I’m shocked that I only discovered these pieces from the NY Times and New Yorker yesterday. It’s a brave new world to be a dad. I can’t get enough of this New Yorker cover from early May.
Meditations from the Dad in the Minivan. My favorite is “Show me a man who thinks Costco is uncool, and I’ll show you a man who doesn’t have kids.”.
Oliver finally worked through his first box of diapers earlier this week. Our first box was a gift from a friend, Pampers Swaddlers 1-2. Our new box we bought months ago during an early nesting phase from Costco, Kirkland Supremes 1-2. Our little guy seems to be fine with either one – he’s not picky and doesn’t mind going when he needs to go. But after a few days, I’ve decided that I have a diaper preface. I never thought I’d actually have a diaper preface. When I decided to go into the whole being a dad thing, the thought of developing a diaper preface never occurred to me. I mean, I thought I’d start liking different products but actually having a preface for a diaper? Sheesh. No way. I was more considered about making sure Oliver develops a dinosaur preface like his dad. But, here it is, I actually have a preface on infant diapers and I’m squarely in the Pampers Swaddlers camp. If you have a baby coming in your life and you are going the disposable route, give them a try. You might like them.
And why? Well, first off, the Pampers adhesive latching system is back to front rather than front to back. This means that you get to lock and load your baby without having to play the game of lifting or moving your kind while latching the the diaper closed sight unseen. Since there isn’t a parenthood Olympics, aiming for a blind landing like a gymnist or a diving champion doesn’t make much sense. Why make your life harder? There’s no one with a scorecard next to the changing table looking at your execution score. And if there is, well, just keep your legs tight and together. The judges notice that.
Now the latching system is great but probably the best thing about the Pampers is that there is a slight line on the outside of the diaper that turns green when the diaper is wet or soiled. That is also the worse thing about this diaper as well because you will always know when the diaper is dirty. Oliver’s diaper is basically accusing me of being a bad parent if I see that line slightly green and I ignore it for a bit. Sure, the baby doesn’t care sometimes and it might not be totally soaked, just a little damp, but that diaper is pointing its big green finger at you and saying CHANGE ME. CHANGE ME. CHANGE ME. And when it is three a.m. in the morning, having Oliver’s diaper yelling at me is not really what I need in my life. But if you do, the price for Pampers at Amazon isn’t too shabby at 19 cents a piece. But can I get away with having diapers delivered to my internship site? Probably because I already have. Nothing like opening up a box containing a giant thing of diapers infront of parishioners. I recommend it if you haven’t tried it.
If you’re like me, you know what P.v.P is. If you don’t, you obviously are not a nerd like me. P.v.P is player vs player; it is the term used to describe when actual human beings, in an online game, fight each other. I’m terrible at P.v.P which means I did, a lot, and kill, not so much. Killing virtual people, spaceships, tanks, whatever, is just not my specialty.
Not enough fatherhood books are written by nerds it seems because no one told me that babies have their own version of P.v.P. All parents know this but I’ve seen it in acronym form before. Luckily, K is cleverer than me and figured it out. First off, babies aren’t going against other babies – they are going after mom/dad. Even though Oliver can’t focus on anything farther than 12 inches from his face, and he can’t track things with his eyes yet, he is prepped to fight. I find that Oliver prefers his P.v.P experience when I’m changing his diaper. Sure, he’ll act fussy or complacent when I put him on the changing table but that is just an act. It is all part of the game. He is camping the changing table, ready to strike when his enemy is near.
His first trick is to wait until the dirty diaper has been unlocked. You can try to shield yourself but it won’t work. He had 9 months of bootcamp training in the womb. He is prepared. He is prepped. He lets me have it. P.v.P at its finest. And by P.v.P, I mean, poop-vomit-pee. It is the baby hat trick. If your kid doesn’t hit you with all three, your baby is not trying hard enough.
Fatherhood is fun….and messy.
On Sunday, we took Oliver to church for the very first time. Oliver, mom, dad, and grandpa (who was visiting from out of town) met at Trinity Lutheran Church, Long Island City to worship with our congregation and introduce Oliver to church for the first time. And he was a hit. People loved him, gathered around him, gawked at him, and he was the center of attention during his first day at church. And he took it like a champ. He flirted with the pretty ladies, cried when he wanted to be walked around, and he did what he wanted to do. Basically, he acted like he did at home. The place didn’t freak him out in the slightest.
We arrived at Trinity, magically, before the service started. Now, I say that our arrival was magical because, with our move into Manhattan last year, it now takes us close to an hour and a half to commute to church on Sunday morning. Yet, it seems our little guy is a good luck charm because we didn’t wait longer than a few minutes for our trains on Sunday. Oliver woke up as we walked into the Nave and became the star of the show. The old ladies gravitated to him like moths to a flame. Everyone seemed to notice how much hair he had. And, of course, my lack of hair was pointed out as well. I hope Oliver keeps his hair as long as possible – and doesn’t start losing it when he is finishing up high school like I did.
The service started and he feasted. Oliver wasn’t going to let some sharing of the peace get in the way of his third breakfast. After that, he flirted with the pretty women behind us (because he has good taste), and he ended up in my arms so I could take him up for his first children’s sermon. Now, since I didn’t grow up in the church, the “children’s sermon” is a strange beast for me. The few young children, and their parents, wander up to sit on the stairs before the altar and face the congregation. Oliver was a little fussy as we sat on the stairs; he kept trying to worm himself away. He cried a little, grunted, fussed, and did not pay attention at all to the sermon that the pastor prepared. I know he is only 3 weeks old but, come on kid, show a little respect! At the end of the little sermon, as we bowed our heads in prayer, he emptied his bowels on my lap. And he cried. Now, he was wearing his diaper and everything was caught but no one told me that you would know when your baby pooped. I thought it would be the smell that would signal his need for a new diaper but, oh no, that is second. His bowel movements are a force of nature. They are also hilarious. Trying to keep a straight face through the “amen” was one of the hardest parts of my fatherhood experience so far.
The children’s sermon, in general, is an odd beast. I understand why it is there. Children should be seen, and treated, as equal members of the congregation. They are part of the body of Christ. In the baptismal covenant and the covenant of creation, they are not less than adults or teenagers. The cross is for them too. And I get that the Children’s sermon is all about highlighting that reality. But it is just strange. It never really seems, in my limited exposure to them, to actually be viewed as an integrated part of the service. The actual moment seems to do the exact opposite of what it is trying to do. It interupts rather than includes. But that could be an experience that I’m feeling because I’m not use to it being included in services. When I returned to the church, there was no children’s sermon at Trinity because there were no children in the congregation. When I started my field education, the children’s sermon was changed into something else entirely. I don’t experience it as a congregation solidifying event. So as I sat up there, the alienness of the entire concept of the Children’s sermon was highlighted for me. There’s got to be a good way to handle the Children’s sermon – I just haven’t seen it yet.
But there is more to being a dad in worship besides just the children’s sermon. I experienced the entire spectrum of the child experience. I was the dad who walked around in the back of the church because his kid was fussy. I experienced walking out of the service and into the dank dungeons of the bathrooms to use a changing table twice during the service. I experienced coming in, and out, of the service, at different points. I was distracted the entire service because of Oliver – and that is a new experience for me. In many ways, the most challenging part of having a kid for me is being distracted by his presence. This isn’t a bad thing – I actually love having him in my life. But I’m not use to handling this kind of distraction in my life. My tradition of hyper focusing for a few hours on a service, or writing a sermon, or building a website, no longer works because there is a kid sleeping next to me who might wake up and need to be fed. He might need his diaper changed. He might need a binkie. He might just need to be held. I’m always slightly turned on, ready to reach out, and meet his need, even if I hesitate sometimes, trying to see if his crying will stop on its own. There’s a part of my brain and focus that is permanently devoted to his presence and, how I’ve previously wired myself, I can’t seem to take care of him and take care of what I’d like to do at the same time. This is different than multi-tasking I think. Or at least different from what I understand multi-tasking to be.
I’m glad I’m having these experiences, including being a church member rather than a leader, because, in less than a month, I’ll be a full-time intern and Sundays will be a work day. Oliver won’t be around all that much and I’ll have other responsibilities to take care of. I won’t have the experience of trying to worship as a parent. Instead, I’ll try to experience what it is like to lead worship as a parent with a kid in the congregation. That will open up an entire new can of worms that I’m excited to find out.
Well, kid, you reached a milestone this week. I’m not sure if milestone is the right word. Maybe 98%-a-stone is a better one. Either way, you are wild, that is for sure.
At your four week visit, we discovered that you are gaining weight beautifully. Like your parents, not only are you smart, talented, lovely, and worth your weight in comic books and Broadway tickets, you are ahead of the curve in all the things. Instead of gaining only 1 ounce a day, you’re blowing by that. Before long, you’re going to be walking around and carrying your dad around in a sling (and I am looking forward to that – my feet are tired). According to this chart for breastfed boys, you are at 98% for length and 90% for weight. 10 pounds and 10 ounces! Good Lord kid! I have no idea where those genes come from but it obviously isn’t from me. But you do like to eat – and you take that after your dad, that is for sure. So keep it up! We want you to get as big as you are suppose to be but no bigger because I’ve been carrying you in the Ergo and, well, my knees and back are not use to it. I am not as young as I use to be.
Well kid, you’ve made it to 3 weeks. You’ve been grand and swell and I figured I might as well share some of the things that, while not unexpected, still surprised me with you in my life.
We took little Oliver to Central Park today though the little guy slept through the whole thing. He missed the I’M-NOT-PAYING-THREE-DOLLARS-FOR-A-POP food carts, the miles of lost tourists who are probably stilled trapped inside the park, the runners who kept cursing me under my breath because I was enjoying the view, and the family of ducks that floated below us in the reservoir. Instead, after a “traumatic” experience at the doctor (because who likes going to the doctor’s office?), he stayed curled up next to his mom with only the occasional squirm as a response to my constant picture taking. He didn’t even seem to realize that he rode a New York City bus for the first time nor did he notice his mom playing with makeup in Sephora. Nope, he just sat there, happy as a clam as we wandered through the West Side. Poor kid – he doesn’t know what he’s missing yet. But if his eye movements, his ability to start lifting up his head with his neck, his smiles, and his increased fussiness as a way to communicate with us – if these are a sign of where he’s going, he’ll see everything pretty soon.
Today was a day of firsts. Oliver received his Social Security Card and I learned that your middle name has a character limit. You are now officially on the grid! Congrats! And now we’re excited to welcome you to that wonderful tradition – the yearly free credit report review. It is a lovely tradition that we can’t wait to pass on to you.
We also took an adventure into the Bronx. You’ll be amazed at how many people don’t make it north of Manhattan and you went ahead and did it when you are 11 days old. A child prodigy? Maybe. While there, we took you to your first restaurant (an Apple Bees – don’t judge me) and Target. You slept through everything. That’s okay though – it’s hard being a baby.
Oliver, I want to give you a piece of advice. After doing laundry yesterday, I prepared myself to write an apology to you on this blog. Why, you might ask (if you could talk)? Well, I lost one of your socks. I know, I know! I was going to plead for your forgiveness. As I lugged the forty pounds of laundry back into the apartment, I told this story to your mom. She told me not to worry about it and that your little sock was probably stuck in the bedsheets that I washed. And you know what? As I made the bed later that day, there it was. So the moral of the story is that you should expect to lose socks in your life, not be afraid to ask for forgiveness when you make a mistake, and that you should probably listen to your mother. She knows things.
