Did You Know...

SportsCenter on ESPN used to have a daily segment called Did You Know. Just a daily random and obscure factoid related to a daily sports story. I was thinking about this during my first week of actually being home alone with the CEO. During 4 short days I compiled a pretty good list of things that I either didn't know or expect out of myself or any one else for that matter. Some of them are pretty amazing. So here they are, in no particular order....

Did you know....

That I can eat a meal, from start to finish in under 56 seconds. That includes a sandwich, chips and a drink. I think my record is 42 seconds. This should definitely be a category of competitive eating. Think about it. Five guys standing 10 feet from a generic kitchen, the horn blows and they charge towards the fridge where they rip out the ham and slam down 8 oz. of grape juice right from the carton. Then dart over to the counter where as they shove potato chips in their mouths while making a dry ham sandwich and devouring it. All in under 1 minute or a baby poops on you. OK, I made that last part up. A side note after week 2: There is no such thing as a sandwich anymore, no time. It's just meat and cheese rolled up and dipped into a jar of mayo. Bread is just too time consuming. Moving on.

Did you know...

That while caring for a child you really don't need to eat at all. One day last week I went from 7am-8pm and the only thing that I put in my body was 4 hard boiled egg whites, a slice of american cheese, and a cup of tea. Its the new celebrity 150 calorie a day diet. On that pace I should either be dead or 20 lbs lighter in the next couple of weeks so I've got that going for me.... Maybe. 

Did you know... 

5 minutes = 90 minutes of pre vs post baby uninterrupted sleep time. One morning last week (I couldn't tell you which one because the only days that I know what day it is would be the weekend because Mom is home) I would have committed acts of treason, clubbed a baby seal or cut off one of my fingers for just FIVE minutes more of sleep. It's like we live in a alternate universe where the five minutes of sleep completely rejuvenates you. Another thing with sleep, in two short weeks I have developed the special ability to be able to nap on cue and in any position. I'm almost certain at this point I could drive to the grocery store, grab a few necessities, drive back home and be completely asleep the whole time. Before anyone calls child services, relax, I would try it at least twice without the baby in the car. 

And finally, Did you know... 

I'm an idiot. Before Mom went back to work I was like "This will be great. When the CEO naps, I'll be able to work out and try and lose some of this gut I have accumulated." That previous sentence had been confirmed to be the dumbest thing ever said by a human being, ever. There is no working out, there is no exercise while she naps. The second she naps I dive into my bed like Scrooge McDuck dives into his gold coin pool in "Duck Tales" . In that same respect, I do always try to clean the house. The morning is great, I can straighten the kitchen, do the dishes, pick up the living room a little. (We don't talk about the second floor of our house, it might as well be an attic where we store things like beds, sleeping humans and a toilet. No biggie.) That being said, no matter how "clean" I can get things, it always looks like a Babies R Us threw up in the living room by 3:30 p.m. It looks like I run a freaking day care. She is 14 pounds for Christ's sake, how can she make this much of a mess? By the way, I know it gets worse, just had to get it off my chest.

OK that's enough for now, I'm gonna nap for 5 minutes while I shower. It's gonna be great.

Daddy and His New Caddie Day 1 :The Empire Strikes Back

Well, today was Day 1. For all intents and purposes, the fact that I can even type at all on a keyboard without passing out or throwing the laptop out the window is a win. I didn't know how to approach today so I chose the little league approach. For those who have never played little league, let me explain. The first time you ever play in a little league game you are soooo excited that you sleep in your uniform. Baseball pants, jersey, socks and everything. I'm pretty sure I did this for every team through college (the ladies didn't seem to like that in college, I don't know why, the metal cleats maybe?). So last night before bed I went with the same approach. Right before bed I thought, "What can I sleep in, wake up in, walk around the neighborhood in, go to Dunkin' Donuts in, go to the gym in, shower in, and put back on?"  I was going to be ready for anything. This outfit, for anyone that doesn't know me, is obviously a pair of Nike shorts and a grey T-shirt (Yep, that's me.)

The big issue with the CEO was if she was going to take the bottle. This was the only real problem she had up until now and I.was.ready. Nothing was going to phase me, we were going to make this bottle thing work, even if it took days. I would have a warm bottle ready for when we got up. She would be happily breastfed and full when her mom brought her to me and left, and I would be ready for the worst. A day full of the CEO partially eating and crying herself to sleep. Trying to keep my sanity. Trying not to let her see me sweat.  This is where she threw the curve ball. This is where the empire struck back.

I woke up on cue, was handed a breastfed and happy CEO and I was ready for battle. Then it happened. A nice breakfast for me, some "not" tummy time for the CEO, a stroll around the neighborhood and then, just as casual as can be, 2.5 ounces of nice warm breast milk out of the bottle. WHERE DID THAT COME FROM!!????! No tears! No screams! Sweet! Now we have a baby that will take the bottle! This will be perfect, just a little naptime so Dad can recharge... Just a quick nap?... Five minutes?... Anything?...Bueller?... Uh oh. That's when I saw that the CEO had recently sent out a company wide memo. It was like one of those song playing greeting cards and when you opened it, this was the song. I've attached the letter...

Employees,

I would like to inform all of you that nap time will be suspended until further notice. For those of you who might be confused, the following actions will fall under the category of naps. Sleeping in my swing, co-sleeper, crib, car seat, or pack and play. I will also not sleep after eating and under no circumstances will I be allowed to be rocked or swung to sleep in anyone's arms. The term anyone includes but is not limited to Mom, Dad, Nana, Grandpa, Grandma or Pops. Thank you for your anticipated cooperation in this matter.

                                                                     Sincerely,

          Molly B. Griffin

          CEO Griffin Household

A couple things. A. She needs some letterhead. B. I really should have thought harder about marrying a lawyer. C. Well-written for an 11 week old. D. WAIT! Did she just say she wasn't sleeping?!? Like, EVER? Ahh yeah. So that's how she is going to roll on Week 1. Maybe she will nap before we are up to our waists in trash, laundry, dishes and dust bunnies. You never know. There is one up side though. Today I ate 4 hard boiled eggs, a cup of broccoli, and a half a chicken breast from 7AM-6PM so at that rate I'll drop 50 lbs in 4 weeks. On second thought, maybe that is her plan? She must be using me as her test dummy for her new celebrity mom/dad diet plan that we will one day get Oprah to try and make millions. I'll keep you posted. 

My Last Will and Testament

Do you know who I am!!!

So this whole blog thing is supposed to be a journal of my escapades as a stay at home dad. There's only one little problem with that. I'm not exactly doing that yet. Alas, the day of the corporate takeover is fast approaching. One week from today the wife goes back to work which means I am in charge. Me. By myself. All day. With the CEO. Wow,  I almost got through typing that with a straight face. Seriously though, the CEO takes over a week from today, 8AM sharp. I can only imagine that at 8:05 a.m., I will be like this. We have had a few trial runs over the last week that have been, well, "interesting"...and by interesting I mean, filled with bloodcurdling screams from a very pissed off CEO. My main hurdle has been giving her a bottle. And by main hurdle, I mean "The one thing that terrifies me to my core because she will not take one. At all. Ever." (Big con of having such as kickass breastfeeder and breastfeedee). Shouldn't be an issue though, who needs food anyway? And hungry babies are really easy and happy, right? Soooo unless I can get that figured out, I will just have to walk her around all day long until Mom gets home with her precious liquid gold boobs. Which means in a matter of days I'll probably look like this. 

I figured the only thing to do before I enter the 7th circle of hell known as the Hungry Infant Who Refuses a Bottle Circle, was give a little summary of how the first 10 weeks of my little caddies life have gone. Since I last wrote about it, she has parted ways with her 2nd Mommy and 2nd Daddy and has begun a strong up and down friendship with her the bee that hangs from her carseat. I'd also like to note that the bee is actually a caterpillar but seriously, try saying caterpillar in baby talk over and over again. Screw that, that thing is a bee. At ten weeks she is already wearing 6-9 month onesies. This kid is taaaall. And with giant feet that attempt to bust out of any feetie pajamas we try to put her in. And another thing, I don't think I ever said the word "onesie" before January and now I can't get through ten minutes without using the word. "Can you grab me a new onesie?" "Did you blow out your onesie?" "Yes, she really is in 6 month onesies." I can't think of any other situation where this happens with one single word. 

Also, her favorite way to be put to sleep (aside from nursing of course) is like this. Which is A. Very obviously against her anti-tummy time edict and B. The one and only thing that I can do to her that Mom can't. Not that Mom hasn't tried, but the CEO has decreed this to be a daddy-only hold position. There had to be something right? Lastly, the kid can fart. Not like "awww that was cute, she must be pooping" farts. Like "Jeez Tom, did you really have to rip one right in the middle of the kitchen. IT WASN"T ME!!" type farts. Quite impressive actually. I just wanted to get a few of these things in writing before April 17th so if I'm found wandering the streets looking like a homeless person, talking baby talk to myself there will be some documented reminder of my former human self to snap me back to reality.

"Tummy Time Tirade"

I really don't plan on this being a "raving every time I write" blog, I promise. What's that? You think we need one more? You think we need one more... Alright we'll do one more.  I'm going to tackle something that will cost me the better part of my tongue if it keeps up.  I will start at the only prudent place to start, by apologizing to the very people I'm about to flip out on in the next two paragraphs. I know I am far from a child care professional. Shocking, seeing I have only been caring for a child for 10 weeks, I know. There is plenty of advice we've received from the pros that has been totally awesome about breastfeeding, bottle feeding, talking to the baby, reading to the baby, or how you're not allowed to give the baby Ambien if she hasn't napped in awhile (how do you think I have time to write these...). But there is one piece of incessant advice I just can't stand. It is a term that has come to haunt me in these 10 short weeks... "Tummy Time". It took me three tries just to type those two words because I shivered every time I tried, so from here on our we'll just call it TT. 

In the two short months the caddie has been around, I've heard about how absolutely essential quality "TT" is no less than 129387128973237129 times. And I've had more than one of my parent friends be made to feel terrible (like tears terrible) that their kid isn't getting enough TT. Essential huh? Now I like to think that I am a good parent. By that I mean I will try everything and anything for my daughter to be smart, stop crying, and be as happy as she can be. I mean anything. We've heard it from every professional out there, "Make sure you get in plenty of TT," "You really need more TT," "You're doing plenty of TT every day right?" Really? Something with a totally ridiculous name like "tummy time" is that important? They make it seem like if we don't give her TT all the time she'll grow up to be like this. Question for all the TT-pushers: Have you ever seen a first grader who can't sit up due to lack of TT? Ever seen a 10 year old with a doctor's note saying they can lay in a beanbag at school because they didn't get enough TT?  The kid is going to be okay. My mother had never even heard of TT, let alone forced it on me every day of my infancy and I walked at 10 months old and look where it got me. I'm no Olympic athlete, I bartend, write a blog, watch an inordinate number of hours of sports television and, well, that is about it. My parents "joke" (i.e. not joking at all) that when my sister came along they never let her feet touch the ground because frankly, two mobile kids under the age of 4 is the SCARIEST THOUGHT EVER for a stay at home parent.  My little sister is smart, excelled in athletics and she was raised under the "no rush, she walks when she walks" approach (My philosophy by the way). And neither of us got the recommended dosage of TT. As long as you're not sitting your kid in a seat for 12 hours a day and you actually play and interact with them, they will be normal, happy and healthy.  Forcing TT on the CEO isn't going to get her anywhere any faster and will just make her (and therefore, me) super pissed off.

Lastly, and I saved the best for last, here is the thing that gets to me the most about the TT push. Supposedly, TT is sooo important because the baby's neck and back muscles need it to to be strong and blah blah blah. And with this comes the follow-up advice of  "It's ok if the baby cries when you do TT, let them cry a little before you pick them up, it's OK" (which is pretty much counter to every other piece of infant parenting advice out there for other situations). Without getting in to the argument for or against letting my baby girl cry with her face into the floor, I just want to say this: How about you all go home, lie on your stomach on the living room floor, hold yourself up with your arms and watch an hour of TV. I wouldn't last 10 minutes. It's like planking for infants. And if you have never been in plank position give it a try for one minute.. I'll wait... Sucks huh? Planking: The Adult TT. It is the worst. And while I will continue to put the CEO on her stomach to change things up, I'm not going to feel like a bad parent when I pick her up when she goes from laughing, happy baby to demon baby on fire after thirty seconds of TT. 

So in conclusion to my rambling tirade against TT, unless I see a 10 minute iPhone video of you watching TV on your stomach in your living room you can take your TT advice and shove right up.....Oops the CEO woke up, and it's baseball season, so Dad and the caddie have some sports radio to listen to.

The Breastfeeding Daddy

ME: Hi, my name is Tom and I'm a breastfeeding dad.
CROWD: Hello, Tom!!!

Ok, so I'm obviously not THAT kind of breastfeeding dad. The "I have nipples Greg, can you milk me" kind of breastfeeding dad. But I am the dad of an exclusively breastfed baby. Being a breastfeeding dad is not as easy as it sounds. It is, of course, not tougher than being a breastfeeding mom because those of you out there that do it, including my wife, are freaking miracle workers. Having a child latch themselves on to you and suck you dry as their sole means of sustanance is exhausting and takes a special person. And those special people are women for a reason because guys, lets face it, we are way too lazy and selfish to do it (don't argue with me, we are).

There are pros and cons to being a breastfeeding dad. First, the pros. The most obvious pro is that I get to sleep WAY more because I don't get up to feed the CEO in the middle of the night. Also, when the CEO lets out her rebel hunger cry during the day, I can pass her to her mom and watch Sportscenter for the 9th time. Well, at least until she goes back to work, at which time, this is what I will be like during the day. And lastly, I don't have to strap a machine to my chest to extract whatever the life-sucking child left behind so we can freeze it and feed it to her later. Believe me, you couldn't pay me to put the breast pump anywhere near my nipples. I'd rather put the dogs' electric fence collar on and sprint out of the yard. 

Now for the fun part: the cons of being a breastfeeding dad. These basically consist of the comments that people make that are ridiculous, make me mad, or make my wife mad (the latter being the most important for obvious reasons). What I've found is that these comments generally originate from one group of people: Anyone who has never had a kid. Before everyone freaks out and calls me an a-hole, this is not a blanket statement for everyone without kids AND I'm not saying it's even their fault. I was in this category not that long ago and really, those without kids just haven't had to think that much about it yet. That being said, let's get to it.

The first one is, "Are you, like, breastfeeding breastfeeding?" What the f does this even mean? How would one do that? Would your breasts have breasts that you feed from? Would the baby eat from mom's boob and then dad's boob? Or the dog? Yes, my wife is breastfeeding our child. From her breast. And only from her breast. It's not a complicated concept. Right off the bat, you can see there isn't much thought that goes into what people will say/ask about breastfeeding.

Next we come to "I mean, I don't have a problem with breastfeeding in public but some people do." Really? I have never heard from the "some people", just the people that know the "some people". Listen, let's get one thing straight, I'm not going to go into the whole "breastfeeding is natural and should be done anywhere" speech. What I am going to say is that I'd like to take anyone who has said that and have them sit in their house with an infant for two straight months without ever leaving. By the end of one week they will be begging for an hour at a restaurant even if they have to sit and breastfeed naked. Guys included. 

Finally, we come to my favorite. The "Yeah, I don't mind, I just feel bad seeing her naked boob." That is very nice of you, it definitely is. But I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be staring at her boobs anyway right? Is the baby in the way of you taking inventory on the boobs of the room?  Or you're only comfortable staring at my wife's boobs if they're covered by a shirt? Cause if you're not looking at her boobs in the first place, I'm *pretty sure* you won't see anything that you'll "feel bad about" when she's feeding the baby.

Anyway, I guess in closing I should say eeeeveryone relax. If you see a baby monkey or a puppy doing it, it's soooo cute, right? So don't overthink it, we all have to eat. And don't screw it up for me and make the wife stop cause I have to catch my 10th Sportscenter of the morning. Believe me, I'm screwed enough as it is when she goes back to work.

2 Mommys 2 Daddys and a Little Baby

Just to clarify my earlier posts, my daughter is "the caddie" when she is being a cooing, half-smiling, non-crying baby girl and "the CEO" when she is a fussing and/or screaming child who has had enough. But, when in thinking about this post, I can't really get a handle on which one she is. See, she is 5 weeks old and probably doesn't know her butt from her elbow. Actually that's not entirely true, she's got her butt covered (see previous post) but you get my point. What I've been noticing lately is that the CEO doesn't quite have a favorite employee yet. It's not Mommy or Daddy. It's not Nana or Papa or Grandpa or Grandma (I'm sure they all have theories otherwise but...). She's even too young to really know what a freakin toy is. We have dozens of cute soft stuffed animals and if one those dolls fed her, put her to bed,  changed her diaper, and never let her cry, she couldn't care less. That is, unless they were her new favorite Mom and Dad. Not the Mrs. and myself, but two things she clearly wishes were her Mom and Dad. The only things in the world (her 5 weeks of the world) that completely mesmerize her. She looks at these two things like she is watching The Matrix for the first time or like Dan Aykroyd stares at the painting of Vigo in Ghostbusters. For example, she was on my lap the other day, staring at her new favorite Mom for 25 minutes before she even noticed I was there. Then I got a look as if "Hey! Where did you come from? Sorry, I was hanging around with my favorite mom. You should see her, she's dreamy." So now to go over who her new mom and dad are. Mom is the venetian blinds in our living room and Dad is the the toy seahorse that plays music and his belly lights up (who we have lovingly named Carlos because, well, he looks like a Carlos). Nothing else in the world exists when either of these two other things are in the CEO's eyesight. I mean her eyesight is like 4 feet but STILL! So since I'm writing about the CEO, I figured it would be helpful for people to get to know her new favorite parents. Let's meet them now....

Carlos the Seahorse

Carlos is a purple fuzzy seahorse (fuzzy seahorse, who knew right?) Unlike normal seahorses he resides above water, has a wonderful singing voice that sounds like mechanical church music (which is not at all annoying when played on repeat for 30 minutes at a time) and a special light up belly. His main talent is stealing the affection of newborn children and embedding his haunting melodies into the brains of new parents.

The Venetian Blinds

Originally from Venice, Italy (at some point, right?) these blinds perform the special trick of letting some of the light come through the window, giving it a fascinating striped look worthy of much drooling and staring. They come in various colors and styles and will have the same effect on a newborn child that a topless woman would have at a Comicon convention.

Since the CEO enjoys spending most of her waking hours with her new parents, I've put together their first family picture. Enjoy, while I go learn how to get my belly to light up...

The Poop Dictionary

Today I need to talk about something critical in raising an infant: Poop. See, people who don't have babies (such as me in my pre-caddie days) think babies poop like we all do just softer. Now, being the "professional" dad of a five week old, I have found that not only are there different kinds of poops, but there are many different ways that our little poop launchers can dispense it. Everyone seems to use the term "blowout," which is far too vague, so I have created an easy to use index using my new caddie's future favorite sport. Here we go.

The Water Hazard

Although not actually poop, this mega pee diaper is certainly something all parents have to deal with. It's wet, unpleasant, and not really somewhere you want to be. Also, the water hazard diaper is freaking heavy. Like holding a bowling ball heavy. It defies the rules of science, since I'm *pretty sure* I changed a water hazard that actually weighed more than the kid.

The Divot

If baby poop can be pleasant (it can't), the Divot is it. A big swing (fart), resulting in only a small contained poop. Nice and easy to clean and replace with a new diaper. As you can see, we are easing into this.

The Slice/Hook

Sometimes they just can't keep it on the fairway, and depending on which side this occurs on, you have the Slice or the Hook. There are varying degrees of how far they can get the poop off the fairway. For example, my little poop monster caddie got some on her ankle the other day. I mean that's just plain impressive. I'm sure she was very proud. I know we were.

 The Shankapotomous

Sometimes it just all goes wrong. It doesn't go left, it doesn't go right, it goes straight up and it is not good. The Shankopotomous is when everything goes wrong. It shoots straight up the stomach AND up the back, possibly out of the sides too. It also somehow completely avoids the actual diaper. If you weren't so busy trying keep poop off everything in sight, it would be downright impressive.

The Charles Barkley

This is where it starts to get tricky. We all know about Charles' golf game. Well he's...... He's not good. If you haven't had the pleasure of watching his atrocious swing, you can see it here. You see, Chuck's got a big stop and go in his swing which not only looks like poop, it's just like the "stop and go" poop. It's pretty simple, goes something like this: big fart, small poop. Seems easy enough. Thinking it's a Divot, you do a quick diaper change and then boom, a huge Shankapotomous. Gets you every time.

The John Daly

Before being known for wearing crazy pants, Daly was known for an almost certain blow up. Like a walk off the course and hit the showers blow up and they were always epic. Just like the John Daly poop. You will know when this one hits. It covers *everything*. Diaper, baby, onesie, pants, changing table, you, your clothes, the couch, the dog, the baby's hair... Everything. You literally need to hit the showers when this one is done. For those who haven't had the priviledge of experiencing this yet, just imagine covering everything in sight with stinky dijon mustard. You're welcome. 

The Arnold Palmer

Besides being old and probably pretty close to wearing diapers of his own, an Arnold Palmer is also a delicious cocktail, which I am about to ruin for you. This poop is a hybrid. The scenerio is simple and starts with a nice, easy poop like a Divot. Then, as you are beginning to change the diaper, your baby surprises you with a spontaneous pee. The yellow hue of the fresh pee then mixes with the already established poop to create the perfect diaper Arnold Palmer. I had to put this one in because I didn't want to be the only one that can't ever drink one of those again. Misery loves company. 

I'm sure there are more that I don't even know about yet but the CEO is crying, I think she just had a Shankapotomous.