“This Is When I Knew He Was Growing Up”

“This Is When I Knew He Was Growing Up”

So I have a son. His name is Alexander. In past blogs, I’ve discussed meeting him for the first time, the terror that comes with being a new dad, and then the joys that are sprinkled in as well that make it all worthwhile. I would call Parenting   “Constant Worrying and Terror with Dessert”.  You really know nothing but you also know everything. Everything I say here would make sense to a new parent and sound like complete gibberish to the people with their freedom still intact.  God Bless.

We've  fast forwarded and Alex is now 1 Year old.  He no longer eats out of a bottle. He no longer drinks formula or is amused by laying under a baby gym.  He likes real food, he likes girls, and he likes to quite frankly be a jerk from time to time.  I love him, but I'm pretty sure he’s mocking me on almost a daily basis.  I told myself that when my baby got old enough to throw his Sippy cup on the floor during meals, I would let it sit there and let him cry. I was a big fat liar.  You do whatever it takes to make him happy in that moment.  I can't wait until he can talk so I can argue with him in public. Right now it’s me yelling and him grinning and throwing it on the floor again.

This all ties in to the moment that I knew he wasn't a baby anymore.  This past weekend, he really took his first steps. He’s done some drunken sloppy flops but this weekend he walked multiple steps to and from his Mommy and me.  It was amazing.  I was so pumped like I just won the big game. His Mother was being consoled by family crying that she basically lost her little boy.  I felt that too but hid it better this time.  I was excited and was starting to plan our summer home for when he made the NBA and put us up there when I was too old to want to do anything for myself.  Me and him and his Mommy were together FOREVER!!!!!............. not so fast.

We are at my cousin’s softball game.  He sees the playground and starts pointing and hooting and hollering. We saunter over. There are about 5 little girls over there ranging from 7 to 2.  Alex lights up like a Christmas tree. They ask his name and if they can carry him. I say no but you can walk around with him. Alex proceeds, beaming mind you, to go walking off with a gaggle of girls surrounding him. He wasn't scared, he wasn't unhappy, and he could have cared less where Daddy went.  The kid was in the freaking zone.  I let that one shake off me until we got back to our area for the game and the girls come over to play catch.  He’s showing off, standing up throwing, really showing his A Game to the ladies.  The girls then leave. I go over to play with him. It’s my turn.  He’s going to be so psyched. Daddy and Alex!.  I might as well have been a brick wall.  He turned away from me, our ball throwing game we've played for months in his room and at parks, to find the cute blonde 2 year old he was just flirting with.  I guess I was ok with Mommy winning over Daddy when it came to his affection but now he'd rather play ball with the little girls.  This is NOT ok.  This was a wake-up call.

”This Is When I Knew He Was Growing Up”

" I Think My Two Month Old Son Might Be Gay"

       Now before we start here, i want to apologize for a couple things. One, I have not upheld my responsibility to this blog. I blame it on work, sleep deprivation and most importantly the person i gave birth to (with help) 10 months ago.  Secondly, i want to be clear that this blog is meant to entertain . I don't think my son is gay, i wouldn't care if he was gay, and i know that there is no way to compile the necessary proof to deem a baby gay. OK.. I'm glad that's settled. Let's move on,

       Alexander Mason is perhaps one of the happiest babies you'll ever meet. I"m sure a lot of parents say that, but we really hit the jackpot as he is just forever happy. He literally cries when he is sitting in his own poop, he's hungry (which is often) and on a July afternoon, i was hoping for a third reason : when we inserted a thermometer in his bum.

      Now let me be clear, if it was up to me, all temperature readings would be done through putting it in his mouth or under his armpit. However, the people that know things i.e  the doctor, his mommy, my mommy, most other people in the world, insisted the most accurate reading required us to insert this cold metal/plastic contraption into his hiney.

     This is the part of the story where i really get a chance to show my maturity and fatherly instincts. I said to myself "Lenny, what reaction are you looking for from your son when this thing is put where things aren't supposed to go in? ".   A good mature parent would say, "i want him to be OK and not cry over it and just get through it and we get his reading and that's it" .  Well that parent doesn't work here. (She does, but that FATHER doesn't work here).  The guy that works here felt as though my son should cry when things are going in there and perhaps even sit up at 2 months old and say "HEY get that outta there sucka.... not that there's anything wrong with that (Seinfeld reference).

     So let's fast forward to that day that will live in infamy.  We put young Alex face down on the changing table and we pick his legs up in the air. He gives me this look like "Dad Help". I could do nothing but watch in dreaded anticipation of his outburst of tears and discomfort and then I'd save the day and pull him off, berate his mother for doing it and we would go look at Victoria's Secret Catalogs while farting and grunting . The moment has now arrived.......

     Alas the moment did not exactly turn out the way i expected. Mommy put the contraption into his caboose and Alex paused, looked at me, looked at Mommy and then started giggling like a schoolgirl when she finds out the boy she likes thinks she's cute.  He appeared to be enjoying the surgical procedure that was happening.  His mommy looked relieved (remember she's mature and not insane).  I on the other hand buried my head in my hands in disbelief and shock. I love my son, i will always love my son no matter what, but it was a shocking day when I looked down at him giggling and grinning and said to myself:

                                         "I Think My Two Month Old Son Might Be Gay"

Please tune in next time for " I Remember When My Family Used to Care When I Showed Up"

"I Now Have A New Best Friend"

              So I hit a bit of writer's block a month or so ago and wasn't sure what to write next.  This blog was dedicated to my journey to becoming a father, but now the baby is here and now what.  Do i talk about the first month where he moved his finger on occasion and pooped and peed and that's about it?  Do I talk about the insane paranoia that encompasses you once you become a father?  Do I talk about how his mother apparently can function on zero sleep per night ?  I could do that.  But I'd rather dive in to the day your son or daughter (i guess) comes into your world and he becomes your new best friend.

Alexander James was born on May 3rd 2013 in the early morning. I think it was 5 something but i really don't remember. I think that's a mother's job to know. That fact would be more important if I was one of those obnoxious parents that celebrate the time their baby is born. I will not be one of those obnoxious parents. HOWEVER, I am an obnoxious parent. We all are but I would say I'm definitely one those dads that's so gushingly proud of his kid, that it's rather nauseating to those parents that do not love their kids as much i.e dads that somehow can manage to not be a part of their kid's lives. I like to call those people "scum of the earth" . There's a special home in dirtbagville for them. The only silver lining is it just brings more attention to how amazing those single mothers are out there.


Sorry for going off on a tangent, but let me digress.  I said before my son was born.... "it's dumb to say how many weeks and months a baby is... I'm calling him 0 until he's 1".  Everyone laughed but i was serious.  Am I 1768 weeks old as a 33 year old? (PS i did that in my head).  No I'm 33 years old. So I'm not doing what others do.  Fast forward to May 10th.. and I'll be damned if i wasn't posting some gushy crap about my son turning one week old. Facebook has become the world of drunken comments and baby pictures. There is literally no in between. i Mean you get your occasional Lebron Argument or Red Sox/yankees diatribe.  But basically Facebook is a battle of parents showing who has the cutest kids.  Boy did that sound obnoxious before May 3rd. Now it's "look how big Aspen is getting... it's so cute when she makes that face " .  Your world changes when you have a child, and my life changed for the much much better.


Now to at least show my loyal readers who literally refreshed their Facebooks every 5 seconds for the last 6 weeks for my next article, I'm not just an emotional softy. I do still have a bad boy edge.  I still have that "swagger" to me as the kids say.  My son doesn't define me. I'm still a young happening hip dude that's got it goin on. I proved that just the other day.  I was making sure he had enough diapers in his diaper bag and that he had his Paccies in there.  Once it was closed up, I threw it over my shoulder like a louis vuton purse and headed out to the car, car seat and baby in tow. Once i got in, and got him tucked in and turned on his music mirror to keep him busy, i did what any "gangsta" does.  I reclined my seat... turned on the Disney station and turned up the Bass. Real Talk my friends. Real Talk.   Tune in next week for my most controversial blog yet:
                                          "I Think My Two Month Old Son Might Be Gay".
                                                   

“Why Does My Son Like Cuddling On Mommy’s Chest More Than Mine? “

                 Being a man and a father has many advantages. They vary from "being able to use the bathroom standing up" to "being able to fart among a group of friends and be faced with nothing but chuckles". We're men. We watch sports, we drink beer (some of us), and we say dumb things and do even dumber things. Eventually, due to the miracle of science we've discussed in past blogs, we become fathers. Being a dad has its perks as well. My child needed to eat from day 1 and some milk would be put into a bottle and I would hold it.  My breasts would not get sore from feeding him, my groin has never felt pain because of this kid, and if I fled to Mexico on an impromptu expedition, this child would get fed. These are just facts people. 

           Don't get me wrong though ladies. We're jealous of you in many ways. I speak for all men, even the ones that squat 400 pounds at the gym and act like they don't know who Kim Kardashian is.   If a girl's at a poker table with a group of guys, she is the center of attention. Plop me down in a kitchen surrounded by ladies baking, and they are counting the seconds till I leave. You get nothing but warnings while we get speeding tickets.  You literally have "tools" that can be used as weapons, pillows and attention grabbers. No matter how much we evolve as a society, no man will walk into a bar with a rolled up gym sock in his pants and have 10 girls come up and buy him drinks. . That's not how this works.   Women rule the world and men basically are blabbering idiots just trying to impress girls.    How this ties into my subject for this week's blog is rather simple. 

          My son doesn't cuddle on me. He doesn't snuggle into my chest. He doesn't OFTEN fall asleep on my chest. He loves me. He loves playing with me. He spots me from a mile away. He wants to make funny sounds. He wants to learn the nuances of zone defense in basketball. He loves his Dad.  But when he's sleepy, he loves Mommy WAY more. He loves Mommy way more because of her weapons, her Milk cartons, her attention grabbers.  He nestles in and he's out cold within minutes.  I can't blame him, but I find myself being jealous that I'll never have the skills or resources his Mommy has.  

          Now I know what you're thinking. "I thought this was a baby blog, why are you talking about breasts the whole time? Aren't you a father you sicko?”  I am a father.  I am also a man.   When you have a son, men, he becomes Mommy's # 1 and he basically rules the roost.   This creates a new hierarchy of Mommy in charge, Baby second in command, and Mommy as second backup just in case and then somewhere after the cat, gerbil and goldfish is Daddy.   You accept it and you appreciate the love that they share.  Although I ask the question here today, I already know the answer of 

               "Why Does My Son Like Cuddling On Mommy's Chest More Than Mine?"     


                     Tune in next week when we dive into "Please Give Me A Smile Baby, I'll Do Anything".

"Why Does My Baby Look Like An Alien?"

“Why Does My Baby Look Like An Alien? “

Being a Dad rules.  Let me make that clear.   Making a baby is great (wink wink).  Making your baby smile for the first time is awesome.  I can imagine watching him read/walk/drive/play for the first time is an amazing beautiful experience as well.  I see now what all the hoopla was about, and I have drunk the Kool-aid.

HOWEVER, and I want to make this clear, NOTHING about giving birth is beautiful.   Nothing about the process, nothing about the yelling and crying (mostly me), is even remotely something you can classify as beautiful. Women don’t think so, because they are pushing a HUGE thing out of a small place and in agonizing pain.  Men don’t think so because they are in the vicinity of their woman pushing a HUGE thing out of a small place.   The experience is amazing and mind boggling and incomprehensible, but NO , it’s not beautiful so stop it,  stop it right now.

To give you an idea, I think our son is the most beautiful baby in the world. I know what you're going to say “Everyone thinks that!” . Well there’s a difference, they’re delusional and wrong.  My little man is the most beautiful baby in the world.  You often hear people talk about or see people post pictures of their just born babies and everyone says “OMG Lorraine… he/she is SOOOOO Beautiful”.  This is another example of what I like to call “BLATANT LYING”. Babies fresh out of Mommy can only be classified as gross alien life forms.  They are filled with gunk, they have strange and peculiar faces, and in my son’s case, he actually had a cone head. Yes, he was a baby Dan Aykroyd.  I held him and loved him, but it took him a good couple days before he resembled a human being.  I want all you non-parents to go in with this expectation.  You will love them regardless of how alien-like they are, and they will turn into the most beautiful thing in your world, but that first day, they are far from “Breathtaking”.  They are little miracle goblins for the first day or two and you can deny it ladies and gentlemen, but it’s true. 

Next week, I’m going to start diving in on the beginning of the best friendship I have ever had, the one with my son.  He has taught his mommy and myself so much about life and happiness and how one little smile or belly laugh can literally eliminate 100 annoyances from your day.  You will never love anything or anyone as much as you love your child.  I hope you can see how much I LIKE this kid in coming weeks, as I write about our adventures in diaper changing, food eating, backwards crawling and using his Mommy and Daddy as a jungle gym.  I have so many questions about his future and I know they’ll all have answers one day. The only question I don’t have an answer for is the one I had in the early morning of May 3^rd, 2013.

“Why Does My Son Look Like An Alien”.

Next Week:     “Why Does My Son Like Cuddling On Mommy’s Chest More Than Mine? “

"Oh God How Is Something Going To Come Out Of There?"

           

            I’ll start off this week’s blog by stating that child birth is both a miracle and a mystery to me. How a person is created and then comes out of another person is both insane and unexplainable.  I only hope that women realize that NOTHING a man will ever do compares to what child birth is to them. You ladies are saints. 

That being said, child birth is perhaps the most terrifying experience for a man, outside of getting your manhood taken from you that can possibly happen.  You are told that “you really help by being supportive, bringing her ice chips, rubbing her shoulders”. Yeah that’s all well and good, but really you're just a bumbling fool looking to complete strangers (the doctors) hoping that they know what the hell they are doing.  I’m fairly certain if the custodian walked through the door at the hospital and said that he knows what he’s doing , I would have given him a nod and let him go to work.  We really are a clueless bunch.  It’s comical and you will never ever EVER worry more than that 24 hour period that your wife/girlfriend is in labor.

Let’s touch on a couple things for you novices out there.  I can go over this with the general public now that I’m a seasoned veteran in the art of “Watching a woman create a miracle”.  First, don’t say “you’re between contractions, it doesn't hurt now”. I was doing SOOO well and that comment set me back at least 3 hours.  I’m fairly certain if I didn't have her arms locked down with the Canadian arm bar maneuver, that she would have ripped my heart out after that comment.  I learned my lesson for next time.  Secondly, find your Inner Bear Bryant/Vince Lombardi.    You’re a coach.  Use coach speak and sports euphemisms CONSTANTLY. This especially works if your lady is like mine and is a competitive sports nut.  Phrases such as “EYE OF THE TIGER”, “THE GAME IS ON THE LINE” and “LESSSSSSSSGOOOOOOO” are solid choices. Third, living in New England, the battle lines of Red Sox vs Yankees are very clear and taken very seriously. Telling your doctor that you are a red sox fan when she bleeds the Yankees pinstripes can inevitably lead to her “ALMOST” dropping your slippery child upon birth. Just be indifferent and say you like sewing and pottery.   Finally and most importantly for you expecting first-time fathers, many removable parts will be laid on the table to the side or end of the bed. These things are not souvenirs. Any man that says that they are with a straight face is a liar or is being worked like a puppet.   The doctors don’t care that you find them gross and will make it as hard as possible for you to move around  and avoid these things.  Do yourself a favor and lose weight so you can easily slip between the table and the wall to take pictures. 

Next week, I will tell you all about the first time you meet your child, the admiration you will have for your woman until the day you die. Your baby will be the most beautiful thing you've ever seen …. About 10 minutes after he’s born.  This ties into next week’s title…………………

“Why Does My Baby Look Like An Alien”

"Why Can't I Remember How To Do Anything Now?"

                                       
               

       There have been many great, brilliant men since the beginning of time.  They have unlocked that the world is round, the meaning of life, and that if you throw an apple in the air, it will come down, and why.  They give out awards every year to these geniuses. I still can't imagine how we have gotten to the point where we can watch TV in our cars, talk on phones without holding a phone, and find out the weather in Bangladesh from our living room. But this was done by geniuses, both men and women, (but mostly men in fairness) that had this superior intellect. 

      That being said, when it comes to the day their wife went into labor, Einstein, Newton and Da Vinci were just as dumb as the next guy.  Whatever intelligence a man has is immediately lost when talks of waters breaking and "it's time" come into play.  My story will illustrate this point. 

       I'm not the most technically savvy guy in the world. However, I had practiced certain things time and time again so I was ready when I was told it's time to go the hospital. I knew the best route to get there, I knew what we needed to pack to bring , I knew how to fold up that stroller/car seat combination monstrosity and get it into the trunk.  Now, if you remember from my past entry,  We are at the softball field, we're racing home and my mind is racing on . what to pack/where the hospital is and will this kid hate me? We pull up to the house and I yelled at her to stay in the car and I ran inside at the speed of light. I come to the stroller and go to do something I’ve done A HUNDRED times.  Fold that puppy up and throw it over my shoulder.  This time, however, I literally had no clue how to do it.  I also had no clue where anything was that we had to pack, how to walk one step in front of another, and how to control my bowels.  I made the executive decision to get everything together, get it all outside and then fold it up out there .  Apparently, fresh air would bring my lost intelligence back to me.  It did not, I fought and yelled at her to stay in the car (she was much calmer and could have done this in ten seconds, but I felt like I could pull off folding up the stroller).  I then decided to sprint to my neighbor's and ask them for help since they just had a baby.  The look of shock and amazement at the confused/scared child in front of them was a thing of beauty.  As we tried to solve this Rubik’s Cube, something clicked and it was closed.  I said thanks... tripped over my own feet and ran to the car. Luckily enough, in the 12-14 hours I was gone, she didn't give birth in my Hyundai Sonata. That would have been bad. 

So to recap the things we've learned today,  Men are superior intelligently UNTIL the second labor/pregnancy/parenthood comes into play, then the gap is substantial.  I hope this public service announcement has made clear to any man out there considering fatherhood or the things that make fatherhood happen, it will make you dumber. This is not even counting the multiple TV shows with cute songs and bright colors.   It truly begs the question: 

"Why Can't I Remember How To Do Anything Now? "

Tune in next week for "OH GOD HOW IS SOMETHING GOING TO COME OUT OF THERE?"