Potty Time

I've just put you down for a nap and your mom is at work so that should give you a pretty good idea of how organized today was. You turned two about a month ago and with the supported blessing of your daycare, we have ventured into the much charted, murky, smelly waters of potty training.

I'd like to start by saying you've really been great with this whole thing. We put you on the toilet, and boom you seem to figure out what we are wanting you to do. "Touchdown Poo!" as you so regularly and emphatically state, despite more often than not you simply eek out a quick pee. I think the whole touchdown thing is a nod to dear old dad, and one that I very much appreciate. You're not shy about the location of the toilet that we hold you over, another huge thank you on that. The one small concern that I have noted of late and one that has thrust me into writing you this very moment apres a very industrious session with a mittful of Lysol wipes, is your quiet reference to needing to go. This is perhaps our fault, a tenant of potty training as I understand now is clear communication on the part of both parties, and while i understand a lot of what you are saying, your verbiage isn't huge, which leaves me playing a bit of a guessing game. Now normally I simply err on the side of recognizing 90% of your requests as bathroom related and I scoop you up to the nearest toilet. (Which is quite the bolt across Metrotown....one of the top five largest malls in Canada) But when you do make the request you do so quietly and without much fanfare. Sometimes I maybe engaged with something, TV blaring and so I don't hear your tacit and meek request for "Poo Poo Daddy." And for that I apologize, but you must understand that in all other aspects of your life, you my boy are incredibly large in your volume and action. A hug, is a run up bear hug, a snuggle is more of a wrestling match, and any protestations are generally overstated to a degree that a Shakespearean Director would likely identify you as slightly dramatic.  (As a side note, you also seem to have a great affinity for elaborate hat and shoe ware)

So for the purposes of retrospect, I just hope that you understand that I am not frustrated at the actual poo related "incidents" but rather you shunning your gift for the elaborate. Please, if you feel yourself trundling toward the inevitable. Yell it from the rooftops, proclaim it from the mountaintops and I will (at least for the next while) come running and assist you in relieving yourself at the nearest porcelain fount. 

Dear Son

Buddy.

So now it starts to become clear. You look at me now, and respond to things. Open your eyes and smile, and I'm pretty sure you're working on a little laugh of your own. This parenting thing is starting to make sense. You are starting to make sense to me. Its been 2 months and 10 days since you came on to the scene and this family thing seems like it is all coming together.

Sorry for the brief break to Mexico, I had to take off for a little bit. A wedding. I felt guilty going, leaving you and your mom for a week to your own devices. (Devices read, your grand parents) But I'm back and I am vowing a week is a little long, so I will attempt not to ditch the family for unnecessary reasons in the future.

I wanted to mention your mom. Before you met her, she was amazing. Passionate, fiery, silly and fun. You will probably not appreciate these traits until you're much older. But I tell you there there. Your impact on her, has been a hell of a thing to watch. Everyday I come home to a greater sense of family, a greater feeling of fatherhood and while I can ascribe a great deal of this to you and your littleness, your mom is the facilitator of the process. You my friend are simply a spark. (No offence)

I find myself settling in now. I'll admit that a few weeks ago, I wanted nothing more than to accelerate this process, to see you grow and talk and express yourself as a young boy and further to that a man. But now, now I understand that you do express yourself all the time, and that you don't just cry excessively. I'm not sure if this is because you have settled down yourself, or if I am now more accustomed to your "expressions." Either way I'm having some fun these days. And I sweat a little less when you crap yourself from your navel to your shoulder blades (its happened) or when you cry in the car because you're embarrassed by the ridiculous panda hat that your grandmother knitted you sits to tight on your head. Or when you spit up all over my new merino sweater from BR.

I suppose I have reached a place of Zen Fatherhood.... at least for the next 7 hours.

Dear son

Welcome, great to meet you. Its been a total of 14 days and 12 hours since your birth. Which means it has been a total of 14 days 11 hours and 59 minutes since I had a sense of who I am as a human being. Being a new father has proved a great challenge and I am not sure about all those romantics out there who describe it as an "adventure." Adventures usually entail going somewhere.... like Guatemala or Nigeria. Fatherhood is more like an epic novel in which not a lot happens and the mundane becomes the extraordinary. For example, the first time we left the house with you in tow. A grand day indeed. Our destination: London Drugs, total trip time: 45 minutes. Total prep time for trip: 45 minutes. I was so happy that we made it all the way to the store and back with no major incidents.

I have been sleeping less. You and I spent last night (I should correct. What I mean to say is this morning, early...early this morning) watching B movies from the 80's. I'm sure you wouldn't recall Dragnet, but I believe you enjoyed it. You didn't cry at all during the entire showing. We also watched the opening of the morning news this morning. Something I have never done. Ever. Lots of firsts it would seem these last two weeks, for us both.

Funny, I thought that cleaning up your pooh was going to be a far greater ordeal than it actually is. You seem to hate it. You've achieved a new level of cry that I describe as 5th gear, which you only exhibit when your diaper comes off. I believe that you have a legitimate reason to be upset, every time your diaper is removed we discover that you have pooped all over your scrotum. If I were to poop myself up to my scrotum, I'd probably be a little choked too. You also seem to get quite upset when you pass gas. This I am afraid to tell you, never goes away. You will always pass gas. Might as well settle in for a lifetime of farting. Your mom and I will be there for you for your first few years of farting, but honestly buddy. At some point you're going to have to be able to let one rip without a large production about it.

Two Pink Lines

I figure that this would be an appropriate venue to discuss my impending...or rather upcoming, move into the category of Dad.

Two weeks ago, my wife peed on a stick. It's really not that big of a deal, we've been married for a few years now, and not using birth control for a bit (which took a bit for me to get over I admit) and from time to time she would pick up a pregnancy test from Safeway if she missed her period or if she was feeling "off." We've done this dance about ten times, each time I hold my breath and each time the result is not pregnant. Which I have become used to. A little too used to actually. Despite the ongoing guilt that my parents have been placing on us for the last three Christmas's, I had/have become content with the possibility that there would be only two in this family. I had even toyed around with the idea of adopting a seven year old when we were in our late thirties. This all came crashing to a halt when my dear sweet wife stated calmly from the bathroom "I think I may be pregnant," Twas nothing like the television or movie type moments that you see. There was no string orchestra playing a soft crescendo, no soft focused smiles, nor high pitched happy squeals. There was me, and my following statement. "what do you mean, you 'may' be pregnant?" She couldn't tell immediately, and the two of us examined the stick to see if there indeed was a second line. First Response Pregnancy Test. I find it funny now, that my first response was, as I am sure is pretty common, "whaddaymean?"

A quick tip to the makers of First Response, please make your system a little more user friendly, I am sure you think that a solid pink line and a ridiculously pale pink line are helpful to a man who is dizzy and having trouble deciphering what is one of the most fundamental moments any a persons life! I mean honestly, would it kill you to spring for a couple of LED lights? Two lights yes one light no?

Nevertheless there we were the two of us in the bathroom jammed up against the light, looking deeply into a peed on stick to see if in fact there was a second pink line.... We betted on the yes and then the both of us sat on our bed in absolute silence for a good fifteen minutes.

Flash forward two weeks, and here I sit. Not as absolutely freaked out as I had been, but more of a dull stress. My wife is going through that whole morning sickness thing. The thing that seems cute when you hear about it, but is absolutely not cute when it occurs at 6 in the morning after you stay up way too late. I feel bad, I do. I'm trying to be the supportive husband, but it doesn't just happen one day here and there, its like every day. Its almost like a part of the morning routine. To the point, I'll ask "hey babe, you alright" and she will respond after a quick hurl, "yup, can you take the dog out and put some toast on?" A second pregnancy routine that has been established is the "man cannot do anything right routine." Which is just an ongoing lecture, in which my many faults are pointed out, rinsed and then repeated. We have a book that says this is quite normal. And she has been reading a few online columns that say the same. This doesn't really help me though, I am still the guy responsible for not getting home 3 minutes after my office closes (Despite the 20 minute drive), I do not care about the environment (I left the sink running as I washed a single pot) and I have been accused of purchasing luxury cars putting, my wants ahead of my child's needs (I never purchased anything.....I merely stated that I liked the look of the new Audi A3)

And so it goes....... gotta love that first trimester.