Nostalgia

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Daddy’s Honest Perspective Of Himself During Labor

May 19, 2013 at 7:10 pm , by 

2 years, 6 month.

Dear Jack,

Last night Mommy and I watched a total chick flick, What To Expect When You’re Expecting.

As far as the main takeaway for me, as a dad, the movie served as a visual reminder of what it’s like for the dad as the mom is giving birth.

In particular, I’m referring to the ridiculous and easily mockable theatrics that an empathetic and supportive father engages himself during labor:

“Hee-hee-hoo! Hee-hee-hoo! You’re doing great! I’m so proud of you! Hee-hee-hoo!”

Those words of encouragement are of course accompanied by the dad making constant, unflattering, John-Mayer-singing faces.

At least no one other than Mommy or the doctors saw my 12 hour goofball performance while Mommy was giving birth to you.

I know this has to sound petty, but when I think of Mommy and I having another baby (not necessarily any time soon, by the way) the first thing that enters my mind is, “Ah man, I have to be that dramatic character again.”

That’s one reason I wouldn’t mind Mommy getting the epidural right away if we have another baby.

Unlike the extremely pro-Business Of Being Born dad I was back in 2010, I’ve sort of went the other way on that one. I just want to be able to fast-forward through the whole labor process, as awkward and exhausting as it was for me, and I assume, Mommy.

While there’s this traditional concept of “there’s nothing like holding your own child for this first time,” it took months for me to feel that way. I’ve said multiple times that being a dad actually wasn’t something awesome for me until you were 15 months, because that’s the age you starting acknowledging my presence.

That was the age where I felt psychologically needed by you, not just physically.

That was the age where I stopped subconsciously thinking, “I have to do this,” and started thinking, “I want to do this.”

What I’m not sure of is whether it sounds selfish of me to say that out loud. Maybe I’m the only dad who feels this way, so I can’t speak for anyone other than myself.

If nothing else, the simple thought is this:

I feel awkward enough in life on a daily basis. I have a very unsuccessful high five record with other guys. I never know if there’s going to be a snap or a half-hug involved.

So the thought of going through the labor process again, not to mention, the first 15 months, again… well, I can handle it, but it is a little intimidating.

 

Love,

Daddy

 

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You Are Now Two And A Half, Entering The Flyover Years

May 16, 2013 at 10:00 pm , by 

2 years, 6 months.

Dear Jack,

I no longer have a 2 year-old son. As of today, I can start referring to you as my “2 and a half year-old.”

You are just as close to your (assumed) monster truck & dinosaur themed 3 year-old birthday party as you are to your Thomas the Train themed 2 year-old birthday party.

I look at you now and see how you’re clearly looking more like both Mommy and me.

Sure, the (now darkening) blonde hair and blue eyes are still a surprise, but gone are the days when I would write about how you don’t really look like either of your parents.

Something I was thinking about this week is how in classic sitcoms, by around the 5th season, the family would typically have another child, to better engage the audience with fresh new story lines.

From there, the next season would feature the zaniness of life with a new infant and baby. Then magically, the following season, that toddler who could barely talk instantly became a wise-crackin’, catch-phrase coinin’ 5 year-old.

In other words, producers of classic sitcoms evidently had reason to believe that the ages between about 2 and 5 were not interesting enough to entertain.

Okay… here we are. Let’s find out. As a 2 and a half year-old, falling in the category of what I call “the flyover years,” will  life still be interesting? Will you still be just as funny and entertaining to Mommy and me as you’ve been for the past 2 and a half years?

I’m thinking yes.

I’m eager to prove writers of classic sitcoms wrong, as if that’s even a thing that matters.

If you were a character in a family sitcom in 1988, you would be replaced today by a different, older actor.

Well, I’m keeping you. I predict life won’t skip a beat, even if you’re entering the flyover years.

 

Love,

Daddy

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Hiding From My Son That Dinosaurs Are Extinct

May 9, 2013 at 9:49 pm , by 

2 years, 5 months.

Dear Jack,

If weather permits, Mommy and I are taking you to the zoo this weekend.

However, I think you’ve made some assumptions about what will be on exhibit there.

As I walked you into school this morning, you couldn’t hold in the excitement:

“We see dinosaurs at the zoo!”

It was at that moment this occurred to me: You have no idea that dinosaurs haven’t existed on this Earth in a very long time.

Really though, why would you not thinkdinosaurs are still around?

After all, I just bought you a plastic T-Rex to wrestle your monster trucks. Therefore, you have assumed that dinosaurs and monster trucks are age-old rivals.

It doesn’t help that over the weekend you watched an episode of Transformers: Rescue Bots, as well as the 1981 animated Spider-Man series, where the plot involved dinosaurs coming to life in modern day, causing chaos and therefore invoking the help of the good guys to save everyone.

When your teacher, Ms. Lauren, asked you what else besides dinosaurs you are excited to see at the zoo this weekend, you quickly responded: “Trucks. Fire trucks.”

Son, this may be a very disappointing visit to the zoo. Hopefully, I can pass off the iguanas as “baby dinosaurs.”

It’s just that I feel compelled to protect your belief in dinosaurs. I kind of don’t want you to find out the truth about them.

So that’s what will happen. I will encourage and build up your version of reality where dinosaurs are still alive in the world. Because honestly, that sounds like a pretty cool version of reality. Who am I to mess that up for you right now?

 

Love,

Daddy

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Even If We’re Just Dancing In The Dark

May 8, 2013 at 10:21 pm , by 

2 years, 5 months.

Dear Jack,

Last week as I was putting you to bed one night, in the pitch dark, I heard you say, “Here, Daddy…”.

Expecting for you to give me one of your half a dozen Hot Wheels cars as a parting gift before I made my way downstairs, I reached out my hand.

My instant response: “Ewwwww! GROSS!”

Yes, it was a big, long, slimy booger you had just picked fresh for me. It felt like the size of a caterpillar.

That sort of ruined the whole ambiance of the “settle down” part of the night.

Another strange surprise I experienced, also while putting you down for the night, was when I asked you which song you wanted me to sing for your bedtime song.

Your request: “Nooning.”

Having no clue what that was supposed to mean, I started singing the word “nooning” to a made-up tune I hoped would sound like some famous traditional Chinese folk song.

You interrupted my glorious musical number: “No! Talk about it!”

Talking about “nooning” was definitely more difficult than singing it; I must admit.

At that moment, I imagined you as a toddler talk show host, introducing the topic for the episode that day.

During those final minutes before I officially put you to bed before leaving the room each night, you basically just see what kind of random stuff you can say and get away with… and so do I.

To celebrate our mutual randomness in the pitch black darkness of your bedroom at 7:43 PM each night, I have now added Bruce Springsteen’s 1984 hit “Dancing In The Dark” to my list of bedtime songs to sing as I’m holding you.

When it comes to intercepting caterpillar-like boogers and trying to figure out what “nooning” really is, this gun’s for hire.

Even if we’re just dancing in the dark.

 

Love,

Daddy

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Trying On Daddy’s Shoes (And Mommy’s Too!)

May 1, 2013 at 10:29 pm , by 

2 years, 5 months.

Dear Jack,

I suppose it’s just universal that, as a little boy, you naturally like to try on your daddy’s shoes. I mean, it wasn’t that difficult for me to dig up a picture of myself in 1983, as a 2 year-old, wearing my dad’s boots. (Pictured above.)

You know it’s funny when you’re doing it, yet I can see you really like to imagine what it would be like to be my size.

Last week you turned to me randomly and said, “Daddy, you’re big? You’re big.”

I’m 5′ 9″, but hey, I’ll take the compliment.

This morning as we were all getting ready in Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom, you snuck into the closet.

I wasn’t really paying attention; not to mention, I was barely awake, but then I heard you laughing… like you knew you were being a rascal.

Turns out, I was right.

You proudly walked out to Mommy and me in your Sacramento State football player t-shirt, a diaper, and a pair of mommy’s heels.

Oh, and to top it off, you were holding your monster truck.

You were quite the walking contradiction, literally.

There are plenty of times when you are hilarious and don’t know why. Today was not one of those times.

So you are now looking at the new wallpaper on my cell phone. Well done, Son.

 

Love,

Daddy