Warning: Sensitive Material Follows, You Should Probably Skip Over This One.
Sometimes, as in when we have a child, we have to change our lifestyle. I'm talking about giving up listening to the Scorpions and Rolling Stones and start listening to James Taylor and John Hiatt, but more importantly bad habits. I don't smoke cigarettes, but occasionally smoke cigars, and yes, here I admit it, sometimes chew. I wouldn't normally even bring that up, but the point of this exercise is therapy, and lies don't enable therapy, so there ya go, ugly truth. There are other "features" of being me that probably warrant corrective action, or at least an attempt. Tobacco is easy to walk away from, it's not a real big part of my life. I can easily cut it out completely or severely restrict its usage so that it will never interfere with my life as an Old Man With A Daughter. There are 2 things that I cannot say that about, and they kind of scare me a bit. I eat too much and I drink too much. It's really that simple. I have been fighting the Battle of the Bulge since before high school. I was always the fat kid, and subject to the associated ridicule and harassment. In high school, I thought it was cool to be 200 lbs because I was part of an elite group called the Chub Club, who were guys on the football team, I think all lineman, at 200 lbs or more. 200 pound freshman in high school is nothing to be proud of or even happy about. Now I would kill to be 200. I won't discuss what my numbers are now, just that it's over 200.
I have a history of subjecting myself to addictive behavior. I had my first cigarette in 6th grade, I think. My first trial of pot and acid (don't ever go near that shit) in 8th grade, and I have no idea when I first tasted alcohol but it was early. I'd like to apologize to my family for this, as I am certain this is a bit painful to read. It's painful to write too, to be honest. I should say that I have not used drugs since then. I think somehow I decided drugs were bad, and I shouldn't use them. In honor of my wife's pregnancy I gave up the sauce for the duration, but picked it right back up now that the child is here. That's the thing about mistakes; you sometimes don't see 'em until later.
I'm not going to kid myself and swear I will completely alter my lifestyle overnight. That's incredibly foolish. I've been trying to do that for over 20 years. I've been lying to myself for over 20 years. Remember a post or two back when I talked about working toward goals, and that we never really get there, that its the hunt for it that is the exciting part? This is one goal I would surely like to achieve and never visit again. Obviously I have never considered myself or my health important enough to do anything about it. I don't know where I developed such a low self esteem but I honestly don't put a high value on me. It's funny, isn't it, that we can be so selfish when it comes to material things but the absolute opposite when it comes to things that increase our own personal value or longevity? How stupid is that? It doesn't make any sense at all. I have a fairly high level of shame having to do with the whole thing.
When do I decide I'm important enough to live better? Is having a child going to do it? I mean, nothing else has so far. I'm staring 40 in the face, and at the rate I'm going, I'm going to be on dialysis and drooling by the time she graduates college. That doesn't paint a pretty picture does it? No.
I thought about writing this (or not) for awhile now. It's been on my mind, and I couldn't decide if I was going to include it. The point of this exercise was not to entertain, or appeal to the masses, but to organize, document, and relate what the process was like from my perspective. My perspective. This is part of me, so to exclude it would somehow be dishonest, right? I'm still grappling with hitting the "publish" button, almost as much as I'm grappling with my issues.
I'll wrap it up by saying I'm going to try. I have a good start today. I exercised today and only had one beer last night. Maybe someday I'll be worthy of the smiles Joy gives me. Maybe I never will, but I'm going to try. It's silly to shoot for perfection, but it's not silly to shoot for better. I'm trying.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Goals and Time
I used to have both. I can no longer call either one mine. This is just another step in the process, I assure myself, and it's completely true, and ok. Actually I should be fair and accurate. My goals and time have changed, not disappeared. My goals are now babbling on the couch next to me, and that is, by the way, where "my" time is now too. Is that a matter of convenience that everything I used to define myself is now a small person who goes through many many diapers a day? I think maybe yes. It is quite convenient. At least this way there is no doubt.
Goals are easy to define. You just decide where you want to be in the next 2, 5, 10 years and boom, there's a set of goals. Time is just as easy, you either have it or not. What you do with your time has always been your business right? Not anymore, for me anyway. My family, as awesome as they are, have come forward and helped me with Joy by taking her periodically so I have some time to do what I want to do. But it's not MY time, is it? Not really. It's borrowed time, or more accurately gifted time. So, by some measure it's mine but technically, if not for my family, I would not have it.
So that takes me down a road I had not expected. When someone gives you a shirt for Christmas or a tool for your birthday, you kind of expected to wear it, or use it as it was designed to. It's not good form to take a perfectly new shirt and use is as oil rags, or a brand new tool and sell it for scrap metal. A few years down the road, when it starts to recede from everyone's memory, it's ok to do whatever you want with it. But for the first few years, you have to abide by the commonly accepted protocols. What is an acceptable usage of this time I have? Well I have to be honest, I'm being pretty damned selfish with it. I'm fairly defensive of "my" time. I've been using it messing around in the garage, working on trucks and motorcycles, and occasionally, the house. I feel a bit guilty, but I think if I don't do something for myself, I might go batty. So I consider this an ounce of prevention. Definitely worth some pounds of cure.
So if my goals and time are now either deflected or not mine anymore, how do I define myself? That's easy. My goals are simple, I want my daughter to grow up and be happy and healthy, and I spend almost all my time working to that end. That's a noble goal, so I define myself as noble. If a toolmaker is the noblest profession, a parent has to be a close second.
I've learned through this process that my need for goals and time has largely been a response to an outside force of some kind. I've had goals because society expects me to. I've had time to pursue my goals. Don't get me wrong, I liked my goals and enjoyed the pursuit. But it was the joy of the hunt that kept me in the game for the most part, not the goals themselves. Why is that? I believe it is because we are results driven human beings. We look for a particular result, aim for it, and work our asses off to get there. What happens when you get there though? Do you sit on that previously driven ass and enjoy the fruits of your labors? NAH. You keep going, don't you? You keep aiming for goals until you create one that cannot be hit, and you're happy. You're happy because of the joy of the hunt, not the goal itself. Goals, in fact, can make one unhappy by some arguments. In the end, if you hit all your goals, you have nothing to work towards. That sounds like an incredibly empty feeling to me.
Up until a few weeks ago, my goals were to work up at the mine in Leadville kinda doing paltry IT support stuff, working on my Cisco certifications, and eventually landing a better job down in the front range when baby was going to be a little bigger, more active, and more wanting of activities. I figured I could land that better job because the economy might have improved and I would have some real experience and be marketable. Then and only then would I finally be happy. Why did I choose the IT field versus any of the other myriad of fields I actually had experience in? At some level because it was mysterious and unobtainable. I would never get there. It was never really going to happen for me, so I pursued it like a dog chasing a rabbit. A big rabbit that ran real fast. Might I have got there eventually? Sure. I'm quite certain I would have. I mean, there are very few goals I've actually wanted and never achieved, and this would be no different, I'm sure of it. I would be competing for jobs with people half my age, fresher education (my masters in IS is 10 years old already), etc etc but I would get there eventually. Then what? Where from there? I'm at the brass ring, I'm there. Well, there's always the next echelon isn't there? There's management (yuck), engineering (I don't have the patience), design (I don't have a thread of creativity in me), sales (umm NO), or super geek. It would seem like my only option would be to master some technology(s), pigeonhole myself into it (them), and eventually become obsolete. Kinda like what I did to my communications career. It took about 10 years or so but it could be done again.
I joke from time to time with a friend of mine who is about my age, about what we want to be when we grow up. It sounds scary but it's true, I'm actually still trying to nail that one down. So, maybe it's actually refreshing to have my goals greatly simplified for me. It kind of takes the pressure off. Now my goals are simple, my job is simple, my life is simple. Maybe this hiatus will allow me to do a reset. Maybe in a month or so, I'll have new goals, a new idea of what the perfect life actually is, and maybe I'll be living it.
Goals are easy to define. You just decide where you want to be in the next 2, 5, 10 years and boom, there's a set of goals. Time is just as easy, you either have it or not. What you do with your time has always been your business right? Not anymore, for me anyway. My family, as awesome as they are, have come forward and helped me with Joy by taking her periodically so I have some time to do what I want to do. But it's not MY time, is it? Not really. It's borrowed time, or more accurately gifted time. So, by some measure it's mine but technically, if not for my family, I would not have it.
So that takes me down a road I had not expected. When someone gives you a shirt for Christmas or a tool for your birthday, you kind of expected to wear it, or use it as it was designed to. It's not good form to take a perfectly new shirt and use is as oil rags, or a brand new tool and sell it for scrap metal. A few years down the road, when it starts to recede from everyone's memory, it's ok to do whatever you want with it. But for the first few years, you have to abide by the commonly accepted protocols. What is an acceptable usage of this time I have? Well I have to be honest, I'm being pretty damned selfish with it. I'm fairly defensive of "my" time. I've been using it messing around in the garage, working on trucks and motorcycles, and occasionally, the house. I feel a bit guilty, but I think if I don't do something for myself, I might go batty. So I consider this an ounce of prevention. Definitely worth some pounds of cure.
So if my goals and time are now either deflected or not mine anymore, how do I define myself? That's easy. My goals are simple, I want my daughter to grow up and be happy and healthy, and I spend almost all my time working to that end. That's a noble goal, so I define myself as noble. If a toolmaker is the noblest profession, a parent has to be a close second.
I've learned through this process that my need for goals and time has largely been a response to an outside force of some kind. I've had goals because society expects me to. I've had time to pursue my goals. Don't get me wrong, I liked my goals and enjoyed the pursuit. But it was the joy of the hunt that kept me in the game for the most part, not the goals themselves. Why is that? I believe it is because we are results driven human beings. We look for a particular result, aim for it, and work our asses off to get there. What happens when you get there though? Do you sit on that previously driven ass and enjoy the fruits of your labors? NAH. You keep going, don't you? You keep aiming for goals until you create one that cannot be hit, and you're happy. You're happy because of the joy of the hunt, not the goal itself. Goals, in fact, can make one unhappy by some arguments. In the end, if you hit all your goals, you have nothing to work towards. That sounds like an incredibly empty feeling to me.
Up until a few weeks ago, my goals were to work up at the mine in Leadville kinda doing paltry IT support stuff, working on my Cisco certifications, and eventually landing a better job down in the front range when baby was going to be a little bigger, more active, and more wanting of activities. I figured I could land that better job because the economy might have improved and I would have some real experience and be marketable. Then and only then would I finally be happy. Why did I choose the IT field versus any of the other myriad of fields I actually had experience in? At some level because it was mysterious and unobtainable. I would never get there. It was never really going to happen for me, so I pursued it like a dog chasing a rabbit. A big rabbit that ran real fast. Might I have got there eventually? Sure. I'm quite certain I would have. I mean, there are very few goals I've actually wanted and never achieved, and this would be no different, I'm sure of it. I would be competing for jobs with people half my age, fresher education (my masters in IS is 10 years old already), etc etc but I would get there eventually. Then what? Where from there? I'm at the brass ring, I'm there. Well, there's always the next echelon isn't there? There's management (yuck), engineering (I don't have the patience), design (I don't have a thread of creativity in me), sales (umm NO), or super geek. It would seem like my only option would be to master some technology(s), pigeonhole myself into it (them), and eventually become obsolete. Kinda like what I did to my communications career. It took about 10 years or so but it could be done again.
I joke from time to time with a friend of mine who is about my age, about what we want to be when we grow up. It sounds scary but it's true, I'm actually still trying to nail that one down. So, maybe it's actually refreshing to have my goals greatly simplified for me. It kind of takes the pressure off. Now my goals are simple, my job is simple, my life is simple. Maybe this hiatus will allow me to do a reset. Maybe in a month or so, I'll have new goals, a new idea of what the perfect life actually is, and maybe I'll be living it.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Whining.
Joy has started this new way of crying. Before, her crying was strictly clear and purposeful. There was no real middle ground, either she was upset and crying, or not (refer to aforementioned checklist). I never appreciated how much I enjoyed this more or less binary state until this week. In the communications industry, any new gizmo or geegaw has a multitude of options, and when I sold a particular gizmo to any customer(s), I would try to talk the customers out of 95% of the options, or conveniently forget to tell the customers about them. Honestly, for the most part, they didn't need them. Secondly, if I "allowed" the customer to have the options, or enabled the options, I would be stuck dealing with this gizmo and it's million options for the lifespan of the gizmo (or the company heh heh). Too many options are too confusing to most of us. I am NO exception.
This "middle ground crying" could be described as "whining". I really can't describe it any better (I would have to embed an executable sound file, and I am NOT that nerdy...really). It's definitely a cry of sorts, but she's not committed to it, so it comes out kinda wimpy. Now my point is, if SHE'S not committed to it, why the heck should I be? Just because this thing is making noise, must I respond? Modern philosophy says yes. You should respond to all crying a newborn makes. That begs the question, "for this process, define a newborn".
So the analyst in me wants to define this New Operational Parameter. What does it mean, what processes does it spawn, and what processes spawn it, and how to mitigate it? I found out last night that this noise occurred during a wet diaper situation. Wet diaper usually spawned a much more aggressive noisy status, but last night, there was a wet diaper, and there was whining. Joy usually gets up at around 7 am, eats, gets a new diaper, and goes back to sleep for an hour or so. Sometimes there is crying before this sleeping. This morning, there was whining. She's beside me now, sleeping like a... hmmm... I'll think of something; let me get back to you on that one. In any case, the procedure was the same; she's fed, changed, and sleeping, but in the interim there was this whining. So, obviously "wet diaper" spawns the whining, and "fatigue" does too. So, obviously, whining is not a clear indicator of any status I can find so far. Inconclusive.
What processes are spawned by the whining? Most of them fall into my court. I've been treating the whining as any other status indicator so far, again I refer to the checklist, and results are very unsatisfactory. The whining makes me check diapers, try to get her to nap, make sure she's warm, see to it she's fed... does this sound familiar? Inconclusive!
One of my philosophies is Be Somebody, Don't Be Nobody. Be who you want to be, exist on some plane, wave your flag, say it proud. Be a lover, be a fighter, be a builder or be a killer, it doesn't matter, just be someone. Be all about that person. BE. In that philosophy there is no room for whiners. By the way you can't BE a whiner. That doesn't count. So, here's my progeny whining. This hurts me at a level I've never seen before. Is this a mirror into me? Am I looking at me when I look at her? They say that true greatness is defined by what you do when nobody's watching. She doesn't know anybody's watching. This is a disturbing turn of events, I can say with certainty. She only has the tools I (and my wife) gave her. This whining did not come from my wife. I was in the delivery room, I saw what happened. It was clear to me at that point that my wife was the kindest, most loving, most tender, toughest, baddest, strongest mofo ever. This whining came from me obviously.
I am looking at myself when I look at my daughter. She gets it honest, I have to admit. How can I "fix" what's "wrong" with her, if I can't do it for myself? HAH! Maybe this is one of those times when I am supposed to make her better than me. That's kind of bullshit, isn't it? If I make someone better than me, that means I don't walk the walk. That means I don't practice what I preach. That's not true (Id like to think)! Maybe the best thing I can do for her is not to focus on her imperfections, but to point out my own, and let her think about it. I can't make her be better, but I can show her what NOT better is, and let her DECIDE to be better. That's the only way she's going to improve over her life. So maybe instead of getting frustrated about her whining, I should teach her how to deal with her issues, and let her stop whining herself. Maybe even before that, I should deal with my own issues. Maybe I should take my life by the horns and be in charge of it. Maybe I should stop whinin....
This "middle ground crying" could be described as "whining". I really can't describe it any better (I would have to embed an executable sound file, and I am NOT that nerdy...really). It's definitely a cry of sorts, but she's not committed to it, so it comes out kinda wimpy. Now my point is, if SHE'S not committed to it, why the heck should I be? Just because this thing is making noise, must I respond? Modern philosophy says yes. You should respond to all crying a newborn makes. That begs the question, "for this process, define a newborn".
So the analyst in me wants to define this New Operational Parameter. What does it mean, what processes does it spawn, and what processes spawn it, and how to mitigate it? I found out last night that this noise occurred during a wet diaper situation. Wet diaper usually spawned a much more aggressive noisy status, but last night, there was a wet diaper, and there was whining. Joy usually gets up at around 7 am, eats, gets a new diaper, and goes back to sleep for an hour or so. Sometimes there is crying before this sleeping. This morning, there was whining. She's beside me now, sleeping like a... hmmm... I'll think of something; let me get back to you on that one. In any case, the procedure was the same; she's fed, changed, and sleeping, but in the interim there was this whining. So, obviously "wet diaper" spawns the whining, and "fatigue" does too. So, obviously, whining is not a clear indicator of any status I can find so far. Inconclusive.
What processes are spawned by the whining? Most of them fall into my court. I've been treating the whining as any other status indicator so far, again I refer to the checklist, and results are very unsatisfactory. The whining makes me check diapers, try to get her to nap, make sure she's warm, see to it she's fed... does this sound familiar? Inconclusive!
One of my philosophies is Be Somebody, Don't Be Nobody. Be who you want to be, exist on some plane, wave your flag, say it proud. Be a lover, be a fighter, be a builder or be a killer, it doesn't matter, just be someone. Be all about that person. BE. In that philosophy there is no room for whiners. By the way you can't BE a whiner. That doesn't count. So, here's my progeny whining. This hurts me at a level I've never seen before. Is this a mirror into me? Am I looking at me when I look at her? They say that true greatness is defined by what you do when nobody's watching. She doesn't know anybody's watching. This is a disturbing turn of events, I can say with certainty. She only has the tools I (and my wife) gave her. This whining did not come from my wife. I was in the delivery room, I saw what happened. It was clear to me at that point that my wife was the kindest, most loving, most tender, toughest, baddest, strongest mofo ever. This whining came from me obviously.
I am looking at myself when I look at my daughter. She gets it honest, I have to admit. How can I "fix" what's "wrong" with her, if I can't do it for myself? HAH! Maybe this is one of those times when I am supposed to make her better than me. That's kind of bullshit, isn't it? If I make someone better than me, that means I don't walk the walk. That means I don't practice what I preach. That's not true (Id like to think)! Maybe the best thing I can do for her is not to focus on her imperfections, but to point out my own, and let her think about it. I can't make her be better, but I can show her what NOT better is, and let her DECIDE to be better. That's the only way she's going to improve over her life. So maybe instead of getting frustrated about her whining, I should teach her how to deal with her issues, and let her stop whining herself. Maybe even before that, I should deal with my own issues. Maybe I should take my life by the horns and be in charge of it. Maybe I should stop whinin....
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
3 Steps Forward...
Have you ever run in sand, or mud maybe even uphill? If you have than you have a keen understanding of the concept of 3 steps forward and 2 steps back. Why does every little accomplishment take VAST effort? Why is it that the diaper pail is always full at 3:00 am? Why can I not seem to complete ONE home improvement project without "The Golden Rule of Three"? The Golden Rule of Three, as a friend pointed out to me some years ago, is a rule that says "you will make at least 3 trips to the hardware store during any home improvement project". I think I have yet to prove that rule wrong. When I lived in Leadville, and the nearest Home Depot was in Avon, almost an hour away, projects sometimes went long, and sometimes didn't go at all, depending on the weather.
Joy and I were out and about running errands yesterday. She in her car seat and me, um, driving. We have one of these car seats that she can stay strapped into, and to get her in and out of the car, all you do is mount her seat to a receptacle that's already mounted in the car with a "quick release" lever. So, getting her in and out of the car, as long as she's strapped in the seat, is a piece of cake. I think back on the days when, in order to transport little one hither and yon, one would have to actually strap and unstrap into and out of the car seat. That sounds like a HUGE PITA to me, and these days, by comparison, things are easier. They are not easy, just easier. We went to 3 stores and it took hours. When I'm by myself, I can jump out of the car and almost literally run into and out of the stores I patronize. You see, I loathe "shopping". When I want a product or service, I like the "blitzkrieg" approach, which is, get in, get it, get out. That means I can get my "shopping" done in record time, which is how I like it. Er... liked it. Babies slow everything down. You take longer to get out of the car, you take longer to get into and out of the store. Hell, you even drive slower. Yeah, slow is life. So, getting furnace filters, a camera tripod, and some D subminiature pins from Radio Shaft took something on the order of 3 hours. It should have taken an hour. 3 steps forward.
I haven't written in a few days because things have been a bit busy around here. I took it upon myself to "fix" the dishwasher. HAH! I took the suspect door parts apart, cleaned them, and put it back together, and turned the damn thing on. It started with a satisfying hum, and I was certain it was on its way to a "fixed" state. I walked away to putz around in the garage with my transmission for awhile, and came back in about 30-40 minutes later to find water on the floor, a funny smell in the air and a "dripping" sound coming from the basement. Oh yeah, I fixed it good alright. I was so mad I was fuming. I yanked the dishwasher out, and put it in the garage. It was old and on its way out anyway, and these attempts were to try to get a little more life out of it. Contrary to my goal, I perhaps shortened the life of it, damaged my subfloor in the kitchen, and damaged my ceiling downstairs, and perhaps the lighting fixure the water was actually dripping from. Industrial accident, flood damage and a fire hazard all wrapped up in one. How's THAT for FIXING IT EH? Sometimes only 2 steps back is optimistic.
Joy and I were out and about running errands yesterday. She in her car seat and me, um, driving. We have one of these car seats that she can stay strapped into, and to get her in and out of the car, all you do is mount her seat to a receptacle that's already mounted in the car with a "quick release" lever. So, getting her in and out of the car, as long as she's strapped in the seat, is a piece of cake. I think back on the days when, in order to transport little one hither and yon, one would have to actually strap and unstrap into and out of the car seat. That sounds like a HUGE PITA to me, and these days, by comparison, things are easier. They are not easy, just easier. We went to 3 stores and it took hours. When I'm by myself, I can jump out of the car and almost literally run into and out of the stores I patronize. You see, I loathe "shopping". When I want a product or service, I like the "blitzkrieg" approach, which is, get in, get it, get out. That means I can get my "shopping" done in record time, which is how I like it. Er... liked it. Babies slow everything down. You take longer to get out of the car, you take longer to get into and out of the store. Hell, you even drive slower. Yeah, slow is life. So, getting furnace filters, a camera tripod, and some D subminiature pins from Radio Shaft took something on the order of 3 hours. It should have taken an hour. 3 steps forward.
I haven't written in a few days because things have been a bit busy around here. I took it upon myself to "fix" the dishwasher. HAH! I took the suspect door parts apart, cleaned them, and put it back together, and turned the damn thing on. It started with a satisfying hum, and I was certain it was on its way to a "fixed" state. I walked away to putz around in the garage with my transmission for awhile, and came back in about 30-40 minutes later to find water on the floor, a funny smell in the air and a "dripping" sound coming from the basement. Oh yeah, I fixed it good alright. I was so mad I was fuming. I yanked the dishwasher out, and put it in the garage. It was old and on its way out anyway, and these attempts were to try to get a little more life out of it. Contrary to my goal, I perhaps shortened the life of it, damaged my subfloor in the kitchen, and damaged my ceiling downstairs, and perhaps the lighting fixure the water was actually dripping from. Industrial accident, flood damage and a fire hazard all wrapped up in one. How's THAT for FIXING IT EH? Sometimes only 2 steps back is optimistic.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Patience
I never believed was a virtue until today. I know I said "sometimes babies just cry" but the fact that my little one just won't stop no matter what I do is really a slap in the face. I know damn well she hasn't napped enough today and it's just a sleep thing. But I try everything I can think of, and she's still just going off. Now she's sitting in her swing, where daddy puts her when he needs a break, and being a complete doll, and I'm feeling like a tool. Has she been telling me all day "put me in the swing"? Maybe I should add the damned swing to my list. Maybe I should toss the damned list out the window; it's led me astray today.
When I speak of patience, do I mean patience with the child or patience with myself? I'm supposed to be the one in charge; I'm supposed to be all things to this child, and here I am completely defeated. How totally inappropriate of me to assume this child is being anything but completely true to herself and me. If that is so, why do I need patience with her? I'm supposed to be the smart one, and she's not even 3 months old for fuck's sake. It's not like she can tell me "don't sweat it old man, we'll figure it out". I'm sitting here laughing at myself and this whole situation, in a "what a pathetic so-and-so" sort of way. Sometimes all that gets me through is me telling myself "I am an intelligent and resourceful human being". Sometimes I'm full of crap.
When I was an aircraft mechanic working in Virginia, I was performing what's called an annual inspection on a small single engine aircraft, I believe it was a Cessna 206. Kinda cookie cutter deal; I'd done a million of em. An annual is required by the FAA, and it's like a prostate exam. Nobody likes em even the guy doing it, but ya gotta do it. There are these things called Airworthiness Directives that are published by the FAA. They are documentation about a fault that someone found with some component of the aircraft, and reported. They're divided up into airframe, powerplant, and accessories categories. These Airworthiness Directives or "ADs" for short, are just that, directives. Meaning I MUST comply, or make sure they've all been complied with. So when I do an annual inspection or "annual" for short and sign it off, I'm saying that "I've complied with all applicable AD's and found this aircraft to be airworthy" and signed my name and a&p number (number assigned by the FAA to indicate my licensed status). So, you might be able to imagine if there are ADs for every aircraft out there in one category or another, that there are LOTS of ADs. There are. Thousands. Maybe even millions. The normal procedure would be to look in the airframe section, and look up my airframe by serial number, and see what applies. Do the same for the engine. The same for the propeller. The same for every. Component. On. Board. The accessories section covers everything that's not an airframe, or an engine. Seriously, how can I say I've checked them ALL? Well that's what I say, every time. The owner / pilot expects that of me and puts that trust in me. That's a trust I hold dear.
I signed the plane off, and off the guy went. A few days later, I heard he was dead. He crashed in the plane I signed off. He ran into some "IFR" conditions, and hammered it in somewhere out in Colorado. IFR means Instrument Flight Rules, or just inclement weather. Crappy weather. In his instrument panel was a device called an HSI or Horizontal Situation Indicator. The HSI is the main source of attitude and direction indication. I mean there are others, like an altimeter, airspeed indicator, compass, etc. There are "old school" instruments, but the HSI is a fancy backlit, really expensive doodad that is designed to replace those, or more accurately, make all those readings in one place. His flight plan, or communications with control towers along the way indicated he was using his HSI. So there I was, sitting in the Director of Maintenance's office, with the lead inspector, the owner of the company, and some serious looking dudes from the local FAA office going over my logbook entries with a fine tooth comb, "interviewing" (interrogating) me about the inspection and boring holes in me with their stares. I was told to "stay close" and that the inspection would take a few days, and "don't worry". Yeah. I'm cool as a cucumber alright.
A few LONG days later, everyone who should not have been there disappeared, and everything was back to normal. I went to work with a knot in my stomach, like I had been doing for almost a week, thinking I was going to be in jail at any moment, and everyone was all "'morning Pete... hay Pete wassup... howdy Pete". WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON? I was almost insane at this point. The Director of Maintenance pulled a crazy me into his office and told me the feds were gone, I'm absolved of any sin and I'm just supposed to go on like it's a regular day. WHAT?!?. Yeah, all is well. They were here so long because of an AD. There was an AD on this guy's HSI that said "this unit is known to fail under these conditions" or something like that. The Director is telling me this, and I'm getting ready to pass out or throw up or maybe both. The AD listed that this was only applicable to a specific serial number range. The HSI in the Dead Man's plane was ONE NUMBER outside that range. Jesus. Talk about the skin of my teeth. If the equipment I signed off was deemed to be in the range of that AD, I would be negligent. I would lose my license and open myself to all sorts of legal issues. But all is well right? Yeah, sure.
I never even saw that AD. I missed it completely. If I'd have seen it, since the numbers were so close, would I have complied anyway? Maybe. Maybe not, I'll never know. None of this changes the fact that a guy was dead, and it was REAL CLOSE to my fault. He was a nice guy too, I met him when he brought the plane to me.
The patience I'm speaking of is hers with me.
When I speak of patience, do I mean patience with the child or patience with myself? I'm supposed to be the one in charge; I'm supposed to be all things to this child, and here I am completely defeated. How totally inappropriate of me to assume this child is being anything but completely true to herself and me. If that is so, why do I need patience with her? I'm supposed to be the smart one, and she's not even 3 months old for fuck's sake. It's not like she can tell me "don't sweat it old man, we'll figure it out". I'm sitting here laughing at myself and this whole situation, in a "what a pathetic so-and-so" sort of way. Sometimes all that gets me through is me telling myself "I am an intelligent and resourceful human being". Sometimes I'm full of crap.
When I was an aircraft mechanic working in Virginia, I was performing what's called an annual inspection on a small single engine aircraft, I believe it was a Cessna 206. Kinda cookie cutter deal; I'd done a million of em. An annual is required by the FAA, and it's like a prostate exam. Nobody likes em even the guy doing it, but ya gotta do it. There are these things called Airworthiness Directives that are published by the FAA. They are documentation about a fault that someone found with some component of the aircraft, and reported. They're divided up into airframe, powerplant, and accessories categories. These Airworthiness Directives or "ADs" for short, are just that, directives. Meaning I MUST comply, or make sure they've all been complied with. So when I do an annual inspection or "annual" for short and sign it off, I'm saying that "I've complied with all applicable AD's and found this aircraft to be airworthy" and signed my name and a&p number (number assigned by the FAA to indicate my licensed status). So, you might be able to imagine if there are ADs for every aircraft out there in one category or another, that there are LOTS of ADs. There are. Thousands. Maybe even millions. The normal procedure would be to look in the airframe section, and look up my airframe by serial number, and see what applies. Do the same for the engine. The same for the propeller. The same for every. Component. On. Board. The accessories section covers everything that's not an airframe, or an engine. Seriously, how can I say I've checked them ALL? Well that's what I say, every time. The owner / pilot expects that of me and puts that trust in me. That's a trust I hold dear.
I signed the plane off, and off the guy went. A few days later, I heard he was dead. He crashed in the plane I signed off. He ran into some "IFR" conditions, and hammered it in somewhere out in Colorado. IFR means Instrument Flight Rules, or just inclement weather. Crappy weather. In his instrument panel was a device called an HSI or Horizontal Situation Indicator. The HSI is the main source of attitude and direction indication. I mean there are others, like an altimeter, airspeed indicator, compass, etc. There are "old school" instruments, but the HSI is a fancy backlit, really expensive doodad that is designed to replace those, or more accurately, make all those readings in one place. His flight plan, or communications with control towers along the way indicated he was using his HSI. So there I was, sitting in the Director of Maintenance's office, with the lead inspector, the owner of the company, and some serious looking dudes from the local FAA office going over my logbook entries with a fine tooth comb, "interviewing" (interrogating) me about the inspection and boring holes in me with their stares. I was told to "stay close" and that the inspection would take a few days, and "don't worry". Yeah. I'm cool as a cucumber alright.
A few LONG days later, everyone who should not have been there disappeared, and everything was back to normal. I went to work with a knot in my stomach, like I had been doing for almost a week, thinking I was going to be in jail at any moment, and everyone was all "'morning Pete... hay Pete wassup... howdy Pete". WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON? I was almost insane at this point. The Director of Maintenance pulled a crazy me into his office and told me the feds were gone, I'm absolved of any sin and I'm just supposed to go on like it's a regular day. WHAT?!?. Yeah, all is well. They were here so long because of an AD. There was an AD on this guy's HSI that said "this unit is known to fail under these conditions" or something like that. The Director is telling me this, and I'm getting ready to pass out or throw up or maybe both. The AD listed that this was only applicable to a specific serial number range. The HSI in the Dead Man's plane was ONE NUMBER outside that range. Jesus. Talk about the skin of my teeth. If the equipment I signed off was deemed to be in the range of that AD, I would be negligent. I would lose my license and open myself to all sorts of legal issues. But all is well right? Yeah, sure.
I never even saw that AD. I missed it completely. If I'd have seen it, since the numbers were so close, would I have complied anyway? Maybe. Maybe not, I'll never know. None of this changes the fact that a guy was dead, and it was REAL CLOSE to my fault. He was a nice guy too, I met him when he brought the plane to me.
The patience I'm speaking of is hers with me.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Prorities
If this experience has taught me nothing, it's taught me what's important and what's not. I was driving with my Brother in Law to our house in Leadville CO to move some furniture for some future tenants. We have a house in Leadville we call our Mountain Ski Chalet; it's probably more accurate to call it our Mountain Home We Can't Sell. But hell tenants are better than an empty house. Anyway, back to my point; I knew this already, it just kind of hit me like a ton of bricks maybe because we were talking about it. We were driving Ruby, my 20 year old truck with a quarter million miles on it, and a normally aspirated small block engine pulling a trailer in the mountains. Slowly. We were approaching an area called Officer's Gulch, an area between Silverthorne and Vail, and we both admitted to the other we had to pee badly. I didn't want to stop because things were going so well (no breakdowns) and I didn't want to hex Ruby's efforts or our entire day.
We were probably a few miles to the nearest "conventional" stop when we discussed pulling over and just "whipping it out" to pee. It was then and there when the aforementioned ton hit me. There was a time when I would not do that. I would be embarrassed or caught up in propriety or whatever you want to call it; I wouldn't do it, unless it's an absolute emergency, like on our road trip back from Seattle and I had to go. Not #1 but #2! It took a severity 1 CRITICAL situation to get me to stop alongside the road somewhere in Wyoming to do what bears do in the woods. Fortunately I found a ranch exit. So to that rancher....umm.... sorry. I said all that to say this: I will 99.9% of the time NOT stop without a proper potty.
That was then; this is now. Now, I would stop without hesitating. See, stuff like self esteem and an over whelming sense of pride in self has no place in my life anymore. I mean what do I really care if anyone sees my weenie? Half of us have one, and those who don't have probably seen one, so what's the deal? Who really cares? Why is that important? Truth is, it's not anymore. Other than it might be illegal, that is. Of course, its not illegal if you don't get caught right? I have never been in that part of the local paper called "police beat" where stories of police activity are shared with the readership, and I don't want to end up there in that way. I'd rather not be in there at all, but if I must, I'd rather it be a bank robbery or something cool like that, not getting caught peeing on the side of the road. But the bottom line is, what was important to me before doesn't even register anymore. I can only have so many important things in my mind, and this Brand New Human Being takes up almost all of it, which kicks almost all other things out. I fade into the woodwork; I cease to be important; aside from my ability to change diapers, feed and love this child, I become almost irrelevant. That sounds harsh, but that's the truth. I become at least #2 and maybe less (not referring to the #2 mentioned above, I meant #2 in IMPORTANCE!). Things like regular meals, showers, shaving (never really important to me, but I include it anyway), and a myriad of personal things I used to do on a regular basis now become almost a reward. I mean I'm feeling pretty lucky if I get a shower on any given day. I didn't take one today, for example. I might have brushed my teeth, I can't remember.
It's funny how a long drive and a discussion of bodily functions can define a complete shift in my personal philosophy. kinda disgusting subject matter, but it drove home my point (heh heh). We ended up stopping at the next gas station, which was only a few more miles, and buying a diet coke to make myself less guilty for using the facilities. We never broke down that day and made it home ok.
We were probably a few miles to the nearest "conventional" stop when we discussed pulling over and just "whipping it out" to pee. It was then and there when the aforementioned ton hit me. There was a time when I would not do that. I would be embarrassed or caught up in propriety or whatever you want to call it; I wouldn't do it, unless it's an absolute emergency, like on our road trip back from Seattle and I had to go. Not #1 but #2! It took a severity 1 CRITICAL situation to get me to stop alongside the road somewhere in Wyoming to do what bears do in the woods. Fortunately I found a ranch exit. So to that rancher....umm.... sorry. I said all that to say this: I will 99.9% of the time NOT stop without a proper potty.
That was then; this is now. Now, I would stop without hesitating. See, stuff like self esteem and an over whelming sense of pride in self has no place in my life anymore. I mean what do I really care if anyone sees my weenie? Half of us have one, and those who don't have probably seen one, so what's the deal? Who really cares? Why is that important? Truth is, it's not anymore. Other than it might be illegal, that is. Of course, its not illegal if you don't get caught right? I have never been in that part of the local paper called "police beat" where stories of police activity are shared with the readership, and I don't want to end up there in that way. I'd rather not be in there at all, but if I must, I'd rather it be a bank robbery or something cool like that, not getting caught peeing on the side of the road. But the bottom line is, what was important to me before doesn't even register anymore. I can only have so many important things in my mind, and this Brand New Human Being takes up almost all of it, which kicks almost all other things out. I fade into the woodwork; I cease to be important; aside from my ability to change diapers, feed and love this child, I become almost irrelevant. That sounds harsh, but that's the truth. I become at least #2 and maybe less (not referring to the #2 mentioned above, I meant #2 in IMPORTANCE!). Things like regular meals, showers, shaving (never really important to me, but I include it anyway), and a myriad of personal things I used to do on a regular basis now become almost a reward. I mean I'm feeling pretty lucky if I get a shower on any given day. I didn't take one today, for example. I might have brushed my teeth, I can't remember.
It's funny how a long drive and a discussion of bodily functions can define a complete shift in my personal philosophy. kinda disgusting subject matter, but it drove home my point (heh heh). We ended up stopping at the next gas station, which was only a few more miles, and buying a diet coke to make myself less guilty for using the facilities. We never broke down that day and made it home ok.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Boredom
There we were, having this situation all under control, happy with our perspective rolls in this world; she a baby and me a daddy. Where do you go from here? What do you do when there is no crisis, no feeding, no changing, no nothing? Do you just sit there and stare at each other? We play for a little bit every day. I mean, there’s only so much you can do with a newborn, but there is some stuff. We do sit-ups, we roll on our tummy, we make our legs kick more while saying “kick kick kick”. By “we” I mean I actually manipulate the baby and she drools. That’s not true at all, sometimes there is no drool. Boredom was a huge problem for me. I’m a man’s man, remember? I’m used to action, right? This was tough for me. I would take her downstairs, put her on a soft blanket on the couch next to me, and once the play was done, all we would do was watch tv. Noise, as it turns out is soothing to her, by the way. For the whole first week, that’s what my life was. I thought I was going to die. One day my wife came down there and told me she went through the very same things I was now going through. Remember, she was staying home with Joy for the first 2 months or so, so her opinion held credence with me. She told me that, while I could sit here and catch up on all my ‘80s movies playing on cable, I could do something else as well. I didn’t know what that meant. What can you “do” with a baby? Well, for instance, you can put her in a bouncy chair and let her watch you fix the garbage disposal, or put her in her car seat or in her stroller and let her watch you pick up debris in the yard (as long as it’s warm enough). Seriously? She can do that? I can… WE can do that? Yah. You can. My laundry didn’t just do itself for those first 2 months, although it seemed like it. My wife is a pretty smart cookie.
Slowly I started to engage the child in that way. Now – there is a limit to how much she’s willing to “help me” with. By “help me” I mean “don’t scream while I do this”. There is a limit but there is an opportunity to do things while you have a baby. Fortunately, we had just moved into a house that needed LOTS of work, so there was NO shortage of projects. Some were longer and required more resources and time than others, but for the most part, I kept busy. I’m grateful I had the mad skillz to get some of that stuff done.
During all this plumbing work and electrical repairs and general spiffing up, I still felt short somehow. A piece of me was missing. Enter The Dodge. The Dodge is a truck I received in lieu of some payroll my company, who was going under and desperate, never gave me. It was a 2007 Dodge 2500 4x4 Heavy Duty with a Cummins Turbo Diesel. WOW. Talk about manly! Well, it had a bad transmission. So, all this manly potential was draining out via this broken transmission. Do I have the nerve to rebuild a transmission with a baby on board? Damn right I do. Stay tuned.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Turning a Corner
... Weight the outside peg. Sorry a little off-road riding technique humor there. You'll have to forgive me, it's snowing like crazy and I'm jonesing to go riding. I'll explain later.
I'm feeling pretty good today; we are doing housework that *really* needed to be done, the little one is in the tender care of my better half, and things are going fairly well. I got pretty good sleep last night, and even though we (baby and me) were "off schedule" with feedings, I still got up feeling ok, and well, doing pretty well. My head is clear, I don't feel drunk or oppressed, and I'm probably easier to get along with. FTW.
I think one of the best ways to survive this is communication. Yeah there I go again; all about the communication. It's true. Honestly the best way to survive almost any traumatic event is communication. I think we wouldn't need therapists so much if everyone just had someone to talk to; who'll listen. I read alot about single dads / moms doing this alone. I don't have a clue how they do it. If I didn't have my soulmate to talk things over with, I would be adrift. Truly.
So, what is today's lesson on how to survive raising a child? Well, some time off duty, honest work, and a good night's sleep have really brightened my outlook today so I'll say that... and communication. I would also add exercise I think. I spent a good bit of yesterday shoveling snow. Whereas that is not my favorite activity it got me outside and working up a sweat. I shoveled snow at our house and my in-laws' house, which is only 2 blocks away. It felt good to help them, but I think part of my good feeling today is the fact I worked a little yesterday. So, I think I will add that to the list. Exercise.
We actually have an exercise device in the basement where me and Joy spend lots of our time. NO EXCUSES whatsoever why I haven't spent more time on that thing, except I hate exercise. I know my weight is going up a little, I can feel it; so why don't I get on that thing and sweat a little? Perhaps I shall. I'm sure it'll be better for me.
So what exactly has turned a corner in me today? To be honest I'm not real sure. I'm even a little rambling. I just feel as if something has and wanted to document. Maybe some event in the future will see me reviewing this post and saying "ahh I remember, it was..."
I'm feeling pretty good today; we are doing housework that *really* needed to be done, the little one is in the tender care of my better half, and things are going fairly well. I got pretty good sleep last night, and even though we (baby and me) were "off schedule" with feedings, I still got up feeling ok, and well, doing pretty well. My head is clear, I don't feel drunk or oppressed, and I'm probably easier to get along with. FTW.
I think one of the best ways to survive this is communication. Yeah there I go again; all about the communication. It's true. Honestly the best way to survive almost any traumatic event is communication. I think we wouldn't need therapists so much if everyone just had someone to talk to; who'll listen. I read alot about single dads / moms doing this alone. I don't have a clue how they do it. If I didn't have my soulmate to talk things over with, I would be adrift. Truly.
So, what is today's lesson on how to survive raising a child? Well, some time off duty, honest work, and a good night's sleep have really brightened my outlook today so I'll say that... and communication. I would also add exercise I think. I spent a good bit of yesterday shoveling snow. Whereas that is not my favorite activity it got me outside and working up a sweat. I shoveled snow at our house and my in-laws' house, which is only 2 blocks away. It felt good to help them, but I think part of my good feeling today is the fact I worked a little yesterday. So, I think I will add that to the list. Exercise.
We actually have an exercise device in the basement where me and Joy spend lots of our time. NO EXCUSES whatsoever why I haven't spent more time on that thing, except I hate exercise. I know my weight is going up a little, I can feel it; so why don't I get on that thing and sweat a little? Perhaps I shall. I'm sure it'll be better for me.
So what exactly has turned a corner in me today? To be honest I'm not real sure. I'm even a little rambling. I just feel as if something has and wanted to document. Maybe some event in the future will see me reviewing this post and saying "ahh I remember, it was..."
Friday, February 3, 2012
Teamwork and Responsibility
So now I’m a stay at home dad, and my only responsibility is this little girl, I’m not supposed to care about stuff like ‘whose job’ any particular thing is right? On paper, that’s absolutely correct. I should not care anymore if my wife is better at some stuff than I am. Sure. Truth is, it bugs the shit out of me. Here is where the major conflict comes in to play. I used to be a productive member of society; I used to make money; I used to be lots of things to lots of people. I used to be a real man. Now I’m a dad to a little girl and a husband to a woman, and that’s about it. I’m supposed to be ok with this. This is, afterall, what I signed on for, right? This is perhaps the biggest problem I face. Now I should disclose that, when she worked before, my wife made more money than me, so I had to get used to that, which I did. It was difficult to dispose of the stereotypes in that area but I did successfully and moved on. My wife and I used to joke that she married me for my money.
Now I’m not making any money at all. When you stop to think about it, you might wonder “who the hell cares about money?” Money can’t buy anything that’s important anyway. Try telling that to my ego. I am the one who is supposed to be raising this child, and my wife is the one who is supposed to work. When Joy fusses or cries and that interferes with something she is doing like a phone conference or something, I feel lower than low. I mean, I’m a Big Tough Guy and I can’t even do THIS?!? Jesus check my masculinity at the door and just give up.
That would be a cowards way out, wouldn’t it? One more thing in a long list of sacrifices I make for my little girl is my pride. Or at least some of it. When I was faced with a difficult problem in my professional life, one that I could not handle alone, I would have to rely on my fellow technicians sometimes to solve the problem. Afterall, it was my job to fix the system not hang on foolish pride. Sometimes, as in the case of a 911 center failure, people’s lives even depended on me doing my job. My work enabled the real heroes; the EMS people, Law Enforcement, and the like to do their good works, which was help people in need and keep people safe. If I did my job right, they could do theirs. I tell you I was proud of my job! I felt like I made a difference. I felt like I was doing my bit to be a part of the solution not a part of the problem. There was no room for pride. There was only room for “git-r-dun”, which I did. Regularly.
Now I have this Brand New Human Being who just won’t stop crying. I mean I’ve gone through my checklist and she’s just having a fit. Yeah, I remember the last item, sometimes babies just cry. But that doesn’t help the fact that I’m supposed to be doing this, and there is NOTHING I can do to console her. Sometimes I have so swallow my pride and ask for help. Sometimes just handing the baby to someone else stops the crying. Sometimes nothing in the world will stop the crying, but it’s my job to try. Yup throw some of that pride out the window and do what’s right for the child. Once you do that, you realize you don’t miss it anyway. It was just this useless bit of stuff to carry around with you. Now it’s gone, and you don’t have to worry about it. I can say it’s a relief. It’s a load off my shoulders. Am I learning something here?
Baby Brain
Baby brain is a concept and a term that I have neither discovered nor coined. It refers to the degradation of your brain when you’re with your baby too much. It’s somewhat laughable the idea of being with my daughter too much, but there it is. As a communications technician, I had become accustomed to technical, critical, on – the – spot thinking, usually in a crisis situation. I was capable of complex thoughts and keeping complex information for immediate recall. I had to learn to do that to be a good technician. Now that I’m a daddy all I really care about is when she was fed last, and do we have enough diapers, and enough wipes, and really really simple things like that. I now suffer from baby brain. I seem to have completely lost the ability to think. We just moved into a new house, and if I’m ever abducted and left in the desert to be picked up by the local Ranger, I will be screwed because I won’t be able to tell the guy my address. If I ever end up in jail, my ‘one phone call’ will be to 411 to look myself up. I tell you, it’s sad. I miss my brain.
I’m told that someday my brain will come back. Someday I’ll be able to remember my zip code, and program the thermostat without calling customer support. I look forward to that day. Until that day, I am going to consider the loss of my mind just another sacrifice I make for my daughter. I make it easily and happily, and I would do it 100 times over if she needed it. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss it. I fear that soon I won’t be able to complete a sentence. That oughtta make this blog interesting soon, if nothing else.
Would I rather have my mind back and not be absolutely knocked out of my boots when she smiles at me? Nope. I like things the way they are. She deserves it that way. I'm wondering now if Baby Brain is nature's way of kinda numbing me so I'm more suited for raising a child.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Patterns, Breast Feeding, Crying and a Little About the Baby
So now I’m a few days in and I’m comfortable with the crisis management, the fear is waning and I’m getting into the rhythm of child rearing. Rearing’s a funny word, isn’t it? Yes there is a natural rhythm to all of this; the cycles being feeding, changing, sleeping, feeding, changing, sleeping. My sister in law, whom I love dearly, taught me something here. Regiment. She taught me that having patterns or establishing a program of regimented behavior is important; that way your child can resonate with that regiment and feel and do better. Afterall, don’t we all work well within boundaries?
I can say now that it’s completely foolish, unless you’re my sister in law, who is superwoman, to think I can establish anything the kid is going to resonate with. The kid is going to establish the patterns and I have to resonate. The frequency will modulate as well. The feedings don’t occur at 3:00, 6:00, 9:00 and 12:00. They might be 4:30, 7:15, 10:40, and 1:12. Once in awhile, I get back to the 3,6,9,12 and feel good about myself and the world, for a day or so, but the frequency WILL modulate. Bottom line is, you gotta feed that kid on a very regular basis (ours is about every 3 hours) and change it when the diaper is dirty. It’s that simple. When we complicate it further is when it gets complicated. I have come to appreciate the KISS approach. Keep It Simple Stupid.
I’m going to toss in a bit about crying here. I’ve talked to a few guys about this, and there are generally 2 schools of thought; either the baby’s crying is “music to my ears” or “like fingernails on a chalkboard”. I am easily and completely in the latter group. You see, I’ve been a technician in one way or another for over 20 years. I have learned that things make noise when something’s wrong. It’s my job to find the noise, fix the problem, and restore normal operation. This is DEEPLY engrained in me. So, when this Brand New Human Being starts to cry, I am forced into action. It hurts me when I hear an engine about to throw a rod, or a repeater about to fry its power supply. It hurts MUCH MORE when I know my baby is crying. This is flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood in crisis, in need. In need of me. In need of me to act. Now. I can tell you the whole world can be coming down around me, if my daughter is crying, I will be by her side. I’m getting a little spiritual here, but that’s how I feel about the crying. I NEED to stop it. Now, I’m not going to stop it at all costs, no shaking here! NONE! Remember my checklist from a few posts ago? I mentioned some things you can do to stop crying? Well, I added one more thing to the list. That is – Sometimes Babies Just Cry. That’s brilliant, huh? That’s been the one of the toughest things for me; understanding that sometimes they just cry.
It makes sense somehow to throw in a note about breastfeeding here too. I will NOT launch into unnecessarily long drivel about the subject unlike every other manuscript out there. Our experience with breastfeeding started with my wife wanting to feed the child naturally. I believe in the beauty of the human body and the natural way of things so I completely agreed. Once we had child in hand, the story turned out differently. The “latching” is the method by which this Brand New Human Being somehow figures out how to place her mouth, tongue, gums, etc around it’s mothers nipple to facilitate the sucking so that the maximum amount of material within the breast makes it into the stomach of the little one. When I thought about it, it started to feel WAY too complicated. But what did I know, right? Well – at the hospital the Breast Nazis descend on you like roaches on a moldy sandwich. They feel the need to get all up in your business and suddenly this “natural” and “beautiful” thing turns into something clinical and forced. I mean, they told us that “you must bring child to breast every 2 hours” (!). Every 2 HOURS? ARE YOU F#$%ING KIDDING ME? Let’s do a little math here: if it takes 30 – 45 mins each feeding, that means my wife would be spending about 1 out of every 2 hours with this baby attached to her breasts. Yeah, ok, all nature and beauty aside that really sucks. Every 2 hours… you Breast Nazis can kiss my patootie. So, we decided that pumping the breast milk into bottles to feed Joy would be better. Better method to regulate and monitor the delivery and better for my wife and better for our marriage. Make yourself happy here; it’s a personal decision, and ours was to pump. Not saying what’s right or wrong. Bottom line; feed the kid.
So I’m home with Joy, my wife is working (fortunately she can work from home) in our home office upstairs. I’ve got the baby changed, fed, and in her “regular” clothes, which usually consists of a “onesie” and some additional full coverage “footie” I won’t go into clothing here; google it if you want to know. We’re in the rec room in the basement, and I’m feeling pretty good about myself. This baby is kicking and cooing and doing all the things a baby should do. So… ahh… what do we do now? Stay tuned...
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Getting Started: Getting over Fear
One of my first problems was fear. I was afraid of many things; many things I would never be able to describe or define, and most of which would soon disappear. My first fear was that of being emasculated. I like to think I'm a man's man. I ride motorcycles, drive an old Ford truck, own and shoot guns and so on and so forth. In spite of my worst fears, I did not sprout a vagina and start to care about things like color and feelings. My parts are all still intact, thank you very much, and I neither know nor care what color my living room is. Yeah oh yeah I change diapers. I mean I wipe pretty disgusting stuff off private parts that aren't mine. I intentionally try to remove boogers and other nose contents, and clean the crap that accumulates between small fingers, but I'm all here.
Fear takes many forms. Suddenly not only was I a father (which, believe me is odd in and of itself), but this tiny person now relied on me for her day to day care. I had been in the communications industry as a technician for over 10 years, so I was very scientifically minded and of course, all about communication. I'm used to asking or querying anyone and anything on status and getting some sort of status report. I would then act accordingly of course, right? Well try that on a baby and see how far it gets you. So, my fear was how do I soothe this baby who's wailing in my ear? I can't ask it how its doing, what's wrong, what the hell can I do? After a short period of time I developed a checklist of sorts. Is she warm? Is she tired (this one is tough to decipher this early in the game)? Is she hungry? Is her diaper dirty / wet?
I would make my way through that checklist every time she cried. I mean, all these books tell us that you can "decipher" cries your baby makes right? Yeah sure. Crap. I refer back to my lack of caring or even knowledge of feelings. Remember I'm a guy, and pretty stereotypical on many fronts. Sensitivity is one of them. I don't do sensitive or subtle. So I have this baby who's crying and she's warm, fed, clean (mostly), and rested. What the hell do I do now? I added one more thing to my checklist. Attention. Sometimes they just want attention. Attention can come in many forms - holding her, singing to her, dancing with her, showing her stuff, or whatever. Any time I spend with her is attention.
But what happens when I made it through my checklist and she's still screaming? I refer to Dr. Harvey Karp and his "5 S" techniques. GUYS - GET HIS DVD! You'll probably have to go to a breastfeeding store or someplace like that to get it but DO IT! Seriously. He has a few techniques that help soothe young babies that work! His philosophy is, in part, to remind the baby of time spent in the womb. In other words, sometimes baby is frustrated that she was in this perfect microcosm for 9 months and now has to deal with All This Crap. I can relate, so we watched the DVD and hell if that stuff didn't do the trick. Every time so far. EVERY TIME SO FAR! Google it, check it out.
So I added Dr Karp's stuff to my checklist. I more or less made a sub-checklist under the "attention" item that had all his stuff in it. Every time y'all.
I named this blog "Slow It Down Daddy" because my life is now much MUCH slower than it was before. I'm no longer screaming all over the state responding to public safety communications failures or 911 centers, I'm now rushing to the aide of a screaming baby who's now by my side with a wet diaper. I'm off to change that because that's what I do. My life is slow but I'm proud of it. More later.
Fear takes many forms. Suddenly not only was I a father (which, believe me is odd in and of itself), but this tiny person now relied on me for her day to day care. I had been in the communications industry as a technician for over 10 years, so I was very scientifically minded and of course, all about communication. I'm used to asking or querying anyone and anything on status and getting some sort of status report. I would then act accordingly of course, right? Well try that on a baby and see how far it gets you. So, my fear was how do I soothe this baby who's wailing in my ear? I can't ask it how its doing, what's wrong, what the hell can I do? After a short period of time I developed a checklist of sorts. Is she warm? Is she tired (this one is tough to decipher this early in the game)? Is she hungry? Is her diaper dirty / wet?
I would make my way through that checklist every time she cried. I mean, all these books tell us that you can "decipher" cries your baby makes right? Yeah sure. Crap. I refer back to my lack of caring or even knowledge of feelings. Remember I'm a guy, and pretty stereotypical on many fronts. Sensitivity is one of them. I don't do sensitive or subtle. So I have this baby who's crying and she's warm, fed, clean (mostly), and rested. What the hell do I do now? I added one more thing to my checklist. Attention. Sometimes they just want attention. Attention can come in many forms - holding her, singing to her, dancing with her, showing her stuff, or whatever. Any time I spend with her is attention.
But what happens when I made it through my checklist and she's still screaming? I refer to Dr. Harvey Karp and his "5 S" techniques. GUYS - GET HIS DVD! You'll probably have to go to a breastfeeding store or someplace like that to get it but DO IT! Seriously. He has a few techniques that help soothe young babies that work! His philosophy is, in part, to remind the baby of time spent in the womb. In other words, sometimes baby is frustrated that she was in this perfect microcosm for 9 months and now has to deal with All This Crap. I can relate, so we watched the DVD and hell if that stuff didn't do the trick. Every time so far. EVERY TIME SO FAR! Google it, check it out.
So I added Dr Karp's stuff to my checklist. I more or less made a sub-checklist under the "attention" item that had all his stuff in it. Every time y'all.
I named this blog "Slow It Down Daddy" because my life is now much MUCH slower than it was before. I'm no longer screaming all over the state responding to public safety communications failures or 911 centers, I'm now rushing to the aide of a screaming baby who's now by my side with a wet diaper. I'm off to change that because that's what I do. My life is slow but I'm proud of it. More later.
So now I'm a stay at home dad.
My beautiful baby daughter, herein referred to as "Bundle of Joy" or "Joy" for short, was born 11 weeks ago. 2 weeks ago I lost my job. Thankfully my wife was able to go back to work for her previous employer, and would make enough money so that our money needs were taken care of. So, where did that leave me? Well, I'm now a stay at home dad. This is new to me. I've been working since I was something like 14 or 15 years old, and now I'm 39 (really I am 39) and a daddy and unemployed. So I decided, at the behest of my mother actually, to write a blog. This blog is not about pregnancy, the birth process, not a whole lot about women in general. You can read tons of misinformation on any of those subjects on your own. Good luck with that. This blog is about me, a man who's been working his whole life, and is now suddenly the primary caregiver of a small child. This blog is for men. This blog will hopefully serve as a channel to converse, to exchange ideas and to spawn new thoughts on the whole process. Ideally, this blog will help me maintain my sanity during this process. Stay tuned.
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