It has certainly been awhile since I've written last. So much has changed, and I'll get around to all that another day. Today, I'm writing more of a diary than a blog, although I'm not completely sure what the difference might be. Dateline December 2008. I was living with my wife in a duplex in Denver. I got a call from my mom that my dad was seriously ill. We all had known that his condition was bad; he had Lymphoma and Diabetes and a growing list of ailments. I thought I was ready for that call. I got the call, ready or not. My dad was in a hospital bed in Chicago dying. It was close to Christmas, so airfares were going to be hard to come by. Probably not impossible, but hard. I decided to drive instead. I really needed the hours of separation the drive allowed me anyway. I drove though a few bad snow storms, and I should have considered that foreshadowing, but my mind was not in the right place for that. I drive 14 hours directly to the hospital where my dad was. He was in good spirits. His heart was as big as it ever was, but his body was failing. I had a phone call with my brother later that evening where I suggested to him he had better get on a plane. He did, and was there at the hospital shortly thereafter. I believe it was the next day. Anyway, my brother and I got to have one last conversation with dad before the coma set in. We were sitting in his room, and he was propped up in bed and conversant. We had the opportunity to tell him that there were no bucket list items left to do. Nothing left unsaid. We didn't have to go on some manly bonding trip to Brazil or anything like that. We told him he was a good father, that he had done a good job. That we were lucky to have him and that we loved him. That was the last conversation I had with my dad. He slipped into a coma that he didn't come out of after that. The night of December 26th, everyone was so tired, they all went home for what passed for sleep at the time. It was probably more accurate to say alcohol induced stupor. I stayed a little later at the hospital for some reason that night. I just had more to say to him but I didn't know how, and maybe I thought I was running out of chances to say it. I just talked to him, telling him that I loved him one more time, and telling him about my life. All there was to hear in the room was the random buzzing and peeping of the machines that he was plugged into and the voices of the nursing staff in the hall. There was also the random moan of someone else in pain and lots of footsteps. I don't know why but I remember footsteps. Suddenly he leaned up, looked right at me and said "I'm ready to go Sarge, I'm ready to jump." I went to his side and told him to lie back down, that he should stay there, that everything was ok. He told me again that he was ready to go. I called the nurse who gave him a sedative. He was in the Air Force as a young man and for him, he was probably telling his Drill Sargent he was ready to jump out of an airplane or something like that. His face was filled with determination and fear, but somehow in his mind, he was getting ready to do something that could not be undone. He knew it, and I knew it.
The next day, December 27th at around lunchtime, 7 years ago today, he passed away. His family was all around him as he drew his last breaths. My mom told him it was ok to go. That he had fought the good fight, but it was time, and it was ok. With her hand on his chest feeling his heart beating less and less, he left. He made the jump. Good night dad.
It's a little blurry what happened after that. I was crying and hugging, and not thinking very much. I think at some point a doctor came into the room and made the official pronouncement, as if any of us had any doubt. We decided to donate his remains to the medical school and have what's left cremated. He would have wanted it that way, a teacher to the bitter end, and not wanting to take up space on this earth. My brother took care of those arrangements because I was a complete mess at the time and absolutely worthless.
My dad was a good man. He was smart, witty, resolute, charming, handsome and strong. He knew the difference between right and wrong and what it was to be a man, and he thought it was his duty to teach me those things. Lord how he tried. He never gave up on me or my brother. He was determined to raise two sons who would make the world a better place. I don't know if we do, but I think we try real hard not to make it worse. My dad loved his family. He gave us everything he had. Someday I hope to be half the man he was.
Philip Michael Cain
Sunday, December 27, 2015
Monday, May 6, 2013
The Learning Curve
Is really a curve. A curveball to be precise. I just visited some friends who are of similar vintage as I and who just had their first 10 days ago. Teeny little peanut hardly able to keep her eyes open but apparently she has a healthy set of lungs. I walked in the door and I saw what must have looked like me a year and a half ago. A new set of parents trying to trudge through the complete shittyness of a newborn. Yeah, I'm not one to get stuck on ceremony. I didn't like it one bit, and apparently neither do these folks. I saw frustration in the father's eyes and fear in the mother's, and fatigue in both. We spoke about the first few months, what happens, how do deal with this and that. But mostly we spoke of survival. I was in the mother's shoes not long ago. She is now saying to me what I thought and said not that long ago. It's like I was looking in the mirror. Of course, she looked better than I did, I'm sure. But there I was right in front of my face. It was so familiar, it was almost banal. I mean, it was like discussing tying your shoes. So mundane, so engrained in me, I almost wanted to brush it aside as not worth even discussing. With all the importance and excitement of last year's superbowl. Who won? Who knows? Who cares? Who remembers? It's not important anymore.
That was not the correct response. This was indeed not me looking at me. This was someone else. A friend. A friend in need. I'm quite certain soon she will read this and recognize herself and I hope this is met in the spirit it was delivered. With a touch of humor and a little sarcasm, and a lot of good intent. I feel a strong desire to help; I wish there were a way for me to tell them both to just be cool, don't sweat what you don't know, go with it, and everything will be fine. I wonder how many people told me that a year or so ago. They will be fine, and I am going to help. But the most important thing is, they will be fine; they're good folks.
It's been awhile since I've posted anything. Joy is now just about 18 months old; she will be in 5 days. She is also sliding into her "terrible twos". She is anything but a terrible child. She has several words in her vocabulary, some are even used correctly. She is almost running too. Still a little wobbly at the walk, but she is getting better and better and faster and faster every day. We go to the rec center so daddy can work out, and she can play with the other kids. We have a bicycle trailer for babies that I strap her into and can ride around. My biggest tour so far is to the grocery store and back. The trailer has a little "trunk" area, and as long as I don't try to bring home 4 gallons of milk and 100 cans of soup, I can carry it. 6 1/2 miles round trip! Joy sleeps most of the time. We go to the post office, the Staples (or maybe Office Max who cares what it is), the toy store, the library, and sometimes the ice cream store! I'm back to losing weight again, and feeling better. I think for the first time in a long time, I feel as if I have a life. I feel as if I'm somehow in control of some portion of me. Maybe that's the key, control. If you lose all control (like when you have a newborn), you lose everything. I feel like I'm getting some of that back. I might be wrong, but it doesn't feel that way. Fascinating.
That was not the correct response. This was indeed not me looking at me. This was someone else. A friend. A friend in need. I'm quite certain soon she will read this and recognize herself and I hope this is met in the spirit it was delivered. With a touch of humor and a little sarcasm, and a lot of good intent. I feel a strong desire to help; I wish there were a way for me to tell them both to just be cool, don't sweat what you don't know, go with it, and everything will be fine. I wonder how many people told me that a year or so ago. They will be fine, and I am going to help. But the most important thing is, they will be fine; they're good folks.
It's been awhile since I've posted anything. Joy is now just about 18 months old; she will be in 5 days. She is also sliding into her "terrible twos". She is anything but a terrible child. She has several words in her vocabulary, some are even used correctly. She is almost running too. Still a little wobbly at the walk, but she is getting better and better and faster and faster every day. We go to the rec center so daddy can work out, and she can play with the other kids. We have a bicycle trailer for babies that I strap her into and can ride around. My biggest tour so far is to the grocery store and back. The trailer has a little "trunk" area, and as long as I don't try to bring home 4 gallons of milk and 100 cans of soup, I can carry it. 6 1/2 miles round trip! Joy sleeps most of the time. We go to the post office, the Staples (or maybe Office Max who cares what it is), the toy store, the library, and sometimes the ice cream store! I'm back to losing weight again, and feeling better. I think for the first time in a long time, I feel as if I have a life. I feel as if I'm somehow in control of some portion of me. Maybe that's the key, control. If you lose all control (like when you have a newborn), you lose everything. I feel like I'm getting some of that back. I might be wrong, but it doesn't feel that way. Fascinating.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Walk The Line
Joy is now 16 months old. Pretty soon she will be 2, and soon thereafter 18. She is growing more and more every day. She is learning sounds, making them words and we can actually communicate with her using intelligent language. She does not have a very wide range of words at her disposal but she knows the basics, like "eat, milk, more, done" and maybe even "sleep", although we're not 100% certain of that one. We started teaching her sign language, assigning physical motions to words. How fascinating it is to see a person who has only been alive (and by that I mean out of the womb, I'm not trying to start an argument about when life begins) for exactly 441 days, 20 hours, 2 minutes and 32 seconds, give or take learn language. The ability to communicate in an intelligent manner is, in my opinion, one of the things that separates us from primordial ooze.
I can tell when she is trying to tell me something but doesn't know how. I can see in her eyes as she gestures toward something or someone and babbles something that has meaning only to her. I so want to know what's on her mind. I want to hear what she has to say because I'm assuming it's profound. She is curious, eager to learn, and will stop at nothing to touch, to see and to do. Her brain is a sponge, soaking in every little detail of every little thing and every experience, for better or worse.
Sometimes learning can be painful, and sometimes that is good. Joy had a painful experience recently that stands out in my mind. She got too close to one of those oil filled electric radiator space heaters recently. By "she got too close" I really mean "I let her get too close". She actually touched it. Those things are meant to be used around the home, so they are fairly safe, as in they don't get excessively hot. But they do get hot. She did not sustain any injury of any sort but she felt enough heat to sting her hand, and cause pain. There were a few tears, and the event was over almost before it began, but it left a mark on my heart and her Grandfather's also, who was also there. I know the grown ups hurt much more than she did.
It is my job as a parent to protect. It is also my job to teach. How is she going to learn "hot" without experiencing it? How can someone lean the color blue who has only seen red? the answer is the same for both. Not very effectively. At some point, she will have to take my word for it, that something is bad for her or she should stay away or what have you. Caustic chemicals come to mind as something she is going to have to trust me on. I'm not going to let her touch battery acid to learn it's not a good thing, but then again, she won't come into contact with battery acid very much at least for the next several years. But she is close to heat sources every day, and we have to draw the line somewhere.
Where is that line? Its probably different for every parent. For us, we want her to experience everything in life she can without getting hurt. Too badly.
I can tell when she is trying to tell me something but doesn't know how. I can see in her eyes as she gestures toward something or someone and babbles something that has meaning only to her. I so want to know what's on her mind. I want to hear what she has to say because I'm assuming it's profound. She is curious, eager to learn, and will stop at nothing to touch, to see and to do. Her brain is a sponge, soaking in every little detail of every little thing and every experience, for better or worse.
Sometimes learning can be painful, and sometimes that is good. Joy had a painful experience recently that stands out in my mind. She got too close to one of those oil filled electric radiator space heaters recently. By "she got too close" I really mean "I let her get too close". She actually touched it. Those things are meant to be used around the home, so they are fairly safe, as in they don't get excessively hot. But they do get hot. She did not sustain any injury of any sort but she felt enough heat to sting her hand, and cause pain. There were a few tears, and the event was over almost before it began, but it left a mark on my heart and her Grandfather's also, who was also there. I know the grown ups hurt much more than she did.
It is my job as a parent to protect. It is also my job to teach. How is she going to learn "hot" without experiencing it? How can someone lean the color blue who has only seen red? the answer is the same for both. Not very effectively. At some point, she will have to take my word for it, that something is bad for her or she should stay away or what have you. Caustic chemicals come to mind as something she is going to have to trust me on. I'm not going to let her touch battery acid to learn it's not a good thing, but then again, she won't come into contact with battery acid very much at least for the next several years. But she is close to heat sources every day, and we have to draw the line somewhere.
Where is that line? Its probably different for every parent. For us, we want her to experience everything in life she can without getting hurt. Too badly.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
That's Why They Pay You For It
A quickie today because I don't have loads of time. I got a job. Like the kind where you do things for people and someone pays you. This job is a 3 month contract gig. In other words, I'm a temp. A scab. I am there to perform a menial task for a short time and go away. The good thing is, I can do this from home. The bad thing is, I have to do it a 2:00 am. I'm working for a company that is installing wireless data infrastructure (Wi-Fi stuff) in a grocery store chain on the East coast. There are teams of installers and my job is to get them started, and wait... wait... wait... until they're done and then I log into stuff remotely and turn everything on, perform a coverage test, and tell them goodbye. Its work a reasonably intelligent monkey could do, but maybe that suits since it is happening in the middle of the night. Of course it has to happen in the middle of the night because if it were a day job, I would have had too much competition for the job and would still be complaining about something else.
So, we've worked out a schedule where I can sleep in a bit and my wife can still do what she needs to do for her job. Tonight is the end of my "training", for which I actually had to appear at the company's local office at 7:00 pm for 4 days, err, nights. After tonight, I will actually be staying home to do this. I have my temporary office set up in the basement with a network connection and everything else I need to do this, like the TV and popcorn. I'm going to have to steer clear of the beer unfortunately.
It's making me feel better to contribute to the family's cashflow but the demands on my sleep schedule are high. They say when you're sleep deprived, you eat junkfood. I say when you're me, you eat junkfood, and when you're me and tired you eat TONS of it. I'm a little worried that all the progress I've made on my body weight will be diminished, possibly significantly. Our house, as in everyone in it, has just gotten over about a month or more of colds, flus, etc etc. Just passing some damn bug between us for weeks on end. So, I haven't been to the gym in a few weeks and now with my new schedule, I might not now either.
We will see. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. I swept the garage floor today, which was amazingly therapeutic. Who knew?
So, we've worked out a schedule where I can sleep in a bit and my wife can still do what she needs to do for her job. Tonight is the end of my "training", for which I actually had to appear at the company's local office at 7:00 pm for 4 days, err, nights. After tonight, I will actually be staying home to do this. I have my temporary office set up in the basement with a network connection and everything else I need to do this, like the TV and popcorn. I'm going to have to steer clear of the beer unfortunately.
It's making me feel better to contribute to the family's cashflow but the demands on my sleep schedule are high. They say when you're sleep deprived, you eat junkfood. I say when you're me, you eat junkfood, and when you're me and tired you eat TONS of it. I'm a little worried that all the progress I've made on my body weight will be diminished, possibly significantly. Our house, as in everyone in it, has just gotten over about a month or more of colds, flus, etc etc. Just passing some damn bug between us for weeks on end. So, I haven't been to the gym in a few weeks and now with my new schedule, I might not now either.
We will see. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. I swept the garage floor today, which was amazingly therapeutic. Who knew?
Saturday, January 26, 2013
2013 and 40 or 41
No, this isn't some unintelligible Chicago song. It's 2013, I'm 40 and am going to be 41 soon. I would have thought that once you hit 40, 41 isn't so bad. Truth is, I'm a little freaked. 41. That's like one more than 40. One year. One entire year. Joy woke up this morning saying "bobby" or something that sounded like it. Over and over again, bobby; bobby; bobby... It could have been some sort of pronunciation of "baby" or hell even "daddy". We were working on "ball" the other day; it could have been that too. "Book" seems to have returned to the murky depths of her mind for now. We haven't seen it in awhile. She is still all about "hi" and "wow" though. She's learning to sign, or at least imitate. We give her the sign for "hungry" which is a motion like you're putting a raisin or something small in your mouth and we say "do you want to eat?". She nods her head, makes the sign right back at us and we go eat. I was so proud of her (and myself if I'm honest) the day she did that. I thought I was getting through. I thought my little girl was learning to communicate. It turns out imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I'm not certain if she has associated any signs or words with eating, or any indications meaning "yes" or "no". My wife asked her the other day if she had twin dragons. She of course smiled and nodded. For the record, she does not indeed have any dragons, twins or otherwise.
I am still proud of my little peanut. She is learning more and more every day. I am saying "no - no" more and more every day too. Coincidence? I don't know. If I'm telling her no more often that means she is exploring more often. Reaching for previously unattainable goals; straining at invisible chains (I stole a Rush lyric there). Her papa has been raging at unreachable glory (sorry did it again) recently too. Except that the glory I'm raging towards is apparently reachable. The whole weight thing. Yeah here we go again, right? Well maybe this time there will be a durable success, time will tell. I've been down this road so many times I've even jaded myself. As of this morning I've dropped 30 pounds off my frame. I'm kind of bursting about my reduced bursting. I'm using a revolutionary, not-sold-in-stores, scientific method called ... (Ready?) Put The Fork Down and Get In The Gym. Also a little help with my doctor in the form of an appetite suppressant and a sleep aid. So I'm cheating a little. I don't care, I'm weighing less. It's is also total loss across the holiday season too, so I'm proud of that. So there, we all have something to be proud about. I'm getting closer to re-taking a test I failed this summer too. That's going to be a stark reality soon, one that I will not be able to put off, and face. The problem with setting goals is that sometimes you achieve them. So, so far, we are starting the year off right. Pretty soon Joys little babbles will be words I can understand, I will have attained my tecky-geeky goal, and wouldn't it be nice to drop another 30 by summer? Maybe then when my brother comes out to ride dirt bikes with me, I'll stand a chance of keeping up with him. Life is good.
I am still proud of my little peanut. She is learning more and more every day. I am saying "no - no" more and more every day too. Coincidence? I don't know. If I'm telling her no more often that means she is exploring more often. Reaching for previously unattainable goals; straining at invisible chains (I stole a Rush lyric there). Her papa has been raging at unreachable glory (sorry did it again) recently too. Except that the glory I'm raging towards is apparently reachable. The whole weight thing. Yeah here we go again, right? Well maybe this time there will be a durable success, time will tell. I've been down this road so many times I've even jaded myself. As of this morning I've dropped 30 pounds off my frame. I'm kind of bursting about my reduced bursting. I'm using a revolutionary, not-sold-in-stores, scientific method called ... (Ready?) Put The Fork Down and Get In The Gym. Also a little help with my doctor in the form of an appetite suppressant and a sleep aid. So I'm cheating a little. I don't care, I'm weighing less. It's is also total loss across the holiday season too, so I'm proud of that. So there, we all have something to be proud about. I'm getting closer to re-taking a test I failed this summer too. That's going to be a stark reality soon, one that I will not be able to put off, and face. The problem with setting goals is that sometimes you achieve them. So, so far, we are starting the year off right. Pretty soon Joys little babbles will be words I can understand, I will have attained my tecky-geeky goal, and wouldn't it be nice to drop another 30 by summer? Maybe then when my brother comes out to ride dirt bikes with me, I'll stand a chance of keeping up with him. Life is good.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Pacifiers
They are the devil's advocate. Sure, they seem innocent enough, but inside them is a Pandora's box you can live to regret. Look how cute the baby is sucking on her pacifier, isn't she adorable? Ohhhh... what a cutie there. Oh yeah. She's adorable alright, no doubt. Wait till she can't get at that damned thing and see how adorable she gets.
We give our children pacifiers because the motion or action of sucking releases endorphins, theoretically. So, if they have a pacifier, they're cool. That's right, with almost no exception. The problem is, once you give em the pacifier and they get a taste of those endorphins, they get addicted to that rush (yeah, stole a line from an old hair band, sorry). More accurately, they lose sight of how to soothe themselves (if they ever had it); they rely on the pacifier to provide the soothing. It's not unlike booze really. We would rely on an external force of some sort to make us feel good, right? Well, pacifiers are the 90 proof for babies. Without the mind altering drunken side effects, that is (or really any side effects for that matter). But, just like anything, it can be overdone, and left to run unchecked, can run amok. YEAH BABY, I used the word amok!
Joy is now over a year old. Sometime around 6 months old, my wife and I ganged up on her and made her go cold turkey on the pacifiers. It was a few cranky nights, but at 6 months old, she was off the pacifier! Man I felt like a king. I felt I could do no wrong. I mean, who else but perfect parents would have already weened their 6 month old off pacifiers? Nobody. But. Us. Heh. Funny thing happens from anywhere to 8 to 12 months... Teeth. Suddenly my accomplishment wasn't really, so much. I don't know how it happened, but pacifiers got back into Joy's mouth. It probably seemed unnatural for a baby who was still crawling to NOT have a pacifier. My wife and I kind of point the finger of guilt back and forth, but I know it was her and she knows it was me. We're probably both right, and both wrong. Bottom line though, we have to endure the pacifier weening again. Or should we?
If you ask 10 "experts" on this subject, you'll get 12 answers. By the way, if you ask 10 "experts" just about anything about any subject, you'll get 12 answers (at least), so really spend a little time reading, a little time googling, but spend the most time thinking, and come to your own conclusions.
I spent a LOT of time thinking about this, from a strategic standpoint, and usually about timing. When would be a good time? 6 months worked out great, until teeth came along. So, now when do we do this? For the past 2 months or so, I've been plotting, and re-plotting, and re-re-plotting etc etc. I could not come up with a good strategy. Every time that came close to being a 'good time' turned out to be a bad time for any one of a million reasons (read: excuses), some mine, and some belonging to others, but all excuses. I mean, reasons.
Lately Joy has been having bad dreams. Her little brain is growing every day and learning every day and absorbing literally everything it can. When we have a demanding day, we gotta vent, right? She doesn't know how, so all she can do is process her day in her dreams. I feel for her, I really do. How can I tell her that something she saw today that scared the shit out of her is really some cute cuddly thing and is not to be feared? I can't. She reacts oddly to the oddest things. Case in point: her gramma bought a big stuffed pig that wears a santa hat, and when you squeeze it's paw, or hoof or whatever pigs have, it grunts out "Jungle Bells". The first time she saw it, and heard it, it scared her so much she fell over. Talk about tugging at your heart strings. As we all played with it, she got to enjoying it and even danced to the grunts. But there was an initial response that was fear and anxiety and probably a whole bunch of other bad stuff I will never know about until her therapist tells me. Her brain has to process all that, and that kind of stuff happens 50 times a day. Imagine how you would feel...
So we're having bad dreams. She needs a pacifier to fall asleep, and sometimes throughout the night, when she wakes, she can find it again, and scoop in into her mouth and mom and dad get to sleep all night. That's been the exception rather than the norm lately. Usually what happened is, she would push it out of the crib and on to the floor while sleeping, so when she awoke, she couldn't find it, and started to cry. I can't even count how many times we've had to get up and "re-plug" as we call it. Last night, she was having bad dreams, and having a really rough night (read: nobody got any sleep). I would get up, re-plug, change diaper, and my wife would get up, change diaper, re-plug, etc etc. We would do this several times before realizing the other was doing it too. Joy got to the point where she was so upset, only holding her tightly and rocking her would calm her down. Even the pacifier didn't work. She pulled it out of her own mouth and threw it on the floor herself!
So, being the opportunist I am, I took the opportunity to un-pacify that girl.Last night, I took a pair of scissors and snipped off the very end of one of her pacifiers (I read about that method on some baby site), after she threw it on the floor. I had rocking duty, so I held her tightly to me, and rocked, and rocked, and rocked until she was about to fall asleep. Notice she still does not have the pacifier. I put her in her crib, and placed the modified pacifier within her reach. She grabbed it and stuffed it into her mouth. She was immediately so pissed off I thought she would jump out of that crib and yell at me. But about 15 maybe 20 minutes later, after a good bit of fussing, and me wanting to kill myself for torturing my child, she fell asleep. It was 4:00 am. I went to bed.
That was last night, and aside from about 30 minutes or less of having to pacify her because we were all out at a concert today, and she was well into 'nap time', we have been without. Bedtime tonight was interesting. She usually goes to bed at 6:30, and tonight she didn't until close to 8:00. Other than the pacifier, our night time routine was the same. She needed a little rocking to fall asleep, and I waited in her room with her until she did (I won't do that for very much longer), but it's now a little past 10, and she's still sleeping quietly. I'm so damn exhausted I can't clearly see the keys on my keyboard, and I have to think how to type. I'm going to bed and sleep while I can. I'll report more in the coming days.
We give our children pacifiers because the motion or action of sucking releases endorphins, theoretically. So, if they have a pacifier, they're cool. That's right, with almost no exception. The problem is, once you give em the pacifier and they get a taste of those endorphins, they get addicted to that rush (yeah, stole a line from an old hair band, sorry). More accurately, they lose sight of how to soothe themselves (if they ever had it); they rely on the pacifier to provide the soothing. It's not unlike booze really. We would rely on an external force of some sort to make us feel good, right? Well, pacifiers are the 90 proof for babies. Without the mind altering drunken side effects, that is (or really any side effects for that matter). But, just like anything, it can be overdone, and left to run unchecked, can run amok. YEAH BABY, I used the word amok!
Joy is now over a year old. Sometime around 6 months old, my wife and I ganged up on her and made her go cold turkey on the pacifiers. It was a few cranky nights, but at 6 months old, she was off the pacifier! Man I felt like a king. I felt I could do no wrong. I mean, who else but perfect parents would have already weened their 6 month old off pacifiers? Nobody. But. Us. Heh. Funny thing happens from anywhere to 8 to 12 months... Teeth. Suddenly my accomplishment wasn't really, so much. I don't know how it happened, but pacifiers got back into Joy's mouth. It probably seemed unnatural for a baby who was still crawling to NOT have a pacifier. My wife and I kind of point the finger of guilt back and forth, but I know it was her and she knows it was me. We're probably both right, and both wrong. Bottom line though, we have to endure the pacifier weening again. Or should we?
If you ask 10 "experts" on this subject, you'll get 12 answers. By the way, if you ask 10 "experts" just about anything about any subject, you'll get 12 answers (at least), so really spend a little time reading, a little time googling, but spend the most time thinking, and come to your own conclusions.
I spent a LOT of time thinking about this, from a strategic standpoint, and usually about timing. When would be a good time? 6 months worked out great, until teeth came along. So, now when do we do this? For the past 2 months or so, I've been plotting, and re-plotting, and re-re-plotting etc etc. I could not come up with a good strategy. Every time that came close to being a 'good time' turned out to be a bad time for any one of a million reasons (read: excuses), some mine, and some belonging to others, but all excuses. I mean, reasons.
Lately Joy has been having bad dreams. Her little brain is growing every day and learning every day and absorbing literally everything it can. When we have a demanding day, we gotta vent, right? She doesn't know how, so all she can do is process her day in her dreams. I feel for her, I really do. How can I tell her that something she saw today that scared the shit out of her is really some cute cuddly thing and is not to be feared? I can't. She reacts oddly to the oddest things. Case in point: her gramma bought a big stuffed pig that wears a santa hat, and when you squeeze it's paw, or hoof or whatever pigs have, it grunts out "Jungle Bells". The first time she saw it, and heard it, it scared her so much she fell over. Talk about tugging at your heart strings. As we all played with it, she got to enjoying it and even danced to the grunts. But there was an initial response that was fear and anxiety and probably a whole bunch of other bad stuff I will never know about until her therapist tells me. Her brain has to process all that, and that kind of stuff happens 50 times a day. Imagine how you would feel...
So we're having bad dreams. She needs a pacifier to fall asleep, and sometimes throughout the night, when she wakes, she can find it again, and scoop in into her mouth and mom and dad get to sleep all night. That's been the exception rather than the norm lately. Usually what happened is, she would push it out of the crib and on to the floor while sleeping, so when she awoke, she couldn't find it, and started to cry. I can't even count how many times we've had to get up and "re-plug" as we call it. Last night, she was having bad dreams, and having a really rough night (read: nobody got any sleep). I would get up, re-plug, change diaper, and my wife would get up, change diaper, re-plug, etc etc. We would do this several times before realizing the other was doing it too. Joy got to the point where she was so upset, only holding her tightly and rocking her would calm her down. Even the pacifier didn't work. She pulled it out of her own mouth and threw it on the floor herself!
So, being the opportunist I am, I took the opportunity to un-pacify that girl.Last night, I took a pair of scissors and snipped off the very end of one of her pacifiers (I read about that method on some baby site), after she threw it on the floor. I had rocking duty, so I held her tightly to me, and rocked, and rocked, and rocked until she was about to fall asleep. Notice she still does not have the pacifier. I put her in her crib, and placed the modified pacifier within her reach. She grabbed it and stuffed it into her mouth. She was immediately so pissed off I thought she would jump out of that crib and yell at me. But about 15 maybe 20 minutes later, after a good bit of fussing, and me wanting to kill myself for torturing my child, she fell asleep. It was 4:00 am. I went to bed.
That was last night, and aside from about 30 minutes or less of having to pacify her because we were all out at a concert today, and she was well into 'nap time', we have been without. Bedtime tonight was interesting. She usually goes to bed at 6:30, and tonight she didn't until close to 8:00. Other than the pacifier, our night time routine was the same. She needed a little rocking to fall asleep, and I waited in her room with her until she did (I won't do that for very much longer), but it's now a little past 10, and she's still sleeping quietly. I'm so damn exhausted I can't clearly see the keys on my keyboard, and I have to think how to type. I'm going to bed and sleep while I can. I'll report more in the coming days.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Christmas And Rushing
So, Christmas is upon us, and that brings any number of things to any number of people. To some, it's just another day; to others it's a joyous event; to others still, it's a nightmare. Whatever its effect on whatever people, it probably falls somewhere in one of those 3 categories, and it can probably change day by day. We had a busy day today; we got a tree, a wreath, a bunch of icicle lights, a truckload of diapers, Joy's Christmas present, etc etc. A regular shopping day for us, and we got a lot of stuff.
Up until today, we were the only ones on our block without lights on the house. I usually don't care too much about that sort of thing. I mean, lights on a house used to be kind of an oddity. Now, it seems, it's a requirement, at least in our neighborhood. We know a family a few blocks away who go completely nutty with the lights. Nice enough folks, just nuts about the lights; I may have mentioned them before... I digress. I didn't want to be the only one on our block without lights somewhere outside the house. As if I needed to somehow prove I wasn't a grouchy old bastard, I felt the need to light up the place. Of course, the first thing that comes to a guy's mind is something that would show up on a photo taken from Mars. That is not terribly realistic (not entirely UN-realistic either...), so we decided on some icicle lights hanging from the gutters all across the front of the house. Ya know, a little understated but still festive.Not exactly Norman Rockwell but also not Grouchy Old Bastard either.
As usual, I waited until most of the day had elapsed, and I was a little tired. We put Joy in the front yard in an "exer-saucer" (you'll have to google it if you care) to contain her a bit and still let her be a part of the action. The action being me putting up the lights, and my wife preparing the wreath and other decorations. It was a festive joyous moment. I felt good. Until I started to unravel the lights out of their boxes, then my demeanor diminished. It was getting cold (snow in the forecast in a few hours), and the wires of the lights had taken a set and didn't want to unravel to a row of nice icicles. So, I ended up with less of a string of icicles and more of a big jumble of lights hanging from the gutter in one long, snake like bunch. The clock was ticking, the daylight was getting short, it was getting cold (did I mention that?), Joy had decided awhile ago that it was time to go inside, and there I was, rushing to finish. I HATE to rush. I'm one of those guys who would get up an hour or so early before work just so I could sit with my coffee for awhile. I hate it. I find myself rushing alot though. There is always a serious time constraint looming directly ahead, and I am always fighting to meet it. Whether I am trying to do whatever task before the baby wakes, or before the glue dries, or before the wind picks up, I am always rushing. In projects, that is. It doesn't seem to matter what that project is, either. It can be anything, like emptying the dishwasher, or mowing the lawn, and this is just an example. Could the lights have waited? Yes but that would mean I would have to clean up my stuff only to bring it out another day. Spending more time that I might not have. If I don't get it done NOW it might not get done; I might not get another opportunity. Would that be the end of the world? No but then I would be the Grouchy Old Bastard Without Lights, or worse yet - I would be the Hillbilly With Only Some Random, Half-Assed Lights. So I had to rush, and not do a good job. That's how it goes when I rush, I don't do my best. I do my best for now, and sometimes that's all I get to do.
So the lights went up as did my blood pressure. I did get them up and working before nightfall, so I guess we will call that a win. In the end, they actually looked ok. A little goofy but... festive at least. Now I am NOT the Grouchy Old Bastard without lights. You can see them from inside, though the window. Joy seems to like them. She will stare at them, gesture towards them and babble something in her native tongue.
Two seconds of that makes it all worthwhile.
Up until today, we were the only ones on our block without lights on the house. I usually don't care too much about that sort of thing. I mean, lights on a house used to be kind of an oddity. Now, it seems, it's a requirement, at least in our neighborhood. We know a family a few blocks away who go completely nutty with the lights. Nice enough folks, just nuts about the lights; I may have mentioned them before... I digress. I didn't want to be the only one on our block without lights somewhere outside the house. As if I needed to somehow prove I wasn't a grouchy old bastard, I felt the need to light up the place. Of course, the first thing that comes to a guy's mind is something that would show up on a photo taken from Mars. That is not terribly realistic (not entirely UN-realistic either...), so we decided on some icicle lights hanging from the gutters all across the front of the house. Ya know, a little understated but still festive.Not exactly Norman Rockwell but also not Grouchy Old Bastard either.
As usual, I waited until most of the day had elapsed, and I was a little tired. We put Joy in the front yard in an "exer-saucer" (you'll have to google it if you care) to contain her a bit and still let her be a part of the action. The action being me putting up the lights, and my wife preparing the wreath and other decorations. It was a festive joyous moment. I felt good. Until I started to unravel the lights out of their boxes, then my demeanor diminished. It was getting cold (snow in the forecast in a few hours), and the wires of the lights had taken a set and didn't want to unravel to a row of nice icicles. So, I ended up with less of a string of icicles and more of a big jumble of lights hanging from the gutter in one long, snake like bunch. The clock was ticking, the daylight was getting short, it was getting cold (did I mention that?), Joy had decided awhile ago that it was time to go inside, and there I was, rushing to finish. I HATE to rush. I'm one of those guys who would get up an hour or so early before work just so I could sit with my coffee for awhile. I hate it. I find myself rushing alot though. There is always a serious time constraint looming directly ahead, and I am always fighting to meet it. Whether I am trying to do whatever task before the baby wakes, or before the glue dries, or before the wind picks up, I am always rushing. In projects, that is. It doesn't seem to matter what that project is, either. It can be anything, like emptying the dishwasher, or mowing the lawn, and this is just an example. Could the lights have waited? Yes but that would mean I would have to clean up my stuff only to bring it out another day. Spending more time that I might not have. If I don't get it done NOW it might not get done; I might not get another opportunity. Would that be the end of the world? No but then I would be the Grouchy Old Bastard Without Lights, or worse yet - I would be the Hillbilly With Only Some Random, Half-Assed Lights. So I had to rush, and not do a good job. That's how it goes when I rush, I don't do my best. I do my best for now, and sometimes that's all I get to do.
So the lights went up as did my blood pressure. I did get them up and working before nightfall, so I guess we will call that a win. In the end, they actually looked ok. A little goofy but... festive at least. Now I am NOT the Grouchy Old Bastard without lights. You can see them from inside, though the window. Joy seems to like them. She will stare at them, gesture towards them and babble something in her native tongue.
Two seconds of that makes it all worthwhile.
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