| Fatherhood pt2 It’s been 7 hours and 183 days, since I had a good night sleep… Bags under the eyes giving the impression that I am off for a hiatus in some sunny beach resort, feeding off of 10 hours sleep, 120 minutes worth of catnaps, and 3600 seconds of undisturbed silence so I can gather my thoughts. Being a dad has been, and still is, the wildest sensation I had yet to experience. Coming in close second was that time when I finished minesweep under 120 seconds. But do I have to lose sleep because of it? It is a condition, this parenting, that shall stick with me for the rest of my existence. That’s why they call it being a dad, cause you are one E away from being dead. Mam… meam… uhm… 6 months and a day I have been exposed to the joys of parenting, 6 months and a day of changing diapers, giving vitamins, cleaning spit, shooshing and caressing and cooing and ahing and singing and and and… can you fathom the amount of poop I have had in my hands over the course of this time? A lot of poop I tell ya, a lot of poop! A lot of poop and not a single thank you dad for cleaning my pants! Sure, there are the smiles and the weird noises he makes, the thrashing of the legs which occasionally go paired with the accidental escape of some gas, or worse, more poop. But a simple thank you? You would think that we, being the superior species walking this earth, would have evolved by now to such an extend that when one becomes a dad (or a mom) the new addition to the family can, within a couple of hours, walk and talk like a 5 year old. You would think, and yet it hasn’t happened yet. Good thing we are no longer roaming the Serengeti in search of berries, or else hyenas would be feeding on us at random. And then there is the peeing, urinating, tinkling, watering the plants etc… When he wakes up in the morning the first thing that Alexander likes to do is cry. Not a sniffling soft kind of cry, more a load screaming my lungs are on fire kind of sound. I fall out of bed and head towards his room, get the little homey out of da crib, and head towards the cleansing area. Yep, the initial diagnosis was correct; a diaper filled to the T with P. Poor guy wanted to add the drops but couldn’t. So we remove the soaked diaper, swath him with an oily towelette, put the towel in the old diaper, grab the new diaper, and pull away the hand as something warm and misty is falling on the hand. We are not talking tears here people, we are talking tinkle. On several occasions I have had to change my work attire due to Alexander giving me his impression of “Manneke Pis”. 6 months and a day. So much has happened. So much has changed. Our bedroom is no longer ours. We now camp out in the living room to allow Alexander his own space. But why? He spends all his time in the living/sleeping room anyways. I hear about these myths, about these babies who will sleep 16 hours a day. Fairytales where little kids will be put to bed by 9 in the p.m. and then awake with a smile between 7 and 8 the next a.m. But not our little tike. He likes his hours long and eventful, never getting enough. It seems that our progeny needs ever changing input constantly. Yesterday I was taking a stroll with him and his head was swinging from left to right so fast and so hard I feared he would get whiplash, all this for fear of missing out on something. Which brings me to my fear of what will come next; crawling, which inadvertently leads to walking. We have not made our abode toddler-proof, i.e. there is more then one sharp protrusion at midget eye level which needs tending to. Then there are the stairs which, though good for working up a sweat and general cardiovascular exercising, bad for the little brain when one goes bouncery-bounce down the way. Not to mention the end of the little me-time I currently enjoy, because once Alexander decides to go on an excursion then either missy GP or myself will have to act like guides. I was warned, oh so many moons ago, that the moment you become a parent you can kiss you rest goodbye… and I didn’t believe them. But I am a believer now, hallelllullllla… ah crap. 6 months and one day, and many years to go. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change it for the world. For each day we are exposed to something new. From the moment he tried stuffing all his fingers into his mouth, to him trying to sit up straight all by himself, to exchanging the hands for the foot, the first gurgle, the first smile, the first this and the first that. According to missy GP he has already said “papa”, and according to me he has already said “mama”. And both of us are wrong, and both of us want to be so right! All I really want is a thanks for cleaning my nappies, and maybe a more sleep. … |