a gun. But how often does that really happen? I looked it up in case one wonders. It's about 500,000 times per year in the US. So, that's about the population of my metro area, and one-tenth of one percent of the country. And I also noticed that the FBI (I know, socialist government) has stated that a gun in the home is 6 times more likely to be used against the homeowner than on a criminal. I'm guessing everyone with a gun at home responds with "oh, but not me, I'm careful." Well I can tell you straight away that I'm NOT careful, I already know this about myself. So I would be in the 5. Therefore, no gun.

Dear Berkley: There Was No Way to Prepare For You

2011-02-11T05:13:00.000-08:00

I re-read Courtney's baby blog from the beginning the other day, and that little exercise made me realize how utterly clueless we both were about the whole parenting process.

I should go ahead and qualify that we have a pretty great kid as far as "ease of use" goes. He sleeps all night almost every night and he's done it since he was very small. He likes his bed so he'll sit in there and play for at least an hour after waking up. He eats most of what we give him. He only went through a very short spell of crying for no reason (well, it was evening, I suppose he liked daytime). He will go places the majority of the time without it being a hassle. All in all, if we stick to some semblance of "the routine," he's a happy kid.

But, it's still at least 5 times harder than I thought it was going to be, and there was nothing anyone could say to prepare me. I'm convinced you just have to live it, and if you're not happy with the changes that are coming up you're really toast. Let me list out the general changes now that we're 18 months in.

1) You cannot go wherever you want, whenever you want. The baby needs to be on a schedule and therefore you are on a schedule.
2) Most everything just got twice as expensive, except going out at night, because you don't nearly as often. So for instance, if you get a babysitter, that's about $8-10/hour, so for even a simple dinner date add $20-40 to the tab. Plus, babysitters eat.
3) Diapers disappear at a rate that would confound any logical human being. We received quite a few diapers at showers, but now that Berkley is up into the 2-3-4 sizes, we are on our own. Berkley wears Huggies or Pampers, which run somewhere between $0.25 and $0.30 per diaper. This can be cut back by buying value brand diapers. But, you'll be holding a wet baby, and said wet baby will wake up due to being wet. So, quick math says you're looking at an additional bill of $2000 for simply keeping baby clean.
4) Baby has to be fed, so let's not forget that little added expense. $25 a week (and growing in quantity and price) is formula. Of course one can breastfeed, but there is a common myth that this is free. Totally not free. Gotta have a pump, gotta get bottles so baby can feed, gotta buy containers to store extra milk. Momma has to eat more because she's still feeding two. Count on an extra $1500-$2000 in year one for food, and it only grows after that unless you feed the toddler mac and cheese every day (which would make everyone in our house very happy, because mac and cheese is pretty great.)
5) For those who are easily frustrated, or don't like unexplained circumstances, prepare to have your mind blown. Babies cry, get sick, complain, trash things, and then give you an occasional hug. There is little rhyme or reason, and everyone just puts up with it because what can you do? The baby can't tell you what's up for like 3 more years.
6) Even if you try very hard to keep an "adult looking" home, baby stuff is always everywhere, and it's brightly colored and generally makes turns your formerly well decorated house into PeeWee's Playhouse. There is no escaping, especially once the toddler starts REALLY playing.
7) You forget all of the adult music you know, and songs from kiddie shows are stuck in your head forever. "JACK'S BIG MUSIC SHOOOOOOOW..." These songs clearly have crack in them.
8) Once you get the baby to bed, you are often so tired that any chance of romance or doing something adult-oriented are history. You just want to lie on the couch and stare at Discovery Channel's latest pseudo reality show until you fall asleep.

This list could go on and on, but just know if you're having a kid. You need to love kids, and playing with kids, and acting like a kid, because that's what is coming. And if you wanted to do other things, it's generally impossible due to cost and the schedule.

All in all, it's totally worth it for the hugs.

Dear Berkley: Other Kids Are Stupid Anyway, So Its Okay If You Don't Play With Them

2011-02-09T08:28:00.000-08:00

Berkley isn't big on playing with other kids. His mother is convinced something is "wrong" with him and we must put him in school asap in order to rectify this situation.

Berkley - I've been watching the other kids and they're not real bright. Stay away from them for a bit longer and stay smart. Thanks, Daddy.

Dear Berkley: If You Will Go Back To Sleeping All Night, I'll Buy You a Cool Car When You Turn 16

2011-02-07T13:46:00.000-08:00

The last couple of nights Berkley has decided to wake up screaming at about midnight. This is new. And while I do like these times because they involve lots of hugging, they must end and end now.

The first night he seemed to be in some sort of legitimate abdominal pain. We resisted the urge to rush to the hospital and have him tested for stomach cancer, but this didn't mean he instantly went back to sleep. Instead, after taking several laps around the house, rocking in the chair, and growing a steady migraine from the 30 minutes of screaming, I decided to throw in the towel.

By throw in the towel I mean I just took him into our bed, and sort of half rocked, half laid down and hugged him. He stopped the screaming, but I'm pretty sure it was because whatever ailed him calmed down. I don't claim magical baby-crying-stoppage powers.

Unfortunately, he also woke up pretty good in this process, and the rock, then back to bed trick wasn't going to happen. Being the disciplinarian, straight-laced, steady as a rock dad I am, I turned on the bedroom tv so he and I would watch. Much success!

He instantly started smiling, and flipped around so he could watch Toy Story (it just happened to be on at midnight and was a big hit with Berk. (Oh, thank you Disney Kids channel, I'll stay in the park when we bring Berkley there later, throw a few extra bones your way).

As he laid there on his belly, kicking his feet with happiness while he watched the TV, I was excited about how he's growing up and doing more "little boy" stuff. But not nearly as excited as I was when Courtney finally took him back to bed, and he slept the rest of the night.

But that was a Saturday night and I didn't have to work the next day. Last night, he repeated the behavior, but quit screaming as soon as Courtney got him up. We kept the up time very short, no TV just hugs, and he did peacefully go back to bed.

If this keeps up I will sell him, or trade him on Craig's List for a Char Griller dual fuel grill with side smoker box, which I have really been wanting. Let me know if you spot a good sale on Char Grillers, it may keep Berkley in the family.

Dear Berkley: When You Scream Like A Little Girl, God Kills a Puppy

2011-01-30T16:06:00.000-08:00

As Berkley continues to develop a personality and exert his independence with said personality, Courtney and I have both reveled in watching him become more of a real person, and less of a eating, pooping, sleeping machine. Unfortunately, this has recently come with a bit of... high-pitched-screaming-like-his-feet-are-fire-for-no- apparant-reason.

Happy? Why not scream about it?
Didn't get something you want? How about trying to lay on the floor and scream while Momma and I go about our business as if you don't exist.
Hey, you tired? Hungry? I've got an idea, you should scream about it.

As you scream, Daddy will be over here wondering if the doctor would report us for putting one of those collars that keep dogs from barking around your leg.

So, if you're thinking of having kids and can't wait until they can talk to you, just remember, that additional vocal dexterity goes both ways. Equally as sweet as the "Da-dy" you hear first thing in the morning when you get him out of bed is the fingernails-on-a-chalkboard scream of an 18 month old trying to say "Hey mfer, did you not see that was Yo Gabba is on TV? GO BACK!"

Dear Berkley: This is Where Daddy Works, and My Mamma Sent Me to Regular Preschool

2011-01-27T09:46:00.001-08:00

Today I got to get Berkley up and play with him for an hour or so while Courtney went to register him for pre-school. That got me thinking, and now here's the Blog post.

I should admin that I was a pretty terrible student. I always did whatever I needed to in order to get by. I wasn't terribly focused in the classroom. I mostly wanted to play sports. Fortunately, school seemed geared for the kids who needed a little more coaching, so this didn't exactly require any mental olympics until I was in college at Wake. There was that "Jet Math" class in 4th grade. Woot!

Yet, somehow, here I am today, contributing to society along with everyone else.

So I got to thinking: What difference does it make where Berkley goes to preschool?
So what if he doesn't learn to read until he's 5 or 6? Once you can read, you're in. There are no super-readers out there. You can read like an adult, or not so much.
Any who cares if he's not very good at coloring, or has a vocabulary that doesn't include "escheat" or "deleterious" when he's 16? Nobody I like uses those words in day to day conversation.

I went to the available preschool. I'm pretty sure my mom didn't search all over town for the very best 2 year old education she could find. Heck, I fell off of the same chair and busted my chin, TWICE. Must not have been Harvard Junior School.

Here's hoping Berkley is just fun to be around (like me), nice to people (like Courtney, NOT me), and is decent at something he enjoys. I find those a much better litmus test for future success than being a wonder kid mentally.

Dear Berkley: I Hope You Are Warm

2011-01-25T13:49:00.000-08:00

Berkley has 12 coats. Twelve. That's one for every day of the week, and an additional 5 in the event we were to enter the next Ice Age.

I was trolling through the house this weekend, picking up after he so gracefully threw all of his toys all over the downstairs of the house and then threw anything he could find upstairs off of the balcony. (Don't feel sorry for me, Courtney does this more than once a day I'm told). Anyhow, I was picking up, and I started gathering his clothes too. I picked up a brown corduroy coat that makes Berkley look like a frat star. I picked up a blue and red striped zippered hoodie that makes Berkley look like a track star. I picked up TWO fleece jackets. He's fleeced out.

Then after the nap I went to hang them up in his closet and BANG, the coats just kept coming. I was astonished. At Christmas there was a coat drive for kids downtown. My kid has 12 he will grow out of in the next 6 months.

Welcome to America.

Dear Berkley: What the Heck Are You Talking About

2010-11-20T05:56:00.001-08:00

Berkley just runs around the house these days, destroying everything, babbling words he's picked up. Right now he just finished emptying a container of cards (like announcement cards people sent us for milestones in their lives) and now has moved on to taking all of the diapers and sheets out of his changing table.

AND now back to the cards. Which he is throwing off of the upstairs balcony.

The entire time, he's alternating "happy" and growling at whatever he is working on making a mess of.

Nicely done my boy, nicely done.

Dear Berkley: Don't Tell Your Mother

2010-11-17T17:15:00.000-08:00

I'm going to go ahead and admit that I get a little pleasure from having little secrets with Berkley that his mother does not know about. Tonight, which Courtney went to the gym, Berkley and I went to the local bar and had Irish Car Bombs. Ok, we didn't really do that, but I gave him a couple of the nerds I was eating, and more than a couple Special K flakes. He was a big fan of both. Don't tell.

Dear Berkley: You Have to Slow Down to Go Fast

2010-11-15T12:02:00.000-08:00

Once, I got a promotion and the first thing my boss advised me to do was nothing. he said "you have to slow down to go fast, so first: slow down." Of course I had no idea what he was talking about, and spent the next 6 months beating my head against various walls. I thought he meant to work slower, and do less. But he didn't. He meant to do the right work, and let other people do their jobs, make a good plan and hold them accountable, etc. In the end, he was right. Slowing down, getting the lay of the land, weighing options, and then committing to a group decision ended up being a better way of going about things. People did their work, they were invested (as were their bonuses), work was produced in a more manageable and predictable manner.

Berkley only knows fast, until about 4 minutes before bed when he gets into his sleep sack and finally relaxes. Or until Yo Gabba Gabba is turned on the television at any point in the day. Then he'll sit quietly. Otherwise he's everywhere, into everything, discovering, getting messy, wanting things, just playing in general.

But, I notice that when he gets perplexed by something, and we DON'T help him, he slows down, studies over it for a while, and then figures it out. How to open a lid on a plastic container, how to disassemble.... anything. How to climb onto something. Last week it was how to slide down the stairs on his belly. Last night it was how to open the lid on a plastic tub. He invariably conquers these obstacles not by whining or feverishly going at them, but by stopping, paying close attention, and trying several options until he gets it all figured out.

I've noticed lots of people could really use this lesson, from both ends. First of all, kids don't need nearly as much help as we think they do. They seem to figure out how to do plenty if you stop helping them do everything. I think this is how Berkley figured out how to sleep all night, walk, feed himself, etc. We didn't coach the kid. He just wanted the results and kept at it. Second, I notice so many parents are... frantic about the littlest things.

Is my child as clean as possible, germ free, are they doing all the right things a 15 month old should do, do they have enough friends, are those the RIGHT friends? Etc, etc. This list could go on forever just from things I've observed, and quite frankly I don't pay that much attention to other people. just ask my wife.

In sum, I think kids and parents would be much better if they just slowed down, and had a little faith in things going fast in their own time. Husbands and wives might benefit from my bosses advice, too ;)

Dear Berkley: Know How to Build a Fire

2010-10-26T05:55:00.001-07:00

A man has to have some skills. And by skills, I mean outdoor, self reliant skills. Because even if you live in WASP suburbia like I do, every once in a while you have to do something outdoorsy, and look like a 'tard if you can't pull it off. Or, you spend a lot of money having someone else pull it off for you, which makes you look like a big pansy.

We bought a house with a fire pit. This means I have to make a fire from time to time so I can get the tasty goodness that is roasted marshmallows and on an even better night: s'mores. Of course, this isn't exactly the same as building a fire because your plane has crashed and you're stranded in the Alps awaiting rescue. But you have to know how to build a fire: here's how:

1) Rummage around the yard and get some sticks. These sticks should be dry, and all sorts of different sizes, from super skinny and easy to burn, all the way up to as big around as your wrist. Try and find some sticks that have exposed wood. In other words, if you have to, bust out your machete and chop a piece of wood into some skinny kindling where there is no bark. Bark doesn't burn well. This is called EVOLUTION. Trees do not want to burn, so they have bark.

2) If you're going to be having a fire go a pretty long time, you probably want some even bigger logs. I said log.

3) Get a piece of newsprint, of some paper that burns easily. Wad it up in a loose ball.
4) Build a teepee, or log cabin/pyramid of sticks over top of the wad of newspaper. use the small sticks on the bottom, then put bigger and bigger sticks on top the farther you get from the paper.
5) Light the paper, stand back, and enjoy. Once things catch, add more sticks or logs. Log again!

There is the odd chance you don't have anything to light the fire. In this instance, you are probably far out in the woods, and not near your house. Because chances are in your house, you have a lighter, or matches for candles, or could just go to the store and get one or the other. In this event you are probably screwed. BUT, if you're pretty handy, here's a couple of ideas:

1) If it's sunny outside, get a coke can and a chocolate bar (I know you have chocolate, for the s'mores). Use the chocolate to polish the bottom of the coke can until it's super shiny. You could also use toothpaste. Then, use the bottom of the can to focus sunlight onto the paper, and start a fire.
2) If you have any steel wool and a battery, you can rub them together and the steel wool will make sparks. This is pretty tough and you have to be quick. For this on you also have to have tinder, not newspaper. Tinder is very dry, light, fibrous, burnable wood.
3) Lastly, use a knife and certain rocks to create sparks on tinder. Again hard, so Good luck with this one.

Some people can use a hand drill or bow to make fire. There people have magic power. Stay away from them.

So, all said, go make a fire, and be a man. Oh and don't burn your house down. Try and have a water hose or a bucket or water nearby. Next week we'll learn how to mount your HDTV over the mantle.

Dear Berkley: Cars Need Gas

2010-09-28T17:32:00.000-07:00

I am not a detail man. I'm an idea man. So, at times I miss details or steps in the process because I've moved onto the next idea, hoping others will finish up the work.

But, I have never run out of gas. My Dad says he got in trouble if the cars they owned growing up had under a half tank in them at any time. I think it had something to do with the funeral home they owned also serving as the ambulance back in the olden times. (For the record, that is a CONFLICT OF INTERESTS)

I hope Berkley has the common sense to put gas in the car before it runs out. Currently he just runs all over the house hollering and wailing every time he doesn't get what he wants, which is about every 14 seconds. So, he's got some growing to do.

Dear Berkley: Know When to Ignore the Camera

2010-09-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

On Facebook it seems everyone documents their lives, everything from the morning poo to the evening walk with the kids.

I just wish they'd do it from a little farther than two feet, and let someone else take the picture from time to time. The best shots are never posed, and the worst shots are when people hold the camera two feet from their face (and a friend's face) and take a ridiculous grinning pic that says "we're so happy."

Dear Berkley: SEC Football is Wonderful

2010-09-22T10:29:00.000-07:00

My buddy rob and I rode over to Knoxville and spent the weekend with the Cross' having fun and going to the Tennessee v Florida football game.

Berkley: listen up. SEC football is magical. The tailgates are more fun, the students are prettier, and traditions and game are more entertaining than any other games I've been to in this land. It's sort of like the English Premier League in soccer. There's just no close 2nd. It's tops.

Note 2: if it's 90 degrees and sunny, remember to bring a hat.

Dear Berkley: You're Going to College

2010-09-15T18:02:00.000-07:00

My buddy Lee Cross and I used to laugh about how he had already decided his child "was going to college." His oldest son is about 5 now, so I was a DINK (double income, no kids) when he was first a dad, and his family was the first I was very close to who had little children.

Anyhow, Lee always said "Jackson is GOING TO COLLEGE." He could play in the band, he could grow out his hair, whatever. but he has to go to college. I always teased him and said "How about letting him to Peace Corps? What if that makes him happier?" "He can do that." Lee would say.. "Right after college."

Now, as a father, I cannot imagine Berkley not going to college. BUT, I will leave a glimmer of chance that if he's just an average kid, who isn't really college material, that we'll just send him to community college (which IS NOT real college) and let him get his welding certificate or whatever. As long as he's happy.

Dear Berkley: I Hope You're Not Damaged By 9/11

2010-09-11T14:56:00.000-07:00

I definitely understand all those people who are remembering 9/11 today because they lost loved ones. Makes good sense to me.

But what's up with the entire nation dredging this whole thing up every year? Moments of silence and services of remembrance abound. I suppose people must need it.

I remember when I was little I grew up sure we'd have a nuclear holocaust with the CCCP. Always scared we'd have to live underground for a couple of months, then have nuclear winter, then rebuild from nothing.

Now, there's terrorism. But I'm not scared of that AT ALL. I'm not going to the Middle East for any reason. And here in the US we've had one terrorist attack (if you don't count American terrorist attacks like abortion clinic bombings and Oklahoma City) in my life. So, I'm going to consider that a once in a lifetime occurrence.

Anyhow, I reckon I hope we're done mourning 9/11 and there's no new big deal by the time Berkley can comprehend fear on a global scale. That's all.

Dear Berkley: This Is Going to Rock

2010-09-10T19:41:00.000-07:00

I promise that when you're still young, we will watch all the movies that were awesome when I was young. To name a few:

Stand By Me
Weird Science
Space Camp
Top Gun

there are so many more. But, I will sit with you and watch these, and we will laugh a lot.

Dear Berkley: We're Trying to Move You Out of the Chicken Coop, We Promise

2010-09-09T19:53:00.000-07:00

Well, we're supposed to be moving into a real house, that we own. Our Realtor says we have been approved to buy a short sale by the bank who holds the current mortgage. But, we were supposed to get paperwork saying so today, and didn't. This is delay #243687 in this process. In fact, there have been so many delays that now we just assume that when we hear something will happen on a certain date, we add a month.

Anyhow, if we don't get it tomorrow, we start looking for another house. The market is tanked, houses are for sale super cheap everywhere and all we want is a well built house with 3 bedrooms in a decent neighborhood. Should be pretty simple to find before it gets too cold and we have to buy all new clothes use ours are packed away in storage.

Dear Berkley: Thanks For The Drive By

2010-09-08T18:55:00.000-07:00

Every so often, Berkley will stop whatever he is doing and come over and hug someone.

Often it's sort of a drive by hugging, because there isn't always time for you to respond with a hug back.

You just get squeezed, he lays his head on you a quick sec, and then he's off to do the next thing, wailing like a banshee.

Dear Berkley: Come on Man, You're Not Going To Pick Up Ladies Like That

2010-09-08T00:07:00.000-07:00

Berkley has shoes, finally. People are always asking Courtney why Berkley doesn't have shoes. Well, he just started walking this month. So, she got him some shoes. Pedipeds.

When he wears them, especially when he's just in a diaper and the Pedipeds aimlessly doing laps around the house, I can see what he'll look like as a 90 year old. Drooling, always hungry, rubbing his belly, pacing around the house, farting on everything he passes. This is also how I look extremely hungover, sans the diaper.

Dear Berkley: You Scream A Lot

2010-09-07T17:08:00.000-07:00

Berkley doesn't know a lot of words. He's got "mama" down, 100% success rate on that one. He's pretty good at bye bye. I'd say that one works 40% of the time. "Ball" is going well if there is a ball present, in his hands. That's a crowd pleaser.

Other than that, he screams like a 14 year old girl at a sleepover. I decide to chase him around the house? Screams. He wants something? Screams. He's hurt? Same general scream. So, if you decide to stop by our house, bring earplugs, because there's lots of screaming.

Dear Berkley: I'm Sorry About Your Nose

2010-09-07T05:15:00.001-07:00

Last night Berkley was tired when I came home from mountain biking about 7pm. He goes to bed about 7:30-8, so this makes sense, but he was especially tired and not so full of energy as normal.
Earlier in the day, he had skipped his afternoon nap, but instead laid on my chest watching football for about 20 minutes, while Courtney went grocery shopping. I could barely keep from crying because he's never hugged for that long, or been that still since he could... move.
So we got him in his sleep sack, and brought him into our bed. Then he just layed there on his back playing with two pacifiers while Courtney sang him songs. Again, he just laid there, so still.
While he was there on his back, I noticed how perfect the curves were from his forehead down to the bridge of his nose, and then around the tip and down to his lip. No bumps, no undulations, nothing. Perfect curves. Flawless skin.
I'm sorry son, but this will not last unless there was a mix-up at the hospital. Your mother and I both have big honkers, and mine looks like someone took a ball-peen hammer to it in my teenage years.
So, I suppose there is some super-remote chance you won't get our huge honkers, but likely you will grow one some day. We're sorry. Hopefully you'll be funny, or smart.

Dear Berkley: Try Not to Be Bonkers Over Jesus

2010-09-06T04:25:00.000-07:00

When I did "log onto" the Internet and read some news, I was surprised to find a controversy about a proposed Muslim mosque at ground zero. Wow. I was shocked the congregation would even try. So, I did a little research, and have come to realize my country is full of crazy people who really just want to be sure they are only surrounded by people who are just like themselves. I'll tell you why, based on this latest news event:

1) This "mosque" isn't even AT ground zero. Its a few blocks away. People visiting ground zero most likely won't even see it. So, who cares? Once you say Muslims can't worship a few blocks from ground zero, what's next? A few miles? A few states?
2) It's not JUST a mosque. This is a community center. It has a proposed basketball court inside of it. Computers, library, food, etc. Should hospitals be called churches because they have worship spaces inside?
3) People say "it's because its MUSLIM" and they are the ones who bombed the twin towers. WHAT? Seriously? Is your view of the world THAT narrow? Ok, fine. I'm going along with this one. By this theory, and the ones above, anyone who commits a heinous crime in the name of Christianity deems is inappropriate to have a Christian church in that vicinity forever more. So, basically all Catholic churches have to go, right? I'd like to sign up for a cut of the Vatican's cash. Seriously, Islam didn't bomb the twin towers. A few crazy people did, and used the most extreme view of their religion as a crutch. People do it in the name of Jesus all the time. Remember the Crusades?
4) Christians, Jews, or whoever can't get all up in arms about a right our country was built upon, and dismiss it in the same sentence. So, if you want the right to worship whoever you please wherever you please, it might be best to relax about the Muslim community center. Maybe even use it to your advantage. Go inside, have some good food. Find out what's good about a people you've likely been reviling since the worst of those people did a bad thing. Lord knows I'd be in bad shape if everyone viewed me by the worst actions I ever made, then went and viewed all white, upper middle class Christians by the same actions.

The Changes We Make For Our Children

2010-09-05T17:18:00.000-07:00

We decided to move for Berkley. Or for me. I suppose we'll find out as time goes on.

But leaving for work before 7am and coming home after 7pm wasn't working out since Berkley gets up at 8am and goes to bed at 7:30pm. So, we took an honest look at our life in Winston-Salem, and realized there wasn't anything keeping us there. The house could be sold, the friends could be kept up with, and my relationship with my child could become something more than people sleeping in the same house.

So we sold the house in Winston, and have moved to Greensboro. We're in a rental right by my office until we can buy a house that is in "short sale." This short sale is akin to catching an eel in a bucket full of snot. It's no fun, and nearly impossible. But, we should save a ton of money. Sweet. We'll use it on Berk's college fund, which is going to need approximately 40 gajillion dollars in 18 years in order for Berk to attend a school where the majority of students aren't from that county.

I'm extremely thankful for what used to be a chicken coop, but is now our rental home. It's less than 2 miles from my office, and I get to have lunch with the fam some days. I'm also enjoying the 3 minute drive, although now I have no idea what happens in the local or national news. I opened up the web and read CNN and WSP online the other day. It turns out not much.

MOVING ON

2010-09-05T17:14:00.000-07:00

It's been quite a while since I posted. In that time Berkley has learned to walk, started to talk, and is pretty much moved on from "infant" to "boy." So, now I'm going to start posting again and this blog is going to contain both what Berk is up to, and my thoughts on things relating to Berk, and the world in which he grows up.

Feeding Berkley

2010-05-06T17:18:00.000-07:00

Berkley likes food. He eats peas and carrots (just like Gump), chicken, most fruits, green beans, broccoli, sweet taters, etc. And I suppose most kids his age do this same thing. Courtney and I buy this food in the grocery store, steam it, blend it up into goo, and then freeze it in the ice cube trays.

When it's time to eat, we microwave it a few seconds, it turns to goo, and we shovel it into his mouth. Sounds pretty easy, huh?

Well, it was, for about 3 weeks.

Then Berkley wanted the spoon.
Then he hated getting his face wiped off after.
Then he got constipated.
And now, he's not interested in food anymore. So we just scatter Cheerios and ridiculously expensive "puffs" around (more about these retarded things later), hoping he'll pick them up and eat them.

Good try. I think our 9 month old might be smarter than we are.

Selling The House

2010-05-02T07:21:00.000-07:00

We're selling our house. I work in Greensboro (30ish miles away), I work a lot, and if we don't move a little closer, I'm going to see Berkley on average 6 minutes per work day. Also, our house is a two bedroom one bath with no central air conditioning.

This is a perfect home for two people with no child. But now Berk is loud, and the window-unit air conditioners are loud, and the TV is loud, and there is literally no where you can go in this 1350 square feet and get a second's peace when people are here.

This house is also old, and we bought it with these idealistic dreams of fixing it up to its former glory and making good money some day. But, what has actually happened is that we've done a lot of labor intensive and very expensive repairs just to make the home tolerable/livable,and we're going to hopefully make a little money on the sale. Not the best planning on the Willis family's part. And now, quite honestly, I don't have time to mess with it. It's kind of fun to upgrade a home, but if I'm honest with myself, it's not THAT fun, or rewarding. It's just a lot of sweat and in the end the the result is something like the bathroom floor looks different. Whoopie.

So, we're moving on up like George and Weezie.

Now that the house is on the market, there's a new reality: keeping the house straight and clean, all the time. Well, most of the time. Well, some of the time. Well, the times when we think maybe someone may want to come see the house, and we're in town, and we're at home.

It's actually really hard to keep a house straight and clean with a baby crawling all over the place, drooling and puking all over everything, and leaving little toys all over the place.

I swear, letting the kid watch Yo Gabba Gabba 30 times in a row never looked so appealing.

And the constant cleaning. In pollen season. Dusting every 3 days. Cleaning the floors over and over again. Not letting a spot of mildew form in the tub. And all so some people can come in and offer us well below market value on the home, pointing out all the shortcomings and things they wish the home had! Super.

So recently, we've backed off big time. We let toys lie around in the playroom. It's a playroom, people will understand. Heck, people with kids will probably like it.

We dust once or so a week. Yes, we have dust in our house. It turns out people and dust can actually co-habitate.

And lastly we let Berk drool and puke and snot on everything without getting out the carpet/upholstery cleaner the second it happens. Because if we did, we'd just have to walk around with that bottle strapped to our waists. 9 month old's leave a trail of "stuff" wherever they go, and that's something else they don't tell you when you sign up to have a baby, or sell your house.

Our Second Child

2010-05-01T07:15:00.000-07:00

I'm surprised how often I get asked "When you gonna have another one?" I'm usually eating lunch, or having a beverage with friends, so I usually reply,

"As soon as I'm thirsty again, maybe a little earlier."

But I know what they're asking. They want to know when Courtney and I are going to have another Baby. More specifically, Courtney. She does the having, I do half of the making.

And I might as well go ahead and say on this blog, we're not having another one. We may adopt, but we won't be biologically making another baby. Courtney wants to birth another baby about like she wants to run a marathon, and I want to go through the whole pregnancy/infant/pay for childbirth experience again about the same amount as I want to watch reality TV.

Quick defense of our actions as if I care what people out there in Internet land think of our in-home decisions: we're both only children, like it, would be excited to adopt if we changed our minds, love that other people have multiple kids, and do not plan to spoil Berkley into thinking he's any more special than other kids. Thank you.

So, to solidify this plan, I have had a vasectomy. Now, I'll explain how THAT little jewel of a procedure went.

First, we had to decide to have a vasectomy. And by we, I mean I. Just like Courtney has the baby, I have the snip snip. She isn't even in the room. But we talked it over and decided a lifetime of birth control wasn't worth a 15 minute operation and 2 day recovery. So, I signed up over at Forsyth Urology for a vasectomy.

Of course, since Google exists, I did a little research. I found out there are a few different methods, but then I realized my doc was going to do whatever he did, so I was wasting my time. In my research I found that some men suffer from post-vasectomy pain syndrome. Uh, hold the phone.

What is this "syndrome" and how do I avoid it at all costs? Apparently some dudes who get the snip have aching boys for the rest of their lives. No thanks. I'm out.

But, I went to the meet and greet appointment anyhow. They let me pee in a cup, did a physical exam to be sure it was possible (I have no idea why it wouldn't be) and then we sat down to talk it over.

The doc, who was brand spanking new out of residency, wanted to be sure I knew what I was getting into. I did. He asked all sorts of lifestyle questions, like if I was willing to go without other children, if I understood how young I was, all those sorts of things. I asked about POST VASECTOMY PAIN SYNDROME.

He said is happens to 3-5 percent of guys, and lasts anywhere from a few weeks to forever. I could live with that. So, I scheduled the procedure.

I scheduled for a Friday morning at 8am. I took off a Monday and Tuesday after to be sure I had time to recover. They instructed me to bring a jock strap and gave me a vicodin to take on my way to the procedure. I showed, and damn sure took the pill.

I arrived Friday am and they showed me right back. The nurse had me take my pants off and put on a t-shirt, then waddle over to the OR table. I did so.

Then, she took beta dine or something similar and covered every inch of my nether-regions. Cold.

The doc showed up a few minutes later with another nurse, who was much younger and very pretty. He had said something earlier about how some dudes get scared and their boys go up inside so he has to work them back out before starting the procedure. I wondered if this was her job. It was not. Her job was to hold a cup and catch what he took out of me, and talk to me and tell me what was happening. Chit-chat.

He went to work and injected my boys with some numbing stuff, which felt like a slight pinch, and then went to work. I felt nothing but the pinch. Snip-snip.

Every couple of minutes, he would reach over and drop something into the nurse girl's cup. Plop.

In 10 minutes, we were all done and he had sewed me up. I felt nothing from the procedure. Bliss.

Then, he sent me home. I rode the 2 miles to the house and got in bed. The vicodin had kicked in and I was feeling good. I got in bed and took a nap.

When I woke up, I was not feeling so good. My boy had bled on the gauze inside the jock strap, and they were sore. So I sent Courtney to fill the prescription for more vicodin, quickly. More please.

She did so and I spent the next couple of days keeping the boys clean with a light sponge bath, and riding a med high. They did get sore from time to time, but these sweet ice packs that look like peas really helped. I would just rotate them.

Sleep was easy with the meds, and by Saturday I was feeling like I could walk around easily, sit up, etc. I could have worked if my job was sitting all day.

By Monday I was ready to go back to work. I stayed home and worked just to take it easy. Tuesday I went back to work normally, no meds by script, just a couple of ibuprofen every few hours.

In two weeks, no pain whatsoever. Back to exercising.

Now, 5 months later still no pain and loving it.

Seriously, can I get a minute?

2010-04-22T09:49:00.000-07:00

Revelation number 23 I've figured out lately (now that Berkley has more personality and can move) is that there is no more free time when Berkley is awake. I established that a post or two ago. He can do the crawling thing (a little faster than you'd think if you put him down for "just a second" to take a pee). And he can walk around if he's holding onto something.

He also doesn't have depth perception. I know this because he doesn't stop at the edge of things. He just keeps on crawling, right over the edge. For instance I put him on the bed, and he plays for .00016 seconds, and then crawls over the edge, landing on his head. I put him down on the kitchen floor, and he crawls down the little step onto the back porch to rummage through the recycling bin and cut himself on a Coke can.

And, to top it all off, it turns out only people are acceptable as jungle gyms. And if he does find something else to play with/on, I must be watching. If by some chance alignment of the stars, moon and my house Berkley decides to play with something other than my face and I decide to walk into the kitchen to get a Coke (so he'll have something to cut himself with later) he knows.

I can walk out like a Ninja, completely out of his field of view and not making a sound, but he knows. And he lets me know that this is a zero on the acceptable scale, and screams at me. To make life more super fun, teething, colds (which has only happened once thankfully) and anything odd makes this behavior more pronounced.

So a couple of days ago I needed a shower and Courtney was doing something Berkles could not "help" with, so we were in a bit of a pickle. Then, it dawned on me. This kid loves water. So, a few minutes later, Courtney came in to find me in the shower, washing my hair, with Berk down under my feet, crawling back and forth playing in the fake rainstorm created by the shower head.

In my mind, if he's going to be clingy, he's got to be cool with me deciding what "we" do.

Since then, all decorum has gone out the window. Where I used to have "my" time in the bathroom, now it's just a family affair no matter what's going on in there. At least one of us get's a minute.

Now I'm just trying to decide: Is it okay to lock him in the playroom with a recording of me talking? There's a glass door where I could keep an eye on him from the couch, and maybe he'll think I'm there long enough for me to pay a bill or two on the computer.

Vacationing with Baby

2010-04-21T02:38:00.001-07:00

So, we just don't do it. I know other people do, and have a great time taking their 8 month old to Disney World, Six Flags, etc. I seem them all sweaty, pushing their giant stroller through Busch Gardens with their 128oz diet coke in the cup holder and I think "how are they going to get that thing on the Loch Ness Monster?" Not for us. Plus, Berkley thinks pine straw is hugely entertaining and is amazed by the cat next door. I don't think a schlep to Cedar Point is in the cards any time soon.

What we do shove him off to the grandparents. He loves it, they seem to love it, so in silly business speak: win-win. We have synergy.

Love you Berk, but you stay home while Mama and Daddy go lay on Caribbean Beaches. When you're older, get ready for summer camp.

Not THERE!

2010-04-19T18:06:00.001-07:00

For the record, Courtney and Berkley were doing something in Greensboro today (spending money) and I was able to have lunch with them. Berkley sat in the high chair the entire time and played with puffs.

This post is about another food topic, baby-proofing the house.

If you've read much of this blog or Courtney's Blog, you can see we're not much into catering to Berkley. We try to keep in mind that he's here to compliment our lives. I realize some people have a child in order to provide for that child, make the world better, save the rain forest, win the Boston Marathon, whatever. We just wanted one child to enjoy and complete our family. It's Courtney and I first, Berkley second. Yeah, yeah, call us crazy.

Anyhow, let's keep this ranking in mind as we remember that Berkley is growing up and is quite mobile these days. He can walk around with his hands on furniture, crawl quickly, open and close doors, etc.

So, the baby-proofing has began, and yet here is another thing people don't know when they're day-dreaming about wonderful days in the park with their unborn child. So, here is a list of things you have to do in order to get your home ready for a child. I also decided to include whether we did it, or decided to go the hard knock route with Berk and let him learn the tough way.

1) All breakable things have to be moved out of baby reach. (partial success)
2) Electrical outlets have to be plugged. (We did a few of these. Others have plugs at times, and we figure his fingers are already too big to get in there. Everything he owns is plastic.)
3) Anything that will dissolve (like paper) has to be kept out of baby reach. Drool dissolves paper at 4 times the rate of water. (total failure, but we're improving. Berkley enjoys playing with the paper towel rolls. Sort of like a dog bone...)
4) Floor lamps, and anything that can be pulled over, like a table cloth, have to be secured. (did it)
5) Electronics are super attractive for babies. (we said screw it, he loves the radio/tv area and we encourage the interaction. We're also hoping he'll learn to work the surround sound unit, it's pretty tough to figure out.)
6) Dust must be vanquished every few days. Babies are natural dusters since they're always crawling around, but the dust bunnies that collect in corners, under the bed, etc are rough on the windpipe. (our house is for sell, so it's CLEAN)
7) No poison. So yeah, you have to clean all of the poison out of the places it lives. Like under the kitchen sink, etc. (failure)
8) No outside poison. If you spray weed killer, you have to have a map telling where is is until it rains later. (failure, we're learning fast on this one though)
9) No splinters. (we gave up in 5 seconds)
10) Nothing small in entire house baby could choke on. Since baby puts everything in mouth. (partial success)

This list could go on, literally, forever. But the point is that although we definitely put Berkley second as often as possible, as often as possible is about 3% of the time. A baby is an enormous amount of commitment and work. Your life, in no way, shape or form, belongs to you (or your accouterments) any more, until the baby goes to sleep, which makes 8pm a wonderful, wonderful time of night.

Out to Eat

2010-04-18T11:38:00.000-07:00

Berkley has grown quite a bit lately and life is a bit easier. We are still quite the slaves to his nap schedule, but he's down to almost 2 good naps a day, so this means we have more flexibility to go out for longer periods of time.

So, when we're out we often get hungry and want to eat. So, we go to a restaurant. This is more difficult than advertised.

You'd think we could just grab a high chair, plop him in it, give him a toy and enjoy a meal. Ah, no.

Here are the issues with that little slice of utopia.
1) He doesn't like to sit in the chair for more than approximately 4 seconds.
2) Whatever he is playing with he throws on the floor every 10 seconds.
3) He is loud sometimes, and at 8 months doesn't quite get "shhh."
4) Sometimes he's getting towards nap time, and so he wants to be held.
5) Sometimes his teeth hurt, so he wants to be held, and whine.
6) Although he feels great and doesn't mind the chair, and hasn't dropped the toy, the salt, pepper, our food, and anything else that is not okay for him to play with is infinitely more interesting and he wants it.

So, when spending hard-earned money to go out and eat, there is a 7% chance we enjoy a meal, and a 940% chance one of us tends to him while the other eats, then the other gets their food boxed up to take home so he can take the next nap in today's schedule.

Daddy Day Care

2010-02-06T16:59:00.000-08:00

Courtney had to go down to Charlotte to spend time with her mother and grandmother last night, so I came home from work and kept Berkley. (See previous post: "No More Weekends...)

Well, she took off Friday evening, and here's what happened.

I played with Berk for about an hour in the floor. We basically chewed on everything we could get our hands on.

Then 6pm rolled around, so I put Berk in the Baby Bjorn and we fixed some pears and prunes. The prunes were from Gerber Organics, but I had to actually cut up a pear, steam it in the Baby food cooking machine, blend them up, and feed them to him. It took about 10 minutes to eat those items up, so then we practiced drinking from a straw for a while. Not like sucking water through it, but rather me dipping a straw in a cup, putting my finger on the other end, and then letting it go when I get it on Berk's lips. He's a big, big fan. Cold water must feel good to his gums.

So after drinking 4% of the water presented and drooling the rest down his shirt, I changed his clothes and fed him a bottle. That went way fast, so it was 6:30 and he was still pretty awake, not quite ready to sleep. So I just put him in his crib and turned on the mobile.

The mobile is pretty high up there. But he's persistent, and he pulled himself up by the sides of the crib, got propped up on his knees, and caught the mobile dudes going around in circles and gave them hell. He's been after them for about 3 months, so I couldn't say no. Accomplishment feels so good I encouraged it.

Eventually he got whiny, so I put him in the sleep sack, rocked him a minute, and he was out. Night, done.

He slept from 7pm until 7:15 am.

After he went to sleep I came to a realization: there wasn't anything to do. And I was sort of stuck at the house. I couldn't exactly call up a buddy and go out for a beer! So, I had a few Sammy Smith beers right here on my couch and watched a guy movie. Terminator. Awesome.

Today, Berk and I went to Home Depot (or Lowes, same thing) and bought some roofing materials. He's a big hit in those types of places. I guess it's because he's a happy kid and makes eye contact with people.

All in all, it's been a successful 24 hours of Daddy Day care. Nobody died, so I feel like we're winners.

The End of Weekends

2010-01-31T17:10:00.000-08:00

I presume most people look forward to the weekend. If nothing else, I know this from Facebook.

"TGIF!!"
"This has been the longest week. Bring on the weekend!"
"I wish it was Friday."
"Yaaaaaa for Friday."

And on and on. You can't go four Facebook status updates without seeing something about somebody's weekend.

But I've noticed that this isn't as prevalent among parents of young babies. And here's why. When you have a baby, there is no weekend.

While the week used to be filled with days of work, then the weekend was a time of projects, or rest, or socializing with friends, now the weekend is just another couple of days on the schedule.

If you're staying at home with a baby, obviously there's no difference in Tuesday and Saturday, except there's another person in the house. If you're working, the only difference is that you're at home, working for a baby rather than working at your M-F job.

Don't hear a complaint in this, it's part of the deal you must understand when you decide to have a baby. Your life is no longer yours. You have signed up to live and provide for another for several years, and their needs are going to come before yours even when you've had a crappy week, or got a babysitter and had a few drinks, or you're dead tired from sleeping just a few or no hours.

But know, if you have a baby, there are no more weekends, just a couple of days where you don't go to work but instead do baby things.

Let's Get Spontaneous

2010-01-20T17:48:00.000-08:00

Last winter, when Courtney was slightly pregnant, I took a little trip with a couple of life long friends to see a Wake-NC State basketball game in Raleigh. They both have kids, and knew I was going to have my first. My buddy Tom says to me:
"You know, once you have that kid, there isn't going to be any more jump up and do... well anything."
Tom, is turns out, is a soothsayer.
And when you first have a baby, it's sort of a trick, because they sleep non-stop once they get good at sleeping. But then as the baby gets a little older, as in beyond two weeks, THE SCHEDULE begins to rule all.
And honestly, we're pretty "roll with it" parents. We're cool with Berkley sleeping wherever, or eating in the car, etc. But all in all, it's just nearly impossible to jump up and leave the house with a baby. It's a minimum of 30 minutes of planning and packing and diaper changing and feeding, and nap finishing and clothes changing and stroller folding and whatever else before you can actually walk out the door.
So be warned if you're considering having a kid. Unless you're going solo, don't get in a big hurry.

Babies Make You Fat

2010-01-04T13:32:00.001-08:00

We're going to take a quick zoom forward to present day for me to mention that I have gained right at 25 pounds since Berkley was born.

And I'm not constipated or anything terrible like that, so I'm pretty sure it's fat. Courtney, on the other hand, has lost quite a bit of weight and size. Good on her.

I'd just like to mention that they don't sell men's pants at Babies R' Expensive, and this is about the only store new parents visit.

Seriously, 25 pounds. And I'm not big "what do I weigh?" kind of guy. I mean, whatever. As long as I closely resemble a Greek god while walking down the beaches of the Carribbean, I'm not concerned with my actual weight. But I went to put on a suit to head to work the other day, and it was one I literally bought a feew after Berk's birth. Pants no fit. And I mean NO FIT. Not even close. 2 inches from meeting in the button area. Wow.

So I found a scale, which isn't that easy because we don't have one at the house. But I searched, and found one near the office in the hospital, and yep, 202lbs. 202! I have never weighed over 200. 175 is about an average for the past 10 years.

Wow again. So I thought about life for the past 5 months. And it is three things. Mess around with baby is one thing. Sleep is one thing. Work is one thing. None of those mean keeping off extra weight, especially when you're eating lots of take out and food that is not prepared at home.

So, reality #90 that I was not prepared for when having a baby is that not only does Mom have to be careful about her diet to care for baby, and then lose the weight after, so does Dad. I'm on it. Headed out to the gym now.

Home with New Baby

2009-12-15T18:02:00.000-08:00

So, about 9am on the third day in the hospital we packed up the mountain of baby stuff with a little help from the hospital nurses, stuck Berkles in the baby seat we had studied over for 30 minutes in the store before finally selecting based on color, and off we drove, headed home with our little bundle of joy.

The little booger even fell asleep on the drive, all half a mile of it. How cute. So, we took the seat inside and put it in the middle of the den, went in the bedroom and went to sleep. Turns out that's a bad idea, but we didn't know babies don't get much oxygen while sleeping in a baby seat. Looked happy to us, and after sleeping no longer than 37 seconds in a single stretch in the hospital, we left him there. Hell, I'd have left him on the roof if I thought he preferred it at that point. And so we all slept. Joyous, wonderful sleep, for a couple of hours.

Then he woke up, which was fine. Time to eat. So, we tried breastfeeding. And here was our schedule for the next 10 days:

Minute 1: Baby cries like it's hungry
Minute 2: Courtney whips out a breast, and somebody, just whoever is close, brings the baby over to feed.
Minutes 3-30: Baby screams at breast as if it's made of actual fire and is burning baby.
Minute 31: Baby magically latches onto breast and drinks for a while.
Minute 60: Baby falls asleep
1Hour Minute 20: Baby cries as if it's hungry...
Rinse, cycle, repeat.

Except sometimes, we skip the sleep part. All total, there is on average negative 432 minutes of sleep per day. In contrast, there are 7 migraines and at least fifty-eleven tears. And keep in mind, the baby can't make tears yet, so they're really all mama's tears. If someone came to our house they would have been justified calling social services, or maybe the police. Social services to say "there is no way these two people can care for a child, they need help." The police to say "obviously someone is coming in here and torturing these people when no one is around. Maybe the Chinese and their advanced methods with sleep deprivation."

So, finally I called BS on this whole situation and make Courtney give me one reason to not give the baby a bottle. In her totally destroyed and mind-altered state she couldn't come up with one in 10 seconds, so I made a bottle, and Berk drank it as if he had just caravaned across the Sahara.

And so that was the end of the great breast-bottle debate in the Willis house. Courtney was not happy and neither was I. We presume all the screaming at the breast meant Berkley was less than amused. But since the first bottle, all cartwheels and sunshine, much better sleep for everyone, etc. So, we stuck with it.

And after 7 days of wearing cabbage and ice packs on her breasts, Courtney's breasts returned to normal from the size of small planets.

Our next challenge was sleep (for the baby). We both used to go to bed at about 11, and sleep for 8 hours, straight. No waking up, no going to pee, nada. Babies are horrible at that it turns out. I slept light and if I woke up I was up for good. So, we went on a search for how to teach Berkley to sleep.

And after trying the cradle thingy, and his bed, and our bed, and a sleep sack, and a swaddle, and the couch, and the car seat again, and even pondering that roof idea, we settled on just dealing with it. We'd feed him about 10, then put him to bed until about 3am, then feed him, then again about 6am. This is not the same as sleeping 8 hours straight.

This went on for a couple of weeks, until someone suggested the novel idea we just NOT feed the baby in the middle of the night. Swaddle him tight, shut the door on the way out, and then walk back in there in the morning. That's it. This sounds very simple. We would feed Berkley about 7pm, change his diaper, put him to bed swaddled like a mummy (I call this baby jail), then close his bedroom door and do our thing until we went to bed. About 7am we walk back into the room and feed him again.

This is NOT so easy. The baby cries. And when you live in a home the size of a postage stamp, you hear it, all.the.time. But, sure enough, after a couple of nights he started sleeping the whole night. And has pretty much done just that every night since.

In The Hospital

2009-12-15T17:21:00.001-08:00

Here, in this post, I tell you about our hospital stay. The one directly after the baby was born.

So, squirt, out came baby. And then the fun really began. The doc announced to Courtney that it was time to get the placenta out. By this hour the drugs from the epidural had kicked in, so he could have announced it was time to remove her kidneys with a butter knife and all would have been good. I, on the other hand, had heard some not so fun stories about this little process, and I was NOT drugged up. So, to work he went massaging her belly and being very nice about the whole thing while I stood watching with trepidation. Luckily, this went much quicker and more smoothly than the actual birth, and out came this... thing. It reminded me of a really shiny/silvery gallon sized zip-lock bag with spaghetti sauce inside. I was WAY more interested than I thought I would be. The doc noticed our interest and so yep, he just brought it right up into our faces to check it out. He turned it inside out, so then it was no longer silvery and slick, but instead very much like carpet in consistency, except still reddish purple and wet. So, there you go, time to play with new baby.

We got to hold him for 13 seconds, then we brought the families in to see everything. My 4 parents, my sister and her boyfriend, and Courtney's mom were there. Her dad was on the way.

So, in they all trooped, and the baby got passed around, my sister's boyfriend announced he was happy to be an uncle, and much merriment was had.

Then 15 seconds later, it was time to move to the "not so expensive, not as nice" room. So we all trucked down the hallway to a room to stay a couple of nights. Halfway there the fire alarm went off. Super.

We finally get into this room, everyone heads home, and we're alone, with this baby. We tried to breastfeed. How hard can it be? Take baby mouth, put on breast. Whammo.

NOT whammo. We turned, pinched, contorted, and the baby was just getting more and more angry. So, we gave up, and a little while later a nurse came in. She showed us how to do it right, and baby drank a little and went to sleep. Parenting is so simple.

10 minutes later, baby started crying. Well what the hell little man? You ate, your diaper is clean, you're all wrapped up and warm, nothing is wrong. And so on it went, through the night. Happy and sleeping a while, crying a while. Not a lot of sleep was had. It should be noted that for those without children that a baby crying in the room with you is roughly equivalent to someone exploding a 50 megaton nuclear bomb. Courtney was exhausted. I was pretty tired myself. About 6am, we sent the little guy to the nursery and slept in bliss for a few hours.

About 9, they brought him back to have more breastfeeding lessons. It went pretty well, and he ate a while and went to sleep. Through the day people came by and we told the same birth story over again and again. And the baby just sort of did his thing. Cry, sleep, pee, poo, rinse and repeat.

That night, we're alone again, and here we go. We want to be with the baby, but there was not much sleeping happening. And we try to breastfeed, but it isn't going all that well. The baby is best at screaming at us.

So, back to the nursery the baby goes, and to sleep we go.

Throughout all of these 3 days, it should be noted that Courtney is having to wear these gigantic maxi pads with an ice pack in them. I have no idea how she was comfortable or slept for one minute.

Also, if everyone did get settled and about to sleep, someone, anyone would barge in the room and want to test the baby's hearing, or make sure Courtney is drinking water, or something. Pure craziness.

Next morning, it's time to go home. They have circumcised the baby, we're all packed up, and down to the car we go. We live about 3 blocks from the hospital, so it's a short drive.

And upon getting home, the little man slept hard for a few hours. We all slept, more exhausted than we've ever been.

So We Have This Baby....

2009-10-25T07:05:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted since well before our baby was born. This should be your first indicator of what it's really like to have a baby around the house. I'll take time over the next couple of weeks to talk through the ups and down, but mostly just hilarious reality of two people who were obviously built to be an aunt and, uncle bringing a baby into the world.

Today, I'll catalog the birth experience.

If there was one thing Courtney was terrified of, it was the act of pushing a 8-10lb baby out of her naturally. Or having surgery to remove said newborn. And I felt this was a completely justifiable fear. I'm sure there are husbands out there who tried to help their wives out by saying things like "It won't be so bad" "It'll be over before you know it" or "It's been happening for thousands of years.." Not me. I agreed wholeheartedly that it would likely be awful, painful, and scarring to the psyche. For this reason, we both agreed, and informed anyone within earshot that there would be massive drugs administered in the Willis birthing suite at Forsyth Hospital.

We were right! The big day came, then went, and no baby. So, we waited a week or so, then scheduled an induction. Super. Everyone said this would make the labor process even longer. Just Courtney was hoping for: a few more hours of agonizing pain. So we drove over to the hospital at 6am, checked in, and got hooked up to the labor-inducing drug, Pitocin. Nothing happened.

Sure, the little monitor went up and down, up and down. But no pain, no contraction feelings, no baby. So, the doc finally came in around noon and suggested he "break her water" to speed things up. "Super" we said. "Is it time for drugs?"

He says "Well, it's still likely to take several hours, so let's wait until you need them." We went along with the doctor's suggestion.

He took this big plastic hook, shoved it up inside of her, and broke the water. I sort of expected a gush of liquid. Didn't happen. Sort of nothing happened. For a few minutes. Then WOAH.

Contractions came like the breakers at Waimea Bay. (for the geographically challenged, that's a big surfing spot in Hawaii with huge waves...) My normally placid, angelic, Christian wife transformed into a fire-breathing monster. With every subsequent contraction over the next ten minutes, she demanded more and more loudly for the drugs.

The anesthesia team finally showed up to get to work. About this time, the OB doc decides the hear rate on the baby is not rebounding quickly enough to contractions, and puts Courtney on oxygen.

So, she's hurting more and more with each contraction, and she's on O2, and she's pissed. She's jerking the mask off of her face because it feels constricting, and she's demanding the baby be removed by c-section, NOW.

So then, the OB gets the super idea to place a heart monitor on the baby's head and check to be sure the umbilical cord is not around the baby's neck. This apparently hurts. By Courtney's reaction, this is about the same as having your foot removed with a butter knife. And, at this point, the contractions are for real. Courtney is coming 2-3 feet up off of the bed with each round.

Remember those anesthesia guys? They keep having to pause each time Courtney has a contraction, which is approximately every other breath. So they're not making a lot of headway.

So they turn her on her side to get the meds flowing into her epidural, and this one nurse, who I have not seen all day, non-chalantly says "she looks ready, we should probably check her cervix." So, she just reaches up in there like she's checking the stuffing in a turkey, and says, "oh wow, it's time. Baby is here." She says this in same tone of voice I would announce it's time to get more gas in the car. So, not too wound up, I'm betting to keep Courtney calm.

Courtney hears, and it the opposite of calm. Instead she begins to repeat her mantra for the day "IT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN THIS WAY. THIS IS NOT THE PLAN!!!" She's crying, upset, screaming with each contraction, and the scene has gone from serene to pure chaos.

Remember the anesthesia guys? they announce that the drugs take a minute or twelve to take effect.

Courtney has a fit. They double the dose and pump harder. One looks at the other and says "the button" in reference to the self-administered button for more anesthesia. The other docs just gives a no not to wave him off. I wonder why. The OB doc then makes an off-handed comment "I think we need to hurry up and get the baby out, and there may not have time for the meds to take effect."

HA! Courtney comes unraveled. This is her worst nightmare. And we all hear about it. He's saying push, she's saying no. It's a battle of wills.

The baby wins. Apparently, when the nurse said it's time, she really meant "it was time 20 minutes ago." Courtney loses, and has to push. Or at least tell us she's pushing, because it turns out she's been pushing all along.

The meds finally take effect, and the next round of contractions are "not so bad."

So I get assigned a leg to hold back. I thought this meant just hang on to the leg. No, it means pull the leg back to where the knee is beside her ear. and much to my surprise, this means I'm face to face with a vagina. (Courtney's of course)

And here comes a baby. I had sort of planned on "peeking in" on the whole vag area. Not an option. It's facing UP. Anyone in the room has to look at it.

And two contractions later, baby.

It was really just that simple. And everything since has been just as easy.

Due, or something like it.

2009-07-27T18:23:00.000-07:00

Today is the "due date" for the baby to be born. What a crock. So I did a little research and it turns out "due dates" were originally calculated in the mid 1800s by a German doctor. (280 days) And no one has thought to re-calculate based on modern medicine and diet, different races, regional differences, or anything. Pure silliness.

So I did some more research, and there actually have been some studies done on Caucasian, American women recently. Like, since 1980. And they are pretty consistent. The average is really closer to 288 days. That's an extra week and a day, boys and girls. So for all of you who are "overdue" keep those numbers in mind. Maybe you're still early, just like Courtney and Para.

Alien vs Mommy

2009-07-04T06:33:00.000-07:00

So, if you want to know what life is like for a 37 week mother and her unborn fetus inside, I can give you a simple script for your reading pleasure:

Mother To Be: "Ouch!"
Anyone Nearby: "You okay?"
Mother To Be: "Baby Kicked Me."

Mother shifts positions, rubs belly where she has been kicked, alien looking foot possibly protrudes from belly, mother goes back to what she was doing, and people nearby are either mesmerized or run for the exits after seeing the foot about to break through belly skin.

30 SECONDS PASS

Mother To Be: "Woah Baby!"
Anyone Nearby: "What?"
Mother to Be: "Baby is Hurting Me, I can't breathe."

Mother shifts positions, breathes hard, goes back to what she was doing.

30 SECONDS PASS

Mother To Be: "Ooh."
Anyone Nearby: "What's up?"
Mother To Be: "Braxton Hicks Contraction."
Anyone Nearby Thinks Internally: "I have no idea what that means, but it sounds and looks painful."

And on we go, hour after hour, day after day. I picked up one of those "What to Expect When You're Knocked Up" books yesterday and it said "...although you may want to hold your doctor at gunpoint and have her induce labor at your next weekly checkup, do not, your baby's lungs have yet to finish developing."

We don't have a gun (as far as you know) but I think I'm starting to understand why that sentence is in the book.

A Happy Woman is a Floating Woman

2009-06-30T15:52:00.000-07:00

We just got home from a week at Myrtle Beach (or as I call it: Gatlinburg at the Sea). Every year we go with a big group down there and stay for a week. Good times. This year I was skeptical. I mean, it's like 4 weeks to due date, and as I may have mentioned before, there are no cities in the 5 hour drive between my house and MB. But, the doctor said it's fine to go, and away we went.

And a wonderful thing happened: the swimming pool. This house has a really nice pool. If I could post pictures in here I'd show you, but Blogger is acting like one of Jerry's kids, so imagine a pristine, clean big pool that looks out over the dunes then the ocean.

During the past few weeks, the Willis pregnancy (hers, not mine) has gone from "hey, come feel the baby kick, this is way cool" to "Damn baby, get off my bladder, ribs, and longs for a minute." She has descended into a struggle to get comfortable, breathe well, and sleep well.

But it turns out a swimming pool solves most of those problems. The added buoyancy takes some of the baby's weight and moves it around to places that are, well, good. And with the right type of float, sort of shaped like a hammock, she can lay in there and sleep on her belly. So, I'm happy to announce that I drove 10 hours round trip to figure out that pregnant ladies should stay in the swimming pool. If I had only known this earlier I would have added to the list of home improvement projects. Just what everyone with a toddler needs, right?

Behind The Curve? What Curve?

2009-06-21T04:23:00.000-07:00

I recently read Courtney's post on all the things she hasn't done to prepare for our baby's arrival. And I pondered it for a few days before coming to this conclusion: so what?

Let's discuss these birthing classes. My buddy Jason and his wife went to one, and he said it was taught by a total crack-head who made them watch a birth (afterbirth included) on tv and then told them all that if you don't breastfeed your baby it's child abuse. Uh, nay. Not going to happen. I work in the hospital. Dozens of poor women come in there every day who haven't had the first day of prenatal care, and haven't even heard of a birthing class and by what I can only determine is a miracle of luck over and over, a healthy happy baby pops out. And all without the first new-age breathing technique. Bring on the drugs, forget the hippie-fied seances.

We did take a hospital tour. Very interesting. Reminded me of the hospitals I spend my time in, but for smaller people. They showed us a "birthing suite." I had been hearing this term get tossed around, and for some readson I envisioned the suites I stay in when I travel. Not exactly. When I go on a business trip I have 2-4 rooms to MYSELF. In this suite, 4 mothers are all giving birth in the same 4 room suite. It's a little trick they're playing with the words so they can bill you more. Maybe it's a suite because there is a bed for you and the baby in that one room, plus a tiny couch for sleeping. All in all it was a pretty nice room, but after hearing question lady (you know this woman, brings a paper full of questions to ask about everything under the sun when we're all just trying to get through the tour. Probably sat at the front of the class..) ask how long you get to stay, I found out that as soon as you deliver, you're OUT, and down to a much more drab, economical room. Super.

I admit it, I have been reading "What To Expect The First Year." It's on the bed-side table, and most nights I open it up and read something at random. Last night I learned that some babies have colic, which really just means they cry a lot, and you should not abuse them if this happens because babies...cry. Thank you, Arlene Eisenberg, you are a sage.

A pediatrician, before the baby is even born? Seriously? I have probably seen 50 different doctors in my lifetime, I'm sure Baby Willis will do the same. Whatever. I'll take whoever is in the building that day. Or I'll just call some friends and ask who they use, then wham, we're done. I've got news for you: it's all of you crazy parents demanding unnecessary tests and procedures that got us in this health-care mess to start with. Now Obama has to bail us out, for about $3000 in taxes per adult. That's 1000 boxes of girl scout cookies I could enjoy! Think I'm crazy? Read on:

I have no input on the childcare issue. If she works, we will get some childcare. Preferably a nanny type caregiver. If not, no problem.

I'll leave you with some wisdom:
We spend the first twelve months of our children's lives hoping they will hurry up and walk and talk, and the next Twenty-four years telling them to sit down and shut up!

Babies Mean Projects

2009-06-15T19:03:00.000-07:00

As we get closer to actual baby due date (5-6 weeks I reckon) the need to complete the "projects" increases. Mostly it's self imposed pressure, since I'm pretty sure I'll be busy after the baby is born doing baby things. I do not know what those things are exactly, but people say babies take a lot of time. So, there has been getting the baby's room ready, getting a playroom ready, etc, etc.
And this is really a manageable set of projects. But then we had to get new gutters because our old ones were done and causing the roof to rot. So then that meant replacing the fascia board around the house. Then painting it. Then painting the house where the old gutters were. And the list goes on, and on.
Did you know I also have a real job that does not involve babies? As I prepare to use of some vacation to help take care of the Parasite, that means I have to get all of my little work ducks in order. My projects have to be organized, or preferably finished. So I've been working a little (or a lot some days) extra to get those wrapped up.
Tomorrow is our 6th baby shower. This time at my office, where I know about 4 people and my wife knows zero. I hope we get some burp cloths. We only have 313671283.
All this has led me to realize that babies mean a lot of work and you lose time for yourself long before the baby is ever born. I'm actually looking forward to those weeks at home taking care of an infant. I think it'll be less work than preparing for one.

Shower #2, Now I Need to Clean

2009-05-02T06:10:00.000-07:00

Last night we had the first baby shower where males are present. Our friends Joy and Ben opened up their home to several friends and we had dinner and drinks, and for a few minutes we opened presents while everyone watched.
We got a couple of interesting "swadding" wraps. Sort of like a baby sleep jail. Apparently you wrap the baby up real tight with these cloths, then they sleep, unable to move anything. Sounds great to me!
We also received quote a few great books. I'm going to read those today. Sure, they're baby books, but they looked interesting enough for me. One was about Wild Things, and one was about Curious George, and I love both of those topics in general.
I'm sure once baby Para is born everything will fall into it's place, but right now I have to admit that we have way more stuff than house and garage. So, today I'm going out to the garage to throw stuff away, clean, and organize so we can take more stuff that is in the house and put it out there.
Have a great Saturday.

SO.....

2009-04-30T16:07:00.000-07:00

We've had exactly one baby shower. AND already we're in need of a bigger house, and another car.

Awesome.

I can't even write any more on this subject right now. I have to go put several of my favorite belongings on the front porch for the Vietnam Vets to pick up so there will be room for baby furniture.

Gifts!

2009-04-20T16:49:00.000-07:00

I love getting gifts for the baby. Courtney posted a few good ones.

My favorite gifts so far are:

Baby Crib and Changing Table - I was going to find this one on Craigslist, so I feel very lucky to have such a nice bed and changing table for little Para. I was a bit astonished at what Cribs cost. One at Rolly's, a baby store near our house, cost $2000. I hope it guarantees full nights of sleep for everyone in the house. Ours did NOT cost $2000. We could have bought 4 cribs and 4 changing tables for $2000. But still, having new ones, and having them match, is really nice.

Elvis Onesie - This requires no explanation if you have a brain. Elvis is the King. Whether we have a boy or girl, I will have them in this thing all the time. Rocking it, of course. It's a hand me down from Angela at work, and I will have a hard time returning it when Para outgrows this little piece of Heaven.

Everybody's Growing

2009-04-12T18:29:00.001-07:00

I've noticed that quite a lot of couples who are going to have a baby use "we" do describe the pregnancy.

"We're pregnant."
"We're going to have a drug-free birthing process."
"We're going to breast feed."

Well, I don't use "we." I'm well aware that Courtney is going to be the only one pushing, getting up to breast feed (if she chooses to do so) and if she wants drugs during birth, I'm all for it. I wouldn't try and pass a kidney stone without some drogas, so I certainly don't expect her to pass a child the size of a cantaloupe without Dr. Feelgood.

BUT, I have also noticed there is some "we" in pregnancy. We were sleeping a ton, and not we're not. We have to up twice a night to pee. Well, I didn't know I had to pee, but since she's getting up and I wake up, I find out I have to pee. We also are very hungry, even 30 minutes after a meal.

This hungry thing is all new. What, do I have a tapeworm? She's the one with the parasite inside of her. I have nothing aiding me in the consumption of this extra meal (or two) per day. And so for the longest time I did the part of a good husband and just ate along with her, happily telling her how cute she was as her belly began to grow. Then, last Monday I went to the Y to work out. That morning I had noticed I was having a *really* hard time getting into my pants. I was just shy of 200 lbs. 200 lbs! That's 50lbs over the weight at which I graduated college 10 years ago. Holy crap! It's 25 lbs over the weight I was, oh say... 6 months ago.

So, although it may not be the more popular decision at this point in "our" pregnancy, I'm cutting out the extra meals, and losing back down to my normal weight. I mean, 200lbs is just ridiculous, and I can't afford all new pants AND a bupivacaine injection on delivery day.

Courtney Has The BEST Students

2009-04-08T11:23:00.000-07:00

We've been talking about daycare, Courtney staying home from school with the baby, and all that jazz. Someone had given me some info that daycare is like 800 million dollars per week. So, I decided that was plainly ridiculous and made a few calls around the Dash. Daycare is about $150 per week. Now that's doable. So, I emailed Courtney to let her know the good news that she could keep working if she so chose (because a teacher makes approximately $3 more dollars than that per week after taxes, buying pencils for everyone in class, and buying uniforms), and I got a response that basically said "I'm applying for a job bagging groceries."

Courtney came home looking like she had participated in the Tet Offensive.

I lost our digital camera, so I'm going to have to give you an approximate visual:

I asked "What happened at the work place today?" Were the kids just bad?

She replied "No, they were just normal."

To which I replied "Normal means bad?"

To which she replied "They just get up and walk in and out of the room, talk outloud all the time. Take each other's stuff and play keep away, wrestle in the middle of the floor, and then sometimes, it gets worse."

WHAT? In school? During class? I had some classes with the common folk in seventh grade, and none of this happened. Kids were crazy, sure. But they weren't this level of disrespectful. We would have been smacked around like a ping pong ball.

So we talked about it some more and the problem is in the rules. You can't beat these kids anymore! You can just send them home. Boy, if I was the principal around there we wouldn't have a discipline problem. There wouldn't be but about 6 kids left in class: the ones who want to learn.

My take away from all of this was two things:
1) The parent has to teach the discipline, so I guess I'll be teaching little Para to sit up and act right.
2) It's time to let the school administrators start beating kids in school again. If you don't spank the kids, this will happen:
http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=5c9_1235188814

Cashier, Ditch Digger, Whatever

2009-03-23T11:10:00.000-07:00

I have to admit I get the same responses as Courtney when I tell people we're not finding out the sex of our baby, the color of the baby's room, and the fact we wouldn't dress our child in exclusively pink or blue even if we did know the sex: utter disbelief.

But honestly, dressing a little girl in pink all the time is silly. It's a baby, not an Easter Egg. I give two examples for your review:

1) Pink Baby

2)Non-pink Baby

Baby 2 is way more fun. Everybody knows it.

We also get quite a lot of flack for not having the ultrasound tech tell us what the sex of the baby is going to be. Well, see above. If everyone knew we were having a girl, we'd have 368 pink outfits, 48 pink blankets, and a room full of pink toys, in an ORANGE room. That would be just super, now wouldn't it?

Lastly, I would like to give my wife a little advice when people seem flabbergasted by her decision to not eat everything in sight and gain 80 lbs, or to have an Orange room, or not find out the sex of the parasite. I'll give it in scene format:

Scenario One, You're Not finding Out?

Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "What are ye havin?"

Courtney: "A baby"

Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "I mean a boy or a girl."

Courtney: "Don't know, it's not out yet."

Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "Well, you can find out before hand!"

Courtney: "We decided to be suprised, maybe a sack of money will fall out instead! Wouldn't that be a great suprise?!"

Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "I couldn't imagine not finding out..."

Courtney:"Yes, but then again you work a cash register/shovel all day, I'm betting there are TONS of things you couldn't imagine."

Scenario Two, You're Too Skinny!

Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "How far along are you?"

Courtney: "I was almost checked out and headed home"

Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "I mean with the baby."

Courtney: "Oh, 24 weeks."

Cashier, Ditchdigger, etc: "What, you're WAY too skinny, you need to eat."

Courtney: "Well, I sent some pictures in and I've been hoping Victoria's Secret will call me next week for their catalogue. When they call I don't want to be all, you know... fat."

We Have A Layette! We Have a Layette!

2009-03-17T09:21:00.000-07:00

Well, I think we have a layette. Honestly, I have no idea. I do know that last week we took a little trip after work over to BabiesR'Expensive and registered for a bunch of things. And I do mean a bunch. Two hours of my life are gone and I cannot have them back. I may actually be dumber after this experience. Hard to believe, I know.

We started off by going to the Baby Registry counter and getting all "set up." That's what the chubby lady behind the counter said she was gonna do: Get us all "set up." Getting set up takes no less than 30 minutes, 29.8 of which she's just steady talking. This is not my style. I do the talking, you do the listening Precious. She told us about everything in the store. Showed us magazines with pictures of things... that are in the store. She showed us how to work the bar code scanner. For five minutes. Seriously? Grocery store workers use these things, I think we've pretty much got it. Point, bleep, spend someone else's money.

Finally, I just got up and left mid-sentence. I couldn't take it anymore. I figures I'd go check out the cups with the baby names on them for inspiration. I'm now liking "Crystal" if it's a girl. I'm hoping everyone in school will call her "Charity" or "Tiffany" for short.

We finally wrestled the scanner/bleeper out of Precious' hands and went to work. We got: A little chair a baby can sit in, another chair that the baby lays in and stops crying, a chair a baby eats in, a chair a baby rides in in the car, a chair you push a baby around in, another one for pushing a baby around, and then finally we got a chair to bathe the baby in. Obviously having a baby requires a lot of chairs. I had no idea. Hopefully the baby will walk someday, but I'm doubting it will need to with all the chairs we're going to have.

We also registered for clothes. I think this is a layette. For a while I thought a layette was something french babies used to fight with. But now I understand I little better.... as long as a little better = zero. But either way, we bleeped lots of unisex clothes. Orange, blue, yellow, green, brown, BLACK AND GOLD. Later I found out we registered for mostly boy clothes. Come to find out girls clothes are all pink and frilly. Retarded. We won't be getting any of those, even if we do have a girl. If we wanted to have Nellie Oleson we'd just rent the DVDs.

When it was all said and done we closed the store down that night. My life is really changing. I'm going from closing Finnegan's Wake and Opera House down to closing down BabiesRExpensive. So be it.

Hello? Has Anyone Seen My Wife?

2009-03-16T18:35:00.000-07:00

Seriously, who or what has inhabited the body formerly occupied by Courtney? If you read her blog (over there on the right) you'll see I was at the ACC Tournament this weekend. And that was a great time. But while I was gone someone came in our house, snatched my wife up, and replaced her with some sort of person who cleans, paints, and is generally self motivated.

This was quite a gift in reality. I'm the "do-er" around here. Gutters need replacing? That's me. Cars need washing: Esteban. Kitchen floor dirty: still this guy. Something need to be moved: guess who? So for me to come home and find this whole room cleaned out, then painted was something else. I liken it to the Christmas I got a go-kart AND a jam box. "Ain't nuthin gonna break-a my stride... Nobody gonna sloooow me down. Oh no... " Anyhow, although happy I was pretty confused.

A quick Google search finally led me to the promised land. She had mentioned something about "nesting" last night. I had no idea what nesting was, so being a man I immediately ignored that sentence while she spoke it. But here, let me google that for you: Nesting.

So yes, Courtney is officially pregnant today. Last night I saw the results of her preparing a way for a baby by beginning to build a nursery. And last night I felt the baby kick me through her belly. So, now we have proof. I think I better start a college fund.

New Ultrasound Pictures

2009-03-06T16:23:00.001-08:00

Baby Willis pictures are below. Before too many people get wound up... we didn't really ask to find out the sex, although apparently one can tell about now. Something about a turtle head of 3 lines. no idea. Anyhow, here we go: Para (short for parasite remember) at 19.5 weeks, I think.

Baby in 3D.

Baby hiding.

Foot. Reminds me of Pele's foot.

Arm flexing. Show it off baby!

Raising arms up over head. Looking for a high five. Give a baby a high five.

No idea. Arms, leg, proof of evolution?

Baby head, with fish eye. Sort of looks like Bill Cosby.

Why Do People Turn Into Retards Around a Pregnant Lady?

2009-02-24T16:09:00.000-08:00

So, I was reading Courtney's blog (because see that's what I do:read hers, then respond here) and I was laughing at her story about Nigel saying she was different (fat), and not understanding it's because she's pregnant. It got me thinking about the truly retarded things people seem to do around a pregnant lady, or maybe someone they think is pregnant, but maybe isn't.

First, what's up with touching a pregnant lady's belly, when you don't even know said pregnant lady? Hello... invasion of privacy.

Second, is there some sort of reason why the most important question on God's green Earth becomes "how many weeks are you?" I've started answering this one with my age in weeks, rather than how many weeks pregnant Courtney is. It goes like this:

ME: I'm going to be a Dad.
CRAZY PERSON: Oh no kidding! How many weeks are you?
ME: (In the voice of a three year old) I one thousand, seven hundred, and thirty weeks.
CRAZY PERSON: Huh?

Lastly, there is this small matter of, uh, growth in the mother. And if the past week or two is any indication of the future, the growth is on. My wife looks pregnant, and I love it. But one time, someone looked pregnant, and I DID NOT love it.

It was my first day at a new job and my boss was asking me where I'd like to go to lunch. And so, noticing her pregnant belly (I'd estimate 7 1/2 months) I said, "Oh I don't have anything in mind, do you have any particular cravings?" To which she replied in a bit of a confused voice "Well.... no." Shit. I was so wrong. She had been pregnant, a few years back... So, I thought a second and said "Because on Mondays I usually crave a burger or something greazy."

Take it from me. Pregnant women don't usually want to be touched, asked how many weeks they every five minutes, and don't presume someone is pregnant until you've been given some proof.

17.5 Weeks and Illusion Reigns

2009-02-20T18:31:00.000-08:00

So, undoubtedly if you're here you've seen the pictures Courtney posted of herself as she begins to show a bump. I swear, it's just a bump. In those pictures she looks like someone moved the decimel and she's 175 weeks pregnant. I'm THAT bad of a photographer. I somehow found the one angle, setting and pose where she wouldn't look anything her day to day self. In reality, she has this very cute little pooch, sort of like starving kids. Except starving kids aren't cute. They're supposed to look sad.

And since we're at 17.5 weeks, I should mention how nice those 17.5 weeks have been. For 10 weeks she slept, ate normally, and never pooped. Then I went out and got her some Senekot and she's been a farting, pooping, eating machine who actually has been awake because her energy magically came back. It's like having a brother! Except a brother who looks good naked.

She's also gotten a little spunky. for instance, since her pregnancy has been worry free (well, mostly) she's got it in her head we'll be going on the annual Myrtle Beach vacation to this place in her 35th week of pregnancy:

But the problem is that it's far to Myrtle Beach, and I envision us delivering in Orangeburg, SC, where the airport looks like this:

That would be just SUPER.

The Future Pele

2009-02-12T13:50:00.000-08:00

Courtney has mentioned something about feeling the baby kick once or twice. Ever since then I've been shouting into her abdomen, begging the child to keep up the workouts. We need to get college paid for, you know. I also happened to have played a little soccer myself, so I know there are some great things about being a soccer player, like the hot chicks who flock to your side (see Courtney, for example). For more examples, I provide visual proof:

Girlfriend of German star Tim Borowski.

England's Ashely Cole has a girlfriend named Cheryl

Steven Gerrard dates this chickie:

As I was posting these pics, it dawned on me... what little Para is a girl? Well, we already know it'll be great looking, and she'll certainly play soccer. I think there's some sort of requirement for American kids these days to play soccer. So, I guess I'll just hope chicks this hot are attracted to her!

My Cravings

2009-02-07T13:27:00.001-08:00

Being a male, I only have two basic cravings, and they never waver in intensity nor are they replaced. I crave sex, and beer. Everything else is done to get me to one of those.

Now that WE'RE pregnant, my two favorite past times have taken a back seat to the one thing that completely rules this house: sleep. Sweet, precious sleep. Courtney and Para (short for Parasite) need lots of it in order for Para to grow. Plus Courtney is doing this musical and that makes her tired. But don't mistake this as complaining, I'm supportive. And I like to sleep so it's a win on that front for me.

But there's this ONE little thing.... see attached video:

http://www.coolbuddy.com/videos/video_clip.asp?id=712

Yep, just like a freight train every other night. The next night it's much lighter, maybe more like a little pop... with every single exhale. So, I'm not getting so much of the sleep. And you can't really leave the woman you impregnated to go sleep in another bed. That's just wrong.

So, not a lot of sex when both people are dead tired, and certainly not a lot of "Hey, let's go out and have some beers!"

But, according to some things I have taken the initiative to read, I'm in luck on the sexual front. According to today's preeminent guide to pregnancy: Men's Health magazine, women are actually MORE aroused in the second trimester of pregnancy than their every day non-pregnant life. And according to this other website I saw (pregnancy.org or something random like that) I saw, men often find women most attractive as they start to chow a little belly.

YES, I'm headed into the bedroom to wait for the action to begin...

And about the beer, I'll be going down to the ACC tournament with a bunch of guys, so that will take care of itself.

The OB-GYNOGOD

2009-02-05T19:49:00.000-08:00

I think our OBGYN charges about $1500 for prenatal care and delivery. I think when we figure in the amount spent (well, the amount the insurance company is spending), and the monthly appointments, we figure there must be quite a lot to having a baby, especially to the monthly check-ups. But in the end as long as we answer "no" to these few questions

"You been dizzy?" No.

"You been sick?" No.

"You been bleeding?" No.

"You been drinking and driving?" No.

they let Courtney pee in a cup, check her for preclampsyia and send her on down the road. I mean hell fire! Why can't they do an ultrasound every time we go? It's free to do, except for the jelly. I don't even want a professional to read it, I just want to look at the little one. They only get out "the duck" and look at her cervix. NEWSFLASH! Nothing going on up there yet!

Well, I have to admit I didn't even go to the last appointment. It's really a woman's world, and us men are about as welcome as a fart in a romantic bath for two. They only have one Car and Driver in the whole waiting room. I read it three times. The reast are all those "parent-noia" magazines Courtney spoke of in her blog.

I thumbed through a couple of those. Wow, really super. I've been wondering what colors in the nursery might be best suited to stiulate our child's imagination... Seriously? I couldn't care less. Want to tell me something interesting? Tell me what colors make babies sleep through the night. I don't care about the best way to discipline a 2 year old who says "mine" all the time. He's TWO! He just learned "mine" 8 seconds ago.

Anyhow, all in all the OBGYN is a fruity place that you get about two good things out of: pictures of your fetus, and someone to make the catch on the big day. If they didn't make so many mistakes and have to carry a gazillion dollars in malpractice insurance, they'd have all the money in the world.

In The Words of Weird Al, "Eat It"

2009-01-25T18:27:00.000-08:00

For starters, I'm not an idiot. So NO, she's not getting fat. I say eat everything in sight, and bring me some if you're getting take out. And bring some ice cream with that, please.

The Toilets of Oconee

2009-01-19T18:06:00.000-08:00

So without doubt you've heard or read Courtney's account of our trip down to Clemson and the scare with the cramping/bleeding. Yes, I was scared, no I didn't check game scores from inside the RV, and yes we have some great friends who were very good to us during a difficult situation.

But, the rest of the story must be told, for that's why you're reading THIS blog! First, here we are! Second row up from the "BI" in Bi-Lo. right behind the kid in the white t-shirt.

I'm in the second row of stands, at halftime, enjoying CJ Spiller say something completely incomprehensible (this kid is on the Dean's list? no way he can read..) about the ACC Championship he wants to win. Okay, I'm really enjoying the Rally Cats... 31 seconds until the second half starts.

I get a text from Courtney. It says "Bad News..."I feel similar to when a doc calls me in the middle of an operation and says "XYZ is broken, come in here and fix it before the patient wakes up." Except this is much more powerful, because I actually care. I take 2 seconds to make a plan. I realize I did not bring a doctor, so I have no plan. I am then Carl Lewis sprinting. I jump over our friends without excusing myself. I am Jim Brown, splitting Coach Gaudio's wife and daughter like I'm going through a defensive line (sorry, folks) and running halfway around the coliseum to find her... crying. This isn't new, she's a cry machine. I say let if flow.

I'm a do-er. So, we hustle her over to a nurse, and they summon an ambulance. While we wait they take a bit of a history. You know what a history is, right? Name, age, symptoms, what did you eat today, has this been happening lately, astrological sign, who did you vote for, etc... She gives all the answers. I'm taking mental notes, and thinking "this isn't good news, please let her be confused." I stay quiet and do lots of arm and head rubbing. I am petting. I stop petting because that's probably annoying. I tell her it's going to be okay. I know I'm going to be okay no matter what. I don't know about her. I lie and say she will. The ambulance shows up and we take a short ride to Oconee Medical Center, the hospital in Seneca. I have no idea where any of this is, we're in the sticks...

Anyhow, I get her registered and then they tell me what ER room she's in. I just go back there like I own the place... but there's no Courtney in there. I give a quick knock and step in room 16, taking mental note that 16 is my lucky number. NOT TODAY. Where is she? AND WHAT IS THAT GOD AWFUL SMELL? I call her name thinking there's no way they put her in a room with a rotting corpse. She's in the room next door. Whew, let me out of here.. I go through the door, and everything becomes clear. Or should I say tears came to my eyes? It some how, some way, smells worse in there. In the history, it dawns on me they never asked "when did you last go #2."

So yes... we drove 4 hours, shopped at an outlet mall, bought her new black shoes, ate a crappy lunch at said outlet mall, sat through half a Clemson basketball game in the best seats known to man, then took a 15 minute ambulance ride... so my wife could take a massive Pericolace induced dookie in the Oconee hospital ER restroom. Two movement later (sort of like a symphony orchestra, yes) problem solved. We got an ultrasound to confirm "I gotta poo" cramps feel just like "I gotta problem" cramps. Hey, it's all about the journey.

I love my wife (who will be increasing her fiber intake), my unborn child who looks a bit like those Grateful Dead dancing bears, and my friends who went pretty far out of their way to make sure we were okay and taken care of.

Go Deacs!

The Amazing Expanding Boob

2009-01-17T05:27:00.001-08:00

So last night we spent another couple of hundred dollars on "belly accommodating" clothing. I was pleasantly surprised at the, uh, "prettiness" of the clothing available. Of course, one had to leave Target and head to an actual maternity store to find clothes that don't look like they were made for the Virgin Mary. Maternity Store = more expensive. YAY!

Today I'd like to inform you on the breast growth situation. Did I say growth? I was mistaken. There is an explosion of breast in my house. See below for reference. I very much respect my wife, so I won't be posting any pictures of her heavy hangers, but I have found one picture of a very similar female before and after being pregnant for your reference.

Isn't this quite the windfall? I mean WOW! How much fun am I going to have with these?

I'll tell you how much fun:

These new breasts should come with a sign that says "Touch Us, You Die." Apparently, they're sore, all. the. time. So, while the amazing growing breast is fun to see, I've finally learned that I'll be touching them about as often as I'll be touching Heidi Klum's.

Maternity Clothes

2009-01-16T07:25:00.000-08:00

Maternity clothes... ah the joy of comfort while you grow.

Here, I name things more expensive than buying a whole extra wardrobe called "maternity clothes:"

1) An aircraft carrier
2) 50 Cent's house
3) A new baseball stadium
4) An interstate highway bridge
5) A divorce...

So, with that list mentioned, ever how expensive, I'm very much looking forward to Courtney wearing maternity outfits. I have found the following pictures of women in maternity clothing for my own personal reference of what I have to look forward to:

This looks like it's going to be pretty super!

Did I mention her breasts are getting HUGE? What a benefit! More on that later.

Primer

2009-01-16T07:23:00.001-08:00

Hello everyone. I thought it might be important to let all of our friends and family in on the other half of the story. Courtney is doing a great job telling you or pregnancy/baby preparations from her point of view. Here's my side (or the rest) of the story.