Daddy Duty, Day One

Yesterday was my first day alone with Julian. It was, let's be honest, hell.

It started off well enough. Jen nursed him at about 5:30 before showering and getting ready to leave. I dozed with Julian until about 7:15 and then showered while he slept. He finally woke up around an hour later, fussy. I fed him and held him, and he calmed down.

We have a Fisher Price Newborn Rock 'n' Play Sleeper and I love the damn thing. May be one of the best baby gifts we got. He doesn't seem to mind the harness at all, and we can keep him right beside us when he's not nursing or taking a bottle. He can look around at things in the room, and when his limbs are active, he can even set the thing to rocking all by himself--although I doubt he's learned that yet.

So, under the Old Normal, what would happen was, one of us would put him into it after a feeding, a walk, a trip out, or a simple cuddle session. He'd settle in. If he was in a quiet alert state, he'd take in his surroundings and bop his arms and legs around. If fully awake and engaged, he'd coo and giggle and smile. Sometimes, though not often, he'd fall asleep and snooze in there. But he doesn't sleep much during the day, which is fine because he sleeps well overnight, so he doesn't sleep often in the Sleeper. He just ... abides. Like that one guy from that movie.



Baby abides, baby grooves, baby fusses.

Yesterday's Normal was much different because The Mommy was gone, and The Baby was not approving of that. It started off normal. I put him in the Sleeper, which we also call the Pod, and he abided. Abode? He smiled and cooed, he bopped his arms and legs around, and he seemed content, so I left him there and started working. I could see him in my peripheral vision, so every time he shifted in his seat, I turned and talked to him a bit.

Then I got up for more coffee, and he fussed. He didn't soothe himself, so I picked him up and held him. Again, this is pretty normal for him and probably for most newborns. I can usually hold him until he calms down and put him back into the Pod. Not yesterday.

From that point on (probably around 9:30), he wouldn't take to the Pod at all, not once. I could not put him in there without screaming and wailing and thrashing of limbs. Nor could I put him down into his co-sleeper in the bedroom. He had to be touching me at all times. He sacked out on my shoulder for a while; he generally loves that and sleeps very well there, in that sack-of-potatoes position.

When I needed the bathroom, I put him back into the Pod. Again, I can normally do that, but not yesterday. The minute I got up, he started screaming.

So I fed him a couple of times and tried to set him down. He wouldn't have it; he screamed and screamed and screamed. At 11, I took him out for a walk, and that calmed him, but only for a bit. He ate right after we came home, very well.

Eating

Allow an interlude. One thing that went really well yesterday, actually, was the feeding. I was worried he'd fuss a lot if he didn't have Jen around, but he didn't. If he was hungry, he latched right on to the bottle and sucked and sucked.

We also just switched bottles. We were using a  First Years BreastFlow nurser, but we switched instead to a Lifefactory bottle, with a more traditional style nipple, and that worked very well. I was having trouble getting him to latch well on the First Years BreastFlow. Every time he sucked from it, he would leak milk out his mouth. We wasted a lot and he was frustrated. The Lifefactory solved all of that.

Back to the Chronology ...

So he ate until about 12:30, but then by 1:00 he was screaming again.

I held him in sack-of-potatoes for as long as my arm and shoulder held out, but then I had to put him into the Bjorn. Although Jen has sat with him in the Bjorn before, I had only ever walked around with him in it, so trying this was new.

He conked out for a while and I took that time to call my mom and catch up with her.

I held him that way for over an hour until he woke up and made rooting motions with his head and mouth. He ate and ate and ate, and then when he was in post-noshing hiccup mode, I put him back in the Bjorn and took him for a second walk.

Hellish Afternoon

It was the late afternoon that nearly broke us both. By this point he was exhausted and totally overstimulated. He continued to eat well, but nothing else I tried would calm him down. I couldn't soothe him in the Bjorn or in my arms or over my shoulder. He screamed with a wet diaper, a dry diaper, in the Pod, in the co-sleeper, in the Boppy, in my arms, on my lap, in the Bjorn.

I finally thought I'd remove him from most stimulation and try to soothe him with calm and quiet. He tends to relax more in the bedroom than the living room because it's a quieter, darker space with less to look at and get distracted by. I put him into the co-sleeper and sat in the rocker next to it with a book, some water, and my phone. Jen was leaving work, so I wanted to stay connected to the phone in case she texted me with train updates.

It took a few tries, but he eventually took a pacifier. He sucked for a while and fell asleep. But unfortunately he only slept for 15 minutes. He woke up and screamed. I got him to take the pacifier again, and I thought he was going to sleep again, but then a cat puked near the bed and that upset him ... and he screamed.

At that point, Jen was due home in an hour, so it was just hold on to him and try to keep the screaming down. I just held him tight in my arms and walked around the apartment for an hour. (It was dark and cold out at this point, so I didn't want to take him outside.)

OHmygod, MOMMY. Thank Hell.

A little after 6:30, Mommy Angel came home to her exhausted boys, and I took a long-needed potty break. Apparently, Julian caught her scent as she prepared to nurse him and let out a long whimper. He nursed for what seemed like two hours and then slept for nearly 12 hours straight.

Speaking of straight, I went straight for the straight rye whiskey. Rittenhouse 100 proof, on the rocks. I don't know who enjoyed his drink more, baby or Daddy.

The Final Countdown

The countdown clock pointing to the end of Jen's maternity leave is ticking. I won't say how many days are left because I don't want her turning into a pool of blubbering motherhood.

Tomorrow (Monday), we take Julian in for his two month checkup. Included in that is a round of shots. That'll prove to be fun.

As part of the wind-down of her leave, and the ramp-up to full-time stay-at-home daddyhood, I've been working with Julian on his bottle skills. All I can say about that is that some attempts are more successful than others. We really just need to get our rhythm. I need to get a bottle to him before he's too fussy to happily take one. We've learned in the last few days, too, that he likes to take one while I'm walking with him; the rocking motion seems to sooth him.

I had a minor meltdown this morning because he was fussy at just the same time the cats were hyperactive and Jen was pumping and getting showered. I know there will be days when Julian and the cats demand attention at the same time, and I'll need to learn how to juggle them all. Which implies a funny visual, if you think of it, a man juggling cats and a baby.

Kick out the jams, Mousketeers!

Recently, I tweeted:

Gen X parenting.... Singing Add It Up while holding your baby makes you feel creepy, at best.

I sparked a small discussion, but it makes me wonder ... to what extent do you sanitize/censor your music library when your kids come along? A fellow tweeter sympathized, saying she had an awkward moment with her three-year-old and Exile in Guyville.


I grew up pretty sheltered. I was a kid in the 70s and 80s. My mom didn't listen to much music at home, so the only time I heard a radio was at my grandmother's -- easy listening.

Here's how sheltered I was as a kid, and maybe this will sound like something out of Freaks and Geeks. It was 1982, I was in eighth grade, and we were in an elective class. Teacher allowed us to have the radio on while we were working...

With the heartbreak open
So much you can't hide

All the girls went crazy, I remember it. Squealing, seriously.

Then ...

Don't drink don't smoke, what do you do?

Wait, what? Are these girls drinking? Are these girls smoking? Only old people smoke!

But don't get the wrong idea. I found out what station they were listening to and went home and turned that on, right away. I mean, even to my sheltered ears, Adam Ant sounded fresh and cool.

Then later in the year, in music class, we were supposed to form groups, pick a song, and do some kind of assignment around it. Our music teacher, Mrs. Wright, was also my homeroom teacher, and I had her for an elective. She was also young and cool, so she was an easy person to talk to.

I don't remember what the assignment was, but I remember the song my group picked. Because I had some kind of rapport with Mrs. Wright, my group picked me to pitch her the song:

"Mrs. Wright, we have our song." I was embarrassed; I knew sure she wouldn't fall for it.

-- Yes, Michael?

-- um... -- I wanted to be really quiet, but I knew my friends wanted to hear me say it, so I nearly shouted -- It's by AC/DC.

-- I know about AC/DC.

-- You do, really? -- You never think your teachers are cool when you're in the eighth grade.

-- Yes, what's the song?

I knew I was doomed. -- Big Balls. Uhm... it's about parties?

My friends snickered, and so did most of the class. I must have turned eighteen shades of red.

-- Michael. I know that song, and we both know it's not about parties. I can't believe you asked me this. Come up with a different song, and don't mention this song to me again. (She was a little red-faced, too.) Now, I might have fallen a little in love with Mrs. Wright that day, but that's not the point.

I fear Julian may have the exact opposite experience, hearing the kinds of things at home that he can't just go out and repeat.

Baby was a black sheep. Baby was a whore. Baby got big and baby get bigger. Baby get something. Baby get more. Baby, baby, baby was a rock-and-roll ...

Uh, yeah. I have a certain understanding of that song, but it's layered by years of other Patti Smith songs, reading her poetry and memoirs, and understanding what the song's trying to communicate. I can't begin to understand how I'll introduce Julian to it, or for that matter, half the other things we listen to.

All for Julian

This may not seem directly related to Julian, but there's something else I've been working on that I think is important. I'm being treated finally for high blood pressure and cholesterol.

I've been hypertensive since my teens. Even when I was running two or three times a week, and I was bone thin, I was hypertensive. But never like this. My reading actually alarmed my doctor, and in fact, the biggest surprise was that my EKG looked normal. I guess most people with my numbers have hearts that are already showing signs of damage.

I've never felt a need to seek treatment before, but everything's different now. I want to be around for Julian's life. So we're treating this head-on and hoping.

Role/Reboot covers the Stay at Home Dad

J is now five weeks old.

I came across a great post by someone writing on the Stay at Home Dad phenomenon: the writer interviews a number of dads about the choices they've made and the accompanying challenges. It's worth a read.

Fatherhood Go

We've had J at home now for just over two weeks. He was due September 15. Jen's labor was induced the 19th, and he arrived on the 21st. When I have a chance to get some notes together, I'll talk a little about our experiences, but for now, just keeping the blog alive.

My involvement at this stage seems really small. I can't nurse him, obviously, so all I can do is change his diapers, hold him when he cries, and support Jen whenever I can. I know all of that is important, but none of it makes me feel like Daddy just yet.

Fatherhood Leads to Drop in Testosterone

Doomed, I tell you. Doomed.

D is for Dad

Over the summer, the Atlantic asked its readers to explain this: What is it about your job that other people just don't understand?

From A to Z, we went through your responses to find the best vocational essays for each letter. These essays are as short as a short sentence and as long as an full article

Now, here, by the Atlantic's criteria, is the best response they received for the letter D:

D is for Dad
"Being a stay-at-home Dad is like unemployment."

That's it. That's the one that's "as short as a short sentence."

That sounds like a life sentence to me. Luckily, I don't feel bound by the Atlantic's hidebound ideas of manliness.

Sitting Here in Limbo

Man, it's a crazy time.

We're about as ready for the boy to arrive as we can be, I think. The bedroom is set up, the cosleeper is ready, we have bins full of diapers. His baby clothes have been laundered, his sleepers, his swaddlers, his wee towels. We've set aside cash for a cab in case Jen goes into labor before her parents arrive.

Jen's now showing some possible signs of early labor. She's seeing the OB again on Wednesday and we'll know more about whether this is actually very early labor or just a false alarm. Either way, it's time to get my head together.

What's frustrating is, we can be ready, as ready as possible. But we still have to wait.

One Step Closer

About two weeks ago, we interviewed a pediatrician in town in our quest to find a caregiver for the boy. We have strong, but not strident, views on how we want to treat our boy, and it was important for us to find someone who shared our views. But we also wanted very much for it to be a conversation with possible doctors, and not a list of demands.

The doc we saw two weeks ago started off this part of the conversation on the right foot. She said, "Now, I meet parents sometimes who tell me they don't want their child immunized. And I make it very clear to those parents that perhaps they should find another provider because this isn't the right practice for them."

That alone made us more comfortable discussing other areas of concern: nursing (yes--and the practice has a lactation consultant on staff) and circumcision (nope, not for our kid, and maybe I'll write about that separately) chief among them. The doctor supported our decisions in both cases. She said in the United States today, circumcision is a cultural choice instead of a medical one. In agreeing with her, I unfortunately started to become the lectury parent neither of us wanted to be, but once I realized what I was doing, I piped down and let her change the subject.

Finally, there was something about her demeanor that we found very comforting. She reminded us both, in fact, of my mom who, I should add, was a medical professional herself for decades.

So, that's one gigantic decision out of the way: the boy has a doctor we're comfortable with. I spent time this morning finding out our next steps, such as how do we let the HMO know about the pediatrician, when should we tell the OB-GYN (at Jen's next appt, preferably), and how billing works between the time he's born and the time the HMO has official record of his provider's name and info.

It's funny, but in these moments of minutiae and nitty-gritty detail, I really feel like I'm doing something concrete to care for our son, even though he's not even here yet.

The Scary Hospital Tour

Sunday morning, Jen and I went to Women & Infants for the Grand Tour class the hospital offers expectant parents. Five other couples were present, each woman in varying degrees of pregnancy. Four of the six couples were in their first pregnancies, and although it's hard to guess what strangers are feeling, I think the other newbies were, like us, a little nervous.

Now, this wasn't a full-fledged childbirth class. It was simply an overview of the facilities that parents-to-be might expect to see: triage and admitting, labor-and-delivery rooms, C-section ORs (we didn't tour those, of course--they're sterile environments--but we were shown where they are), postpartum rooms, and so on.

And we got to see the newborn nursery, which I think for many of us was the highlight of the tour. When the curtain opened and we could see the wee little babies, every face lit up in smiles and goofy grins. There may have even been some weeping.

We haven't taken any other classes, including childbirth classes--although we do plan to take infant CPR at some point soon. We have a number of reasons for not taking the other classes, and at some point I might run through those. But this one came highly recommended by Jen's nurse-midwife, and I'm glad we did it.

I pretty much hate hospitals, having buried a father and four grandparents, and having spent more than a month in one as a teenager after I broke my leg. I associate them strongly with pain and death, not life and hope.

I was relieved to find that W&I doesn't remind me much of the hospitals I remember, at least not in the L&D and postpartum rooms. I mean, it's not a boutique hotel, don't get me wrong. But there's at least an effort at minimizing the hospital feel of those rooms and making them less threatening and more relaxing. That alone was a relief.

Am I ready for my son to enter the world? No, of course not. But I definitely feel somewhat farther down that road.

Introduction

Hey, I'm Dietsch. My wife (Jen) and I have a baby due in a few weeks. His due date is September 15, but who knows when he'll actually emerge into the light.

We live in Providence, RI, the biggest city of the smallest state. Jen works in Boston, supervising and training legal assistants in the patent department of a law firm. I work from home, trying to make a go of the starving-writer lifestyle.

We both agree that it makes sense for me to take on the majority of daytime child-care duties, after our son is born. Which of course means you can call me a stay-at-home dad (SAHD). I'm not terribly crazy about the SAHD acronym, but it's widely accepted, so why fight it.

This blog will feature my attempts to come to terms with first-time fatherhood, and not to mention middle-aged first-time fatherhood (I'm 42), plus the challenges and rewards of being a SAHD.

I don't really know what I expect to be writing about here since it's all so new to me. I do hope to avoid navel-gazing, though.