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Not Being Disappointed by Lowered Expectations

August 4, 2011 at 1:20 am , by 

Eight months.

It’s no secret that part of my “gimmick” as a parent blogger is to simply maintain a positive outlook and tone.  In fact, my optimistic attitude angered and frustrated dozens of people with g>one blog in particular, which caused a brief uproar on Parents.com’s Facebook wall. But while I choose to be Mr. Positive, I also choose to be real; I don’t sugarcoat anything.

One of the major ways I am able to remain positive, as a dad who is potentially always in a situation where I could easily be frustrated simply because of the fact that I am dealing with an infant who has a reputation of being illogical, is to keep my expectations low.  Because with reasonably low expectations, it’s much more difficult to become disappointed.

I personally am more likely to experience an ongoing sense of well-being when my expectations are consistently met; even if those met expectations don’t include a decently positive outcome.  I guess it just feels good to be right about something; especially regarding the uncontrollable and often unpredictable future.

Therefore, our recent flight from Nashville to Sacramento with our son went better than I expected; for the fact that A) our luggage didn’t get lost; B) we didn’t miss our connecting flight in Denver; C) Jack didn’t vomit all over me during the middle of the flight; and D) I wasn’t aware of how hungry I was from not eating dinner before the flight because I was too preoccuppied with my reasonably low expectations about Jack not doing well on the plane ride.

One of the things that being a dad has taught me is that I am the kind of person who has to be (or at least feel) in control of the things in life that I think I am supposed to be able to control.  And when I can’t control certain situations as a parent and am aware of how not in control I am, I get really stressed out and anxious.

So perhaps the worst parts of flying to Sacramento were actually just in my head.  Still though, in reality, it wasn’t a smooth and seamless transition.  Instead of continuing the entertaining details and stories of the trip in this post, I will instead tell all about it in the following post.

 

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Beauty is in the Eye of the Baby Holder

July 12, 2011 at 10:22 pm , by 

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Pass the Baby from the Left-Hand Side

June 29, 2011 at 9:46 pm , by 

Seven months.

The Dadabase

We all want our kids to be unique, right? But that’s easier said than done in an age where being unique is so darn trendy.

It was my mom who brought it to the attention of my wife and me: Jack typically reaches for things with his left hand; seldom his right.  In the process of deciding which pictures to use for my Dadabaseposts in the past couple of weeks, I realized it was true. In most pictures where Jack is holding a toy or reaching for one, it’s his left hand that’s in the action.

Left-handed people represent only 10% of the world’s population. No one I know of on my side of the family is left-handed.  However, my wife is 9 of 10 kids in her family; and she does have one brother and one sister who are left-handed.  So if left-handedness is indeed related to genetics, then at least it is there somewhere in the gene pool.

The Dadabase

So Jack is probably left-handed. And of course, I’m not the least bit surprised. I mean, he managed to utilize the rarest genes my wife and I had.  He’s a blond-haired, blue-eyed, fair complected, big-boned baby from a family of dark-haired, dark-eyed, olive-complected skin where most men are slender and never grow taller than 5’ 11”.

I’m convinced that one of Jack’s many purposes in this life is to preserve the endangered traits of mankind.  Of course, this doesn’t just go for physical traits.

His name was deliberately chosen to preserve a seemingly dwindling tradition: giving your son a simple, easy to spell, familiar, strong, masculine, classic American name that a girl could not be named. I noticed that so many modern baby boy names are now sounding more like Irish last names. And that’s fine- it’s just not my preference. With all the unique names out there these days, I figured the way my son’s name could actually be the most unique was to give him one of the most universally recognizable names in American history.

And I guess that brings me to today’s dose of irony.  It seems that most of us parents find value in knowing our child is unique.  After all, my wife and I grew up in the 80’s and were told on a regular basis by our teachers and cartoon shows that we were special and there is no one else in the world quite like us.  Of course, it is indeed true that we are all special.

The Dadabase

But I think we like to reinforce that fact in raising our kids. I named my son Jack in an effort for him to be unique.  Meanwhile, a good number of other parents have named their son a form of “Brady” or “Collin” or “Quinn” or “Aiden” with the same inspiration. I guess it’s safe to say that none of these names (whether classic or trendy) truly accomplishes the goal, because ultimately a name is either really familiar or it’s so unique that it’s not really that unique, because being “unique” is currently trendy.  And being trendy is not being unique.

I’m not convinced that a name itself can actually make a kid that unique anymore.  Unless he’s named something gnarly like Mayor McCheese or Grimace- and then he’d be branded as the weird kind of unique.  And that’s not what any parent wants for their kid.

So instead, I’m looking elsewhere for my son’s own uniqueness. Because he’s got plenty of it.  And so does your kid.  No matter what his name is, whether he’s left or right-handed, or whether or not he is an identical twin.

When my son laughs at my every attempt to scare him by making my “evil hissing cobra face” at him. When he gets so thrilled and excited he starts coughing as a result of me pretending like I’m going to step on him as he lies belly up on the rug.  When Jack gets completely quiet as I take him on a walk at 6:00 AM to help my wife catch up on sleep lost during the night while I slept soundly. That’s unique enough for me.

Sure, “Jack” was the 6th most popular boy name last year; so my Jack is one of a million.  But… my Jack is also one in a million.

The Dadabase

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Jack’s Baby Dedication: Faith and Parenting

June 4, 2011 at 1:54 pm , by 

Six months.

A few weeks ago on Mother’s Day, my wife and I had Jack “dedicated” at our church.  If you are not familiar with this Protestant practice, a “baby dedication” is a public ceremony where the parents of a new baby promise, in front of the pastor and the congregation, to grow up their child in the faith.  As Jack’s parents, it is our responsibility to lead and guide him in our own moral and spiritual beliefs.

My son will not be left on his own to figure out who God is and why we believe that God’s love is the reason for our existence. Sure, Jack will have to make up his own mind when he gets old enough, but my faith is so crucial to every fiber of my being, that as a father I believe that one of the most important tasks I will ever have is to teach my son about the next life, as well as, teaching him to love others as himself in this life.

While I do value the public act of dedicating my son to the building up and growing of the heavenly kingdom we believe comes after this earthly life, the private version happened before he was even born.  As Jack was still in the womb, I prayed for him. And now that he’s here, I continue to pray for him. After all, I believe that I haven’t simply brought another life into this world, but that I am also responsible for bringing another soul into existence– a soul I am unmistakably accountable for teaching what I believe is the meaning of life.

Whether you have been following my daddy blog since the beginning (April 13th, 2010) or whether you just recently started tuning in thanks to Parents.com picking up my series, something noticeably undeniable yet decently subtle in my writing content is the intertwining of my family’s everyday life events and our Christian faith. According to Wikipedia, nearly 80% of Americans identify themselves with Christianity (from Catholic to Protestant, and everything in between).  So I would assume that nearly 80% of readers will identify with me when I write about my faith.  For the other 20%, who have a different religion or maybe not one at all, please know that I welcome you just as much to The Dadabase.

Because no matter which faith we call our own, something we all have in common is that we are parents.  We have children who we are trying to raise the best we can.  And just like the faith of our choosing, so parenting is also a journey.  By no means do I have my faith 100% figured out- I’m being humbled and broken down more everyday, and therefore maturing as a believer.

Just like, as a parent, I’m learning as I go.

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The Amazingly Obnoxious Sound of the Baby Buzzer!

June 2, 2011 at 10:03 pm , by 

Six months.

The Dadabase

Want to hear the most annoying sound in the world?  No, it’s not that weird mutant sheep sound that Jim Carey makes in the classic comedy, Dumb and Dumber. Instead, the noise that rattles my cage and ruffles my feathers every time is the cry of my son.

Yes, he is an easy going little guy.  But he is human.  So when he cries for lack of sleep or food, everyone in the room becomes aware of it.

It’s a high frequency, shrill, scratchy, siren that makes me turn my head a little sideways whenever I hear it.  There is no way to ignore him when he cries.

His cry is motivating; that’s for sure.  It instantly motivates me to rush to fix whatever the problem is; mainly so the noise will stop wrecking my inner ears. But also because he’s a little baby who can’t communicate the way we adults can. All he can do is cry, at this point in his development.

So I have to respect that process, despite the fact that his crying is downright offensive to listen to.  He doesn’t ask nicely.  He doesn’t give me a minute to finish up whatever I’m in the middle of.  Hearing that cry is the worst sound to be interrupted by.

The Dadabase

But God knew what He was doing when He designed babies to cry like they do. Imagine a world where you could actually ignore a baby when they need something.  I can’t.  A baby’s cry is part of the necessary breaking-down phase of parenthood.

My son’s cry is the height of what I call “the baby buzzer.”  If his cry is a “10″ (on a scale of 1 to 10), then down at “1″ is his gentle correcting sound he makes when I am rocking him to sleep, but not holding his head at the right angle.

I hear, “mrrrraghttk…” It’s like his way of saying, “Nice try, but no cigar.”  That sound makes me think of a cross between Frankenstein and the sound effect when you touch the tweezers to the metal in the board game Operation.

It can be challenging for me to deal with a baby who can’t communicate the same way as I do.  Because I am a guy who is obsessed with open, clear, positive communication. But with a baby, a lot gets lost in translation.  Somewhere between my “Why are you crying?!” and his “I’m laying down on my pacifier and it’s hurting my back!”

I’ll be glad when he and I speak the same language.

Yes.  I know, that’s a whole other ball game: A kid that can say “no.”

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