Thank you Dr=Supermom wins

I have always viewed my trips to the doctor in a good/bad light, which I'm sure most people do also. While I am generally not happy to be there, I usually walk away feeling happy that I have gotten some answers and will soon be feeling better. It also helps that my doctor and his nursing staff TOTALLY ROCK! No matter what has ailed me, they've been great. I especially was happy when they squeezed me in on a Wednesday last September so that I could pee in a cup and find out that the stick didn't lie and I was pregnant!

I try to view Bailey's well-baby checks in the same light. I'm always so excited to see how much she weighs, how tall she is, what all her measurements are, etc. I love showing her off to the nursing staff and doctors; showing them how beautiful she is and how much new stuff she is mastering. However, then comes the part I hate - the shots. Again, I try to view this in a good/bad light. I'm grateful that 1) I don't have to give them to her myself, 2) that they are boosting her immune system and helping her to be healthy and fight weird diseases, 3) that they have gotten smart enough to combine some of them to reduce the number of shots babies have to get, and finally 4) that they give her the shots at the exact same time so that it isn't pain, comfort, more pain, and more comfort, which brings me to the main point of my blog.

Thank you doctors for setting up the well baby checks on milestone months so that mom's can remember how old their children are. I know how old my baby is but I actually sat down to count how many weeks old she is, in case someone asks, cause I've been just estimating to the closest month.

Thank you doctors for making yourself or your nursing staff out to be the bad guy. Every 2 months or so you become the bad guy and give my daughter shots and pain to commemorate her turning a few months older and every few months Supermom gets to come to the rescue with hugs, kisses, cuddles, the binkie, favorite toys, and the favorite food or maybe a sneak of something sweet. Every 2 months, in a world where Bailey is becoming more and more Daddy's little girl, Supermom still wins out on Dr day with the comfort factor.
So, I say Thank you Dr = Supermom wins.

Baby Plots

Eric and I knew that Bailey would change our lives in many various and indescribable ways. We expected to be servants to her every wants and needs, as she is unable to do so herself. We knew we would be changing our schedules to have more family time together. However, we didn't know the extent of her powers until this last week.

On Monday, August 31st, Bailey masterminded that my position at the YMCA be eliminated, due to a bad budget year. I was given the option to finish my week at work or not return after that meeting. I decided to finish the week so I would be paid for the week and keep my insurance for another month and started looking for jobs that night. I applied for an administrative assistant position at the college and hoped for the best. On Tuesday, I conducted a phone interview for the aforementioned job and set up an actual interview for Friday.

On Wednesday, I was working late and when I arrived at home Eric wasn't feeling well. We thought maybe it was a UTI. So I bought 128 oz of cranberry juice which Eric chugged over 12 hours and did not help. So we thought it was an intestinal issue and tried Ex-lax, which apparently really does taste like chocolate.

On Friday, I spent the morning with Bailey before getting ready for my interview. Bailey went with Grandma Nicely to the dance studio and I went to my interview. I thought everything went well and they told me they would let me know either way sometime next week. So I headed home to file for unemployment, so I could at least get paid while I job searched and then changed my clothes to walk to the studio to get Bailey. While I don't understand the reasoning for her next manuever, we still attribute it to her. As I came down the steps at the studio and hit the wet paint on the landing, I slipped and fell on my butt and smacked my back on the bottom step and ruined my favorite jeans. I'm guessing that was her punishment

for the interview.

On Saturday, Bailey's plan for Eric's appendix to explode came to fruition as he went to Urgentcare to get it checked out at 9am and was in surgery at DRMC by 1pm. This

provided Bailey with 2-4 weeks of Daddy time while he recovers from the surgery.

Finally, on the following Friday, Bailey's plans for more Mommy time were completed when the college called to say that she did not get the job.

They say that "Men plan, God laughs." Well, I say, "Parents plan, Babies plot, Babies conquer all."

Episode I

"Birth to Mirth"

The Daddy Button

If you've known me for any amount of time greater than the past 10 months you'll probably have heard me say.....from time to time.....in a completely offhanded way....that I didn't want to have kids.

Now, before you get your outrage pants on let me just state for the record that I am one hundred percent completely devoid of any feelings of uncertainty regarding my current status as a father. Bailey is the best thing that's happened to me which is kind of the focus of this article.

So let me explain.

My apprehension at becoming a father existed on many different levels. I had a plethora of unsuccessful relationships prior to meeting Jessica. I had, in fact, become so unsuccessful in love that I had absolutely given up. For one year I dated no one. And then met my wife. I was 30 when we married so level one of apprehension is the fact that it took me over a third of my life just to find a wife, why would I want to rush into having kids. I'd like to enjoy having a wife for a while.

Of course that reasoning only lasts so long, especially with grandchildless parents. Three years later the questions started getting flung around like poo in a monkey cage. My answer and reasoning rotated between that I'm getting up in years and didn't want to be an "old" dad or .... I put up with plenty of crap in my job, why do it at home. There's also the fact that I require a certain amount of solitude in order to function as a human and although my wife understands and abides, a child would not.

Level two of apprehension.

But the real paranoia set in not long after my wife showed me the stick....


That's my couch and that's the two bars that changed my life.

I could seriously mess this up. I've seen it done. I actually know people that are really great people but I think they screwed their kids up. Now I have my chance. Where's the button one presses to go into Daddy Mode? Some creatures have it built in. Daddy Cardinals have brighter plumage to attract predators away from their children. Daddy penguins sit on their eggs all winter to nurture their progeny to life. Hell, my wife got to have nine months all to herself as her body transformed into a life giving and life sustaining vehicle. And after....well, she was the sole source of nourishment and still is the majority of the time.

When does a daddy become a daddy?

How ..... does a daddy become a daddy?

Level three.

I find it all rather amusing. How it works. Life. Most of us ask ourselves questions all the time. Not aloud. Not to anyone else. We ask them to the sky or to the river or to the plastic fake owl in our front yard. We aren't looking for someone to answer us. "Where will we ever get the money?" "How am I going to get through the next week?" "What do I do now?"

"How the hell am I supposed to be a father?"

It amuses me that we all ask these questions and never expect anyone to answer but then the answer happens ..... and most of the time we don't recognize that the question was even acknowledged let alone answered. We don't realize that most of the answers are simply a passage of time. We move through it and move past it and the answer happened. The week passed, the money either showed up or didn't, you moved on and your now asking a different set of questions.

I consider myself lucky to have recognized the answer to my daddy question although I should've missed it. It was a fraction of a second. It was subtle. It wasn't meant to be reckoned with or recognized for what it was.

Someone hit the Daddy Button.

Of course, seeing Bailey brought into this world was awe inspiring. Holding her for the first time melted my heart but those moments didn't click anything paternal inside me. They were sentimental and emotional and I felt things I never felt before but that wasn't the Daddy Button. That was just the...."Awe, shucks" button.

It happend on our second night in the hospital. My wife and I had been getting to know Bailey and showing her off to all the relatives and friends but they had all left and it was just us. The nurse walked in and asked if we were ready to have Bailey get her Hepatitis shot. Sure. Why not. It's what's supposed to be done.

The nurse offered to let me tag along and I thought fine. I'll do that.

Now up until this point Bailey had been a pretty normal newborn. She fussed when she was hungry and fussed when she was messy. She cried like hell when we had to take her clothes off and give her a bath but it wasn't anything other than just a person (a tiny, tiny person) expressing their thoughts and desires in the only way known to them.

But the moment that nurse stuck the needle into my tiny daughter's leg she let out a cry like I've never heard before. My reaction only lasted a fraction of a fraction of a second. But in that tiny span of time I felt a rage and anger like nothing I'd ever felt before. My instinct was to punch the nurse in the face, take my child back to the room, pack our things and get the hell out of this sadistic and cruel hospital. I seriously felt extremely violent. Primally violent. I needed to protect my daughter. She was in pain and all I could think about was how to hurt the person causing her pain.

And then that moment passed almost as quickly as it flared up and reason set in. Of course shots hurt. I cry like an angry baby each time I have to get one. I held her in my arms and comforted her as best as I knew how. Eventually she forgot all about it but I didn't. That miniscule moment where my human nature let my animal nature take over has stuck with me for near a month now and I doubt I'll ever forget it. That nurse didn't know it but she pressed the Daddy Button and I now know how to be a daddy.

Of course I'm not saying I have all the answers and am now a perfect father because I wanted to, for a fraction of a second, rip a nurses limbs off and beat her down with them because she was the indirect cause of my daughter's pain. But I have a self-realization that the desire and ability to love and protect my offspring is now a part of my instinct. The most important part to have is there. Everything else I can pick up along the way or on the internet. I'm not worried now about how to be a daddy.....

.....but I am worried about the first poor schmuck that breaks her heart and sends her home

crying to daddy.

Did I mention ripping off limbs?

Bailey Confronts Paparazzi

Defiance, OH -- Bailey Katherine West has only existed for just over two weeks and has already had enough of the paparazzi as can be gathered by the photograph to the left (click photo to enlarge). Sources close to Bailey say that she abhors all the media attention and it has been getting in the way of her eating, sleeping and pooping. Although it doesn't really affect the pooping as she doesn't mind doing that anywhere at anytime in front of anyone.

The source continues by confirming that Bailey prefers to breast feed without being held captive under the privacy providing "hooter hider" and that when the paparazzi is around her "food-giver" covers her underneath the aforementioned, scientific device (blanket with a strap) thus depriving her of the pleasure of a completely uninhibited feeding experience.

When finally cornered and confronted about the photograph Bailey is quoted as saying, "if you have a problem with me being upset over my lack of privacy and how I choose to express that frustration then you can just...."

and then she pooped....and started crying.....and wanted to eat some more.....

......and then fell asleep.

"Labor"

One does not truly appreciate the value of good advice until one has chosen to completely ignore it....

This observation, which by-the-way I believe I authored and demonstrates a great depth of insight and wisdom, found its way circling my beleaguered brain consistently between 10:30 PM and 1:00 AM on Friday, May 29/Saturday, May 30 of this year. I couldn't get it out of my head as I sat there in a hospital room in the Women's Center of the Defiance Regional Medical Center. And by sitting I mean standing by my wife's bed, holding her hand, giving her ice chips, looking at the clock, giving encouraging smiles and not yelling at the medical staff as she endured an ancient custom referred to as "labor." Of course, the thought was not quite spelled out as scholarly and quotable as it is above. In my head it frantically circled my brain like five-year old on an Easter basket sugar rush. Of course it was well hidden behind the calm and collected countenance that I offered in support to my screaming wife, my deceptively giddy mother-in-law (grandmother-to-be) and suspiciously nonchalant medical staff.

So what was the advice?

Before we get to that, let's go back to how it all began....





.....on second thought, let's not go back that far....





We'll just start at the beginning of the end....


First I must say that my respect and amazement for my wife is unparalleled to anything or anyone else that has or ever will garner my admiration and/or adoration. This includes celebrities, historical figures, natural and supernatural phenomena, and lego scupltures. She endured a nine-month pregnancy with grace and ease. I always heard horror stories from friends and colleagues about mood changes, strange demands, fits of crying and unusual appetites. But I can't really say that my wife did any of those. Well....actually.....I can think of two instances. The first being the point in the pregnancy where she discovered that she couldn't fit into her regular clothes and the second being about two weeks before delivery when he feet started swelling at the end of the day.

She worked right up until she gave birth. She quite literally came home from work and went into this "labor" everyone keeps calling it (I am working on a different name for it as I don't believe the term "labor" quite illustrates nor defines exactly what this process entails for both the person going through it nor the persons observing alongside and trying to help). If you read the previous post you know that I was looking forward to one last peaceful weekend. I even thought it was possible to have two. You see, when we became pregnant we were suddenly besieged by sage advice. For nine months we received "expert" opinions on everything from the baby equipment we should purchase to how we predict the gender of the child.

It's not that I don't appreciate the willingness to help but....well....let me give two examples:

"You're carrying in the front, it's definitely going to be a boy."
"You're carrying in the front, it's definitely going to be a girl."

However, in retrospect, my most favorite slice of advice from the "expert" pie is....

"The first child is ALWAYS late."

You see, I was looking forward to one last peaceful weekend....maybe two. Our due date was May 30th so I was pretty sure I would have one last peaceful weekend....maybe two.



These pictures were taken on May 30th, 2009. So much for the experts and so much for the first one always being late. Bailey showed up right on the day she was supposed to. In fact, she was almost early.



On May 29th my wife came home from work and went into "labor." And now that I am one of the "experts" I shall offer this advice to any first-time expecting parents that may be reading: the first one will do whatever the hell he or she wants. And while I can't "expertly" speak to any follow-up children I would speculate that they, as well, will do whatever the hell they want.

Bailey started seriously wanting out at about 5:00 PM on May 29th. As my wife breathed through another contraction she told me that I might want to go to the ATM to pull out some cash because the hospital cafeteria doesn't take Check Cards. We also agreed that I should get some dinner to eat because I might not get a chance later in the evening. So it now occurs to me that my preparation for the birth of my child closely resembles my preparation for going out drinking with the guys: pull out some cash and pad the stomach.

So sixty dollars at the Huntington ATM and a Quarter Pounder later we are less than 5 minutes apart. Of course, we were about 5 minutes apart at 5:00 PM as well but the hospital said not to come in until we had regular contractions for an hour. They were regular and getting closer together. We called them and said it was go time.

There are probably a few cute, little ancedotes during this nice part of the "labor" but this is how I remember the timeline (all times are approximations as I forgot to take out the stopwatch):

• 6:40 PM - Left for the hospital
• 7:00 PM - Checked in to the hopital
• until 10:00 PM - Fun labor
• 10:00 PM - Un-fun labor
• 12:15 AM - The most terrifying audio/visual experience of my life
• 1:29 AM - Bailey is pulled into the world as I watch from behind a courtesy blanket

So what was the advice that I completely ignored? Probably the only reason you are still reading is to find out what words of wisdom spawned this incredibly long if ever so slightly witty post. It was simply this:

"Whatever you do, don't look. It's not worth it."

Well, I looked and I may never be the same again. I have half a notion that the six weeks "waiting" time is more for the fathers that looked then for the mothers. It's not a beautiful thing. It was not beautiful watching her scream in pain, it was not beautiful watching the results of the screaming in pain, it was not beautiful when we discovered that Bailey was stuck. It was definitely not beautiful when we had to wait for over an hour as the surgical staff was called in for the c-section. In fact, if I can conjure up an image for those that haven't experienced this try imagining a volcano that is ready to explode but something won't let it. Imagine how angry the volcano must be as it keeps making all the quakes, blowing all the smoke and steam out but is not allowed to erupt. The villages have been emptied, the virgin has been sacrificed to not make the eruption as bad. Everyone is ready but ..... no eruption. Imagine how angry the volcano is and keeping it all in but still going through the pains of eruption. Imagine how frustrated the volcano's husband must be at having the standby and watch the volcano in such agony while no one appears to be doing anything to help the volcano erupt. In fact, it appears that the volcano won't get to erupt, the.....vulcanologists......have to scoop the lava out. It's not a great metaphor but it's pretty close to the truth. It was amazingly hot, she was red and steaming and I thought my face might burn off.

Well, I was told not to look. But I did....and I'll never forget. As terrible as it all was, I will never forget the fact that I saw my girl the exact moment she took her first breath, the exact moment she opened her eyes to the world. I was there and I wouldn't trade that moment for anything.

It wasn't beautiful....

.....but it was the best thing I've ever seen.

It Only Takes A Moment

In life there are very few things I am absolutely sure of. I am absolutely sure that time always moves continually foward at a constant pace. I am absolutely sure that my ankles are located just above my feet. I am absolutely sure that 2 + 2 = 4. And I am now absolutely sure that I possess the capacity for love with all my heart and ever fiber of my being. I became absolutely sure of this the moment I laid eyes on my daughter. Of course you might raise an eyebrow (my wife will raise two eyebrows).

"What about the day you said you loved Jessica for the first time?"

"How about the day you proposed?"

"Why didn't you feel this way when you took your wedding vows?"

Those questions are completely within reason to ask. And answer them is a little bit frightening. Make no mistake, I love my wife absolutely and unequivocally but there has always been a little risk in our relationship.....in every relationship. You can't venture into relationship like that without putting your heart on the line.

I took a chance the first time I told her I loved her. Of course, she had laryngitis so I was fairly cetain that I wouldn't be getting an audible reply. I sweated it out the day I proposed. And you can't help but think, "what if," when you're standing on that alter making the biggest commitment of your life thus far. But the second...the moment...the instant I looked at little, slightly purple, stunningly beautiful Bailey Katherine there was no choice in the matter, no hesitation. An absolute truth melted over my soul...

I was going to love her like crazy her entire life.

It's a family saga that began last week and if you're reading it I hope we keep you interested. I (Eric) will probably do a majority of the posting but it is my hope that Jessica and, one day, Bailey will both share stories. So many of the people we care about are so scattered and it's hard to stay in touch as much as we like but hopefully this is one way you can keep up.

Now.....the story of how it all began....

It was Friday, May 29th in the year 2009. The day was as close to perfect as any we had hosted that spring. I had just come home from work feeling good. I had one more week of school left and all the major activities had come to an end. I was looking forward to one last weekend of peace and quiet....

TO BE CONTINUED

The long awaited event of the summer:

This probably won't be your typical family blog.....