3 months out of the womb + 9 months in the womb = 12 months
I had always heard that in certain Asian countries, you are considered a year old as soon as you are born. Then I went to South Korea in 2004 to work with some high school boys at a “Learn Conversational English” camp. Sure enough, they all told me there were 17 years old, but when I compared their birthdays to the age they claimed to be, I realized that South Koreans do indeed hold the belief that you born a year old. The boys were only 16 years old; the way we Americans see it.
But really, this makes much more sense to me than being “zero” the day you are born. Sure, we spend 9 months in our mother’s womb, not a full 12 months, but 9 months is definitely closer to a year than to zero months. So in that case, I’m already in my thirties! Baby Jack is officially three months old today, though he has been alive a full year now.
At three months, Jack officially “talks”, turns his head when he hears my voice (he wasn’t always able to hear my deep voice), grabs onto my hand when I hold him, and as of last night, can officially turn over to his stomach completely on his own. He has to wear clothes for 6 month olds now. And while I’m led to believe that he is indeed a big baby, I think he’s just starting out life with a bit of a growth spirt. His bulky forearms remind me of Popeye.
Whenever I see a baby boy, I usually think of a man between the ages of 45 and 65 years old, because while taking a child psychology class in college at Liberty University, I remember seeing side-by-side photographs in my textbook which compared a baby boy and a middle-aged man. The example showed how as a man grows older, he begins to look more like he did as a baby. (Baby girls don’t look like middle-aged women, though.)
Something that has become pretty apparent this week is that Jack (my son) and Jack (my dad) have a special connection. Baby Jack gravitates his attention towards my dad if he is in the room. Not only is he fascinated by hearing his voice, but he also will get the biggest smile anytime my dad looks his way. And as these YouTube clips below will show, a certain side of Jack’s behavior only opens up for my dad. Their relationship is unmatched even to my own relationship with my son, therefore convincing me there really is something to this “baby boy/middle-aged man” deal. I think it’s really cool to see the dynamics between Baby Jack and his Pappy.
On a less sentimental note, Jack reminds me of things other than just a middle-aged man. When my wife is holding him on her shoulder, he often reminds me of a Glow Worm. And when when gets confused, he looks like Mac the alien from the mostly forgotten movie Mac and Me. And when he’s passionate about eating, he makes this grunting sound that is so similar to Mr. Peepers from Saturday Night Live: “Bah-bah-bah-bah!”
Eventually, he will make me think more of a little boy. For right now, what I am seeing in him are his attempts at being human: like his attempts to walk, his attempts to talk, and even his attempts to show affection. Whatever he reminds me of at any certain point in the day, something I am aware of is how adorable he is. Whether he reminds me of a pet, an alien, or a stuffed animal from the Eighties, I just know I can’t imagine life without him.
Things that Baby Jack reminds me of right now:
Middle-aged men, like the magnificent Phil Collins
Mac the alien
Mr. Peepers (sounds like while eating, but doesn't look like)
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?
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.
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:
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