Posts Tagged ‘parents’

Ambulances and Terror


You know that feeling when you are about 5 minutes from and your wife texts you and says “I really hope you are close to home!”?
I do.
I think she’s really tired or the dog needs to go out.

You know that feeling when you pull into your apartment complex and see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles?
I do.
I think what’s all this then?

You know that feeling when you pull up to your building and see an ambulance parked in front of it with all their emergency lights going?
I do.
I think “hm, I wonder what’s happened to one of our neighbors?”

You know that feeling when you try to park at the entrance of the building but can’t because of the ambulance is parked directly where you normally park?
I do.
I think, nawwwwww, it couldn’t be our apartment their visiting. I’m married to super mom who would never let anything happen to our boy.

You know that slow creeping panic that takes over as you turn off the car and get out?
I do.
I think but what if……that text…, It couldn’t be…….

You know that feeling as your walk towards the breezeway leading to your apartment and it starts to turn into a frantic run?
I do.
I think no, no, no, no, no, don’t let it be us!!!!!

You know that feeling as you turn the corner of the breezeway and see the front door of your apartment standing wide open?
I do.
I think only oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!!!!

You know that sweeping feeling of relief mixed with tears when your wife comes out right as you get to the door, smiling, with smiling baby in her arms, and Dog on a leash and looks at you and says “oh good, you’re home. You can take the dog out.”
I do.
I think…………oh thank God.

You know that feeling when your wife looks at you and asks “what’s wrong? You look like you’re going to pass out” then looks over your shoulder asks “what’s going on? Why is there is an ambulance here?”
I do.
I’m still thinking…..oh thank God.

You know that feeling when your wife sees the tears swelled up in your eyes, looks back at the ambulance, smiles consolingly and says “….oh….you thought…..oh no…… the text too…..oh no….. You thought?”
I do.

Bath Time


I count myself lucky. Our Boy LOVES bath time. He’ll be in the living room playing on the floor, let out a squeal, crawl into the bedroom, then down the bathroom hall, climb to the tub, and then pull himself on the side of the tub trying to get in. If I put him down to hang something in the closet he’ll immediately crawl off to the tub. He LOVES bath time.

I accredit a lot of this to my wife who from day one has always tried to make bath time fun. Always talking to him, soothing him, being gentle, and working with him instead of against him. She’s always made an intentional effort not to get upset if there are accidents or if the floor gets covered in water. She’s always made sure that there are lots of cuddles and mommy time afterward.

I think too one of the things she’s done right is not to sweat the small stuff and recognize its not a perfect process. It’s ok not to get every square inch every single time. Bath time should be fun and shouldn’t be a scene out of Silkwood (for those of you old enough to remember that movie).

I’m usually at work during bath time so I miss his squeals and splashing and whining when he finally has to get out. That’s ok too. When I am here during bath time I’m usually off during chores around the house. I like to occasionally sit in but I really view it as one of those special mommy-baby times. Allot of times doing things for Mommy means taking the Boy but when it comes to bath time (I think) doing something for Mommy means letting her have those moment with the Boy.

She enjoys it and based on his eagerness to have bath time I’d say she’s definitely doing something right.

Baby Man


I am a man and I fully admit that when I get sick I turn into a baby. I’ve been feeling sick for a couple of days but last night it hit me full blast. After a day of work i came home with a fever. My body ached, my head and throat hurt, I had “fever eyes” but at the same time couldn’t get warm. I just wanted to climb into bed with a bunch of blankets, turn on Netflix, and feel sorry for myself.

You know who didn’t care? My son. You know who else didn’t care? The dishes or the laundry or the dog. My wife might have cared a little. The difference between being sick with and without an 11 month old to care for is night and day.

Childless all responsibilities yield to my whining pity party. The dishes can sit on the stove uncleared for at least a good 24 hours. I can probably get one more wear out of my dress shirt (I do wear undershorts). The dog is still the dog but my usual 20 minute walks can be as short at 3 minutes. Netflix binging is a must.

Having an 11 month thrilled to see Daddy and wanting to explore the world wipes all my poor me sick fun away. My wife, exhausted from a day with The Boy and with her own responsibilities, is more than ready for at least a 1 minute break. That turns The Boy over to me. Sickness and all.

Suddenly I find myself playing with him like I do the dog. Collapsed on the floor with him seated nearby. My one hand outstretched in his general direction (or where I think he is) flopping around with half hearted “wooo’s” escaping my sore throat. “Isn’t this fun?” I mutter with less conviction than a D list actor in an F grade movie.

Any other day I would be romping and rolling with him and chasing the dog around the house. Not today. Today my only goal is to make sure he doesn’t sustain an injury that will send us to the emergency room. I just find myself counting down the minutes to bedtime so I can feel good and sorry for myself.

There are no sick day pity party days when you’re a parent.

340 Days Old


It’s been a while since I’ve blogged and I want to get back on track with it. We are only 25 days from The Boy’s first birthday. It has been an unbelievable amazing year. Since my last post we flew not only to Nashville to see my Mom and sister but in August we flew back to Norway to see my wife’s family. That was an experience I’ll definitely have to share sometime.

The boy is crawling and just on the edge of walking. He’s currently obsessed with me wailing endlessly when I leave the room. It’s flattering but inconvenient. I feel terrible with for my wife who has dedicated her life to raising this boy and suddenly I swoop in for a couple hours each night and steal all the glory. Logically we both know it’s just a phase but I know it hurts her on some level.

The boy has started to mimic us. He will try to brush my hair and crudely try to use a spoon in the bowl.

He’s an amazing child and every day I just love him more and more. I’m lucky and extremely blessed to have such a wonderful child and wife.

My Father’s Legacy


We are 230 days and counting. It’s amazing how quickly the time is passing by. A little anxiety here trying to speculate all the things we need to do. Everything from converting the guest bedroom to a nursery, buying all the needed cribs, strollers, etc. I was thinking about working on a to-do list today but got suckered into watching Battlestar Galactica today. Yes, I’m a nerd. No apologies here. My wife’s morning sickness is still going strong but she’s learning better how to eat around it. She’s now eating whenever she’s not feeling sick just so she can keep something down. Her big cravings now are beef (of course well done) and carbs. The only off key cravings she’s had so far were yesterday when she wanted Indian samosas so bad she was ready to run to the nearest Indian restaurant.

This week I’ve been mulling over the question, what kind of father will I be? I have such mixed feelings about this. Will I be Cliff Huxtable, Ward Cleaver, or Darth Vader? I don’t know. I look at my father and grandfather and I’m a little concerned. Both were alcoholics, as am I. I don’t mean the kind of raging abusive alcoholic father they often show on TV. I mean the scared insecure need a constant buzz to interact with people and the world alcoholics. Rarely falling down drunk but perpetually having to finish off a beer before leaving the house and avoiding any social functions without alcohol. Not mean or intentionally abusive. I just mean neglectful in that fearful self absorbed way. My father to this day is as two dimensional as Ward Cleaver. Everything is fine, we don’t talk about bad things, or any real emotions. We never confront, ever. Then there is the narcism. Year before last I to,d him “Dad, we had a miscarriage.” His response? “I’m sorry. That’s terrible. Did you hear my new answering machine message? It’s really funny.”

I’m just trying to be open here and put my thoughts into words. I don’t hate either of them. I love them and all their faults. I truly believe they were both the best fathers they knew how to be. In my heart of hearts I truly believe that if they knew better or if they weren’t so scared of the world they would have they would have done the things other fathers do. They’re only human. They did (and do) the best they know how.

I gave up my resentment of my father and his failings many years ago. I had a lot of rage towards him because I felt he didn’t care enough about me to teach me to be a real man. He didn’t teach me to how to have freinds, talk to girls, be confident, play sports or (what i though all real men do) work on cars. That’s a big deal to a 19 year old boy who is in the Marines to cover his own fear and inadequacy. When I was 22 (still in the Marines in Japan) I got sober. With that came the shocking realization that my father was indeed actually only human. With it, the knowledge that in his own alcoholic, narcissistic, inadequate, and fearful way he tried his best to be a father. He may not have been the father I wanted him to be but he was the only father he could be. Today, I love him despite his failings because I recognize them for what they are. They are proof of his mortality and humanity. They make him beautiful.

Do I wish my own father had been more involved with me, more confident, less fearful of new things and people? Yes. But not as much for my sake as his. I think of the decades of life he’s missed out on because of his fear, alcoholism, and inadequacies. He’s missed out on the richness and fullness of life. I tried to share that with him. I tried to give him insight into my world and my inner peace. The year before last his drinking got worse and I convinced him to go to 90 AA meetings with me in 90 days. We did. Two days after that I went to a meeting I knew he would be attending. He was there. Drunk. Drunk at an AA meeting. He’s only human. As an alcoholic myself I understand him better than he knows. I don’t resent him for it. I pity him. I pity him because I desperately wanted to show him there’s another way of life. A wanted to give a piece of my serenity. He just wasn’t ready.

So based on my family history what kind of father will I be? A perfect father? No. A “better” father? I don’t know. Like my father and my father’s father I will only be the best father I know how to be, I only hope that one day my son or daughter looks at me and knows that despite all my own personal failings I really did try.

Planning on my long run tomorrow. After my botched long run last week I will be taking my training plan more seriously and alternating extending my distance and cutting back my distance on my long runs each week. Tomorrow will be a cut back long run. I ran a short three miles yesterday just so I can still feel that all this slower longer distance running isn’t mucking up my speed. It went well and I was within a minute of my 3 mile PR which is excellent since I run on a very hilly course meaning my next organized 5k should result in a new PR because organized runs are often on flatter courses. The problem is there is a lack of organized 5k’s here over the summer because it gets so hot. I’m still keeping my eyes open.

The Road to Daddyhood


I want to be a Dad. I really want to be Dad.

I’m 41. I’m married. I don’t have kids. If you are my age or older (and you don’t have kids) you’ve learned to roll your eyes and bite your tongue every time someone asks you “Any kids? Why not” or grrrrrrr “What are you waiting for?”. I’ve been called a DINK (double income no kids) half a dozen times. It’s at the same time funny, tiring, embarrassing, and yes, painful.

If you’ve struggled with infertility you  know how I, no “We”, feel. I know there are a lot of women who blog about their struggles with infertility. There aren’t as many men that blog about those struggles.

Since I am so long winded and verbose who better than I to share the very blunt, direct, and brutally honest feelings of a man going through these struggles. If there are other men who are already blogging about this then please please leave their blog addresses in the comments below. Let me know I’m not alone.

At 41 (and my wife at 33) we’ve managed to live in denial for long enough that we woke up recently and said “holy crap, a baby is not going to magically fall into our hands.”  I feel like we woke up with a biological clock that is wired to 20 tons of TNT. Not to say, my wife is explosive, she’s not (well not usually). But what I’m trying to say is like a college student who realizes at 11 PM that a forgotten term paper is due the next morning, so my wife and I realizing how quickly time is running out.

There are medical issues. My wife has PCOS (Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome). That’s not to say it’s all because of her condition. We won’t know for sure until 2 weeks from now if it is her, me, or both of us. If you don’t know about PCOS look it up. Its a very common Endocrinol disorder. It grows “little chocolate chips” on my wife’s ovaries. At least that’s how her endocrinologist described it to her once. “But they aren’t really chocolate chips” her doctor added. Really? As if my wife really needed confirmation  the Keebler Elves weren’t sneaking into her kooch and hiding their secret stash.

Medical issues weren’t the only thing our way. There was also our arch enemy….the one true betrayer…..The Great P.


Our own fault. Yes, I know. There were appointments we didn’t keep. Medications we didn’t taken the way we were supposed to. I’m not pointing fingers. It wasn’t only her medications or appointments. It was mine too. We lived on the daydream of adoption for over a year. We found a terrific organization. We got excited. Took the first couple of steps. Then managed to procrastinate until (because of my age) we slid past the age limit for that organization. Adoption is still in our future. We both do sincerely want to adopt.

I just feel like the door is quickly closing on the biological option. Its countdown time.

If it doesn’t happen then it doesn’t happen. I’m OK with that. I just want to be able to say we’ve done everything we could. We tried everything we tried.

So hopefully the posts in the following days will share the funny, blunt, embarrassing, sad, and true experiences as she and I work towards resolving our fertility issues. Come along with us. Wont’t you?