baby

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dad from day one: The Role of Control in Life (and What That Has to Do with “Guest Towels”)

Week 11.

You are looking at a picture of our “guest towels”.  If you are one of the 7 (maybe less?) males to actually be reading this, you will be just as confused as I once was to learn that despite their name, guest towels, these are not actually towels intended for guests to use.  Granted, we do have extra towels for when guests do actually stay at our home- but those are in our “guest bathroom” on the other end of the house.  As a guy, who is unable to see any logic in having guest towels in the bathroom attached to our bedroom that are actually only there to look nice and for decoration, not actually for guests to use,  I found comfort in watching many male stand up comics who made a routine out of the same topic.

I am becoming more and more aware of how little control I actually have over my own life; much less my own house.  Because another common topic that married male stand up comics talk about is the fact that they don’t know where anything in their own house belongs: like the mixing bowl, the stapler, and of course, the real guest towels that are actually intended for guests for use.  And now it makes so much more sense why it is so common for the man of the house to spend time in his “man cave”, whether it is his garage, his shop, or even the yard.  Why? Because while in his solitude, he has a sense of control over something on the land he owns or rents.

Jack’s first taste of a pineapple.

I’m at a point in my life where I am constantly reminded of what little I actually do control right now.  With tomorrow reaching the 2 month mark of unemployment, the dignity of providing for my family has been surrendered. And without that, I also feel like I can’t control my time (because I feel guilty if I’m not constantly doing something constructive to find a job).  Starting on Christmas Day and ending yesterday (Groundhog Day), after my wife and son went to sleep each night, I would spend an hour or so revisiting my video game past.  I took take the time to go through all 3 Super Mario Bros. games on regular Nintendo, Super Mario World for Super NES, and New Super Mario Bros. for WII,  and beat them without using any Game Genies or Warp Zones (which again may only interest the 7 or less men reading this).  And while there is something seemingly pathetic about a jobless, 29 year-old guy cheering out loud because he beat Super Mario Bros. 3 for the first time in his life; for me, it was a major sense of accomplishment.

I controled those old-school, 8-bit Nintendo games.  And in some slightly true sense, I had control over my time as well.

I think it’s easy to overlook the importance of control in life.  Why is it that if you drive into certain “bad neighborhoods” that the residents stand in the road or take their sweet time crossing the street, knowing that you need to get by?  It’s gives them a sense of control.  Why are there rapists in the world?  Well, the easy answer is “the depravity of man” or “lust” or “an unfulfilled sex drive”.  But to me it’s pretty obvious that their hideous crime is also largely fueled by a lack of control in their own lives.  For more times than I can remember, it seems any time I watch a story on NBC Dateline about a rapist, he was emotionally, physically, or sexually abused growing up.  Some people will do anything for the sense of control in their own life.

So what can I do right now?  What can I actually control in my life at this moment? I can help with the basic needs of my son.  I can control whether or not he gets fed, held, played with, and nurtured.  And perhaps the best part, I can make him do funny, weird stunts to be featured on YouTube.  Because hey, what else am I going to do until I get a real job?

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dad from day one: Jack is Now 13.3 Pounds and 25 Inches Long

Week 10.

Ten weeks ago Jack was born a big healthy baby (8 lbs. 6 oz. and 20.5 inches); and now, ten weeks later, he continues to grow as a big healthy baby.  I don’t mean “big” as in the sumo wrestler sense, but knowing that our friend Paula Zehnder’s 5 month old son weighs 13.5 pounds, it puts things into perspective since Jack is half that age.  I still envision Jack being slightly small for his size as he gets older, since it appears that’s what’s in his genes (the tallest males on both sides of our family are around 5′ 11″, for the most part).  But I wonder in the back of my mind if Jack is a baby version of Will Ferrell.

I just realized today that I haven’t been referring to him as “Baby Jack” as much these days.  As he grows in size, he also obviously grows in maturity.  He knows when someone is smiling at him, because he smiles back.  And though his voice sounds like a cat, Jack has begun exploring his vocal range- especially at 9 AM and 9 PM everyday.  He spoke his first sentence last week: “I want a robot.”  I like to believe he actually meant to say that and that he knew what it meant.

Jack’s eyes are still blue.  My wife looked it up online, and because of her dad having blue eyes, there’s a 12% chance of Jack having blue eyes.  We won’t know for sure until he is around six months old.  Until then, I’ll assume he’s a brown eyed boy.

Jack peed on my foot this morning.

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dad from day one: Mommy’s Little Monster

Week 8.

The weekend after we found out we were having a baby, we spent 45 bucks on “cute clothes” for Jack at a Carter’s outlet.  One of the outfits purchased that day says, “Mommy’s Little Monster”.  I have a feeling that this monster-themed attire was designed with the idea in mind of “oh, he’s such a messy little boy… he’s always gettin’ into everything…” .  But for me, I look at this whole “boys are little monsters” as a literal thing: Boys are actually a wonderful representation of what classic monsters are in my mind.

So far, having a baby boy has totally met all my expectations as far as his lack of politeness (passing gas while people hold him for the first time) and becoming the baby version of an angry, drunk, and ranting Jack Nicholson the moment he realizes he’s hungry and we didn’t already have a bottle ready for him right that second.  Not to mention the percentage of milk that comes out of his mouth as opposed to the amount that goes in and stays in.  But I once was (and in a sense, always will be) a boy.  Baby Jack is indeed a friendly, little beast.  He really sounds and acts like a literal monster.

My dad Jack and my son Jack

When he’s sleeping, he often makes this “ghurr, ghurr” sound.  And sometimes instead, the noise sounds more like the Smoke Monster from Lost.  It doesn’t help that he can’t actually speak yet.  How could I not be reminded of a monster when I see a little baby (but big for his age… he looks like he should be six months old) flailing his arms around during pretty much all of his waking hours who makes noises like that scary beast thing (R.O.U.S.) on The Princess Bride? He’s a monster all right.  But a loveable one.

Jack is a little bit like the TV version of The Incredible Hulk mixed with Jabba the Hut and a Mongolian warrior. But the most adorable and cuddly version you could imagine.  I love having my own little monster around the house.  I will teach him everything I know.  And that, friends, is the truly scary part about this whole “monster” thing.

The picture above was taken by Joe Hendricks Photography:

Blog- www.photojoeblog.com

Website- www.joehendricks.com

In case you don’t know what the Smoke Monster from Lost sounds like, click on this minute-long video clip:

 

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dad from day one: Handshakes and Footprints

Week 8.

Yesterday on Jack’s 8 week “birthday”, we inked his hand and foot for keepsakes. As you can see in the picture above, it took more than one try.  I realize that I’m putting myself in danger of sounding like a Hallmark card or an oversensitive dad who would cry on a reality TV show, but I see a lot of symbolism in this tradition of preserving the glorified silhouettes of our baby’s hands and feet.  Jack’s handprint symbolizes all the peoples’ hands he will shake when meets them, from his college roommates to his first real employer to his future father-in-law.  His handprint also represents the music he will play on his guitar (it’s inevitable that he will be a musician like me).  Who will he meet?  What will he write?  Or build? Or create?

Jack’s footprint obviously symbolizes the places he will go. Where will he go to college and where will he live? And also, meta-phorically, like Dr. Seuss’s final book in 1990, Oh, The Places You’ll Go!, in the big picture sense, where will his life go? Which exceptional events will take place in his life?  Which things about Jack’s life will be unique compared to every other person who has ever lived? Where will he step where no one has ever stepped before, both literally and symbolically?

In our house, these hand-prints and footprints are more than just a traditional keepsake. They also tell a story.  A story that has already been written, just waiting for the time to be told.  Oh, the places he’ll go!

Notice the cloth diapers?  More on that in the near future…

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dad from day one: Jack’s First Time to Church

Week 7.

Something I had always been acutely aware of is that when two people have a baby, there’s a good solid 6 weeks that go by where you stop seeing them in public.  But shortly after that, the couple begins to dare to make random public appearances.  Like last week, we attempted to take Jack with us to buy groceries. Really, there’s no need for me to paint the details of that story; if you can imagine it, that’s what happened.  Therefore, today I went alone to buy groceries.  It took just as long being that I’m a guy and we, the male species, don’t have instincts to tell us things like where to find vanilla extract or even at our own house where the cutting boards go in the kitchen.

But with me still not having a job yet and with the cold winter weather, the three of us have spent a lot of time indoors.  Now I know what it’s like to be a 29 year-old retired millionaire who gets to stay at home all day in his pajamas and eat cereal for lunch.  Minus the million dollars and plus the need to actually make a living.  So after a month of constantly looking online for jobs and applying, and taking care of Jack, and watching random documentaries instantly on Netflix through the Wii, we decided we were brave enough to take Jack to church for the first time; out of the womb.

Of course, despite giving ourselves plenty of time to get there early, Jack decided he wanted one last snack of milk right as we were heading out the door.  Then we had to change his diaper.  So we arrived 10 minutes late and the only place left to sit was up in the balcony.  This turned out to be a pretty good location though; since we were right next to the door for the moment he would inevitably start crying.  He lasted 35 minutes before we had to dart for the door with him.  We were impressed.