Touching the Source.

I am an American.  I was born here and it is truly the only home I now.  I am a fan of countries like the Netherlands or France and one day would like to retire there.  But going to Amsterdam on this recent trip was like connecting to a source of something I never knew existed.

My father and his cousin in Schagen, Netherlands.

Last year I invited my parents to come to Europe with us.  We had long wanted take a trip to Holland with my father who had not been back since he was 13.  Fifty years later we walked the streets of Amsterdam with our child bouncing across the cobblestone streets in his stroller and my father happily snapping photos of canal houses along the Amstel.

A few months ago my father received an email from the wife of his first cousin.  A cousin he had never met, who was ten years older than he.  His mother, my father's aunt, passed when he was only nine months, almost a decade before my father was born.

My grandfather... looking very cool.

So we made a short trip an hour out of Amsterdam and met a part of the family we'd never known existed.  We heard stories about my grandfather I'd never heard.  I saw photos of my great grandfather, Lucas van Dijk, saw pictures of my grandpa Gerrit as a young man.  I heard my father speak Dutch and watched as he and his cousin carried on conversations in English and Dutch respectively - each understanding the other despite the language barrier.

I sat, my son in my lap, while we reconnected with a history, plugged into a country, that my father had left fifty years before and that I had known only a few days.  And yet it was as familiar as going home.

My grandfather, Gerrit (on the right), and his brother.

 Later that evening, I sat at the window of our little apartment off the Amstel River, on the Achtergracht, reading and writing in my ever present Moleskine and realized I could just as easily make my home here in the land of bicycles, free health care and VAT taxes as I could in the land of cars and subways, crippling insurance premiums and a regressive tax system.  I could live the same life in a place known for cheese and cannibus as simply as I could in a place known for the raucous public square and our gritty determination.

In the end I realized I had touched the source.  Perhaps it's my Dutch blood that is the fount of my socialist side.  But the Dutch are also the original capitalists.  They just believe there are certain things that are not worth profiting from... like man's misery or pain. 

Whatever.  In the end, I found myself feeling at home, comfortable.

Not that I'm renouncing my citizenship or anything...  I'm just saying, home is where you are.  And for me I'd like to live the best of my American sense of duty and grit and combine it with the social consciousness of my father's ancestral home.

This small suburb in northern Holland could be in New Jersey or Colorado.

My great grandfather, Lucas van Dijk.  The G R on his hat stands for Gemeente-Reinigng which means he cleans for the community.  According to the family, in the Netherlands, this is an honorable profession.  

Letting Go.

Sixteen years ago I got my wife a graduation present.  I was working nights at Gepeto's, a pizza place in Salt Lake City, and the owner's cat had kittens.  His daughters would bring them in all the time and I couldn't resist.  We drove up to the avenues and picked up the smallest of the cats, this runt with pure white fur, and named her Bianca.

At the time we thought it charming to name everything after Shakespeare characters... as theater nerds do.  It's a phase.  We're just fortunate we didn't have twins back then or we'd be paying for therapy for Rozencrantz and Guildenstern right now.

Our first stop with little Bianca (who fit her name perfectly) was the home of my in-laws.  We brought our tiny kitten in and introduced her to everyone.  We took her out back and thought it would be cute for her to meet Rambo, the Kearns' family cat. 

Rambo got low, right into Bianca's face and let out a deep, low growl. 

Bianca puffed up, arched, hissed and pee'd... in that order.  I remember her back leg moving and shaking as pee dripped down it. 

And suddenly, Moishe, the gigantic German Shepherd, came trotting up, stood over Bianca, her tiny body between his front legs, dropped his pointed head, and growled at Rambo, baring his teeth.  He didn't move until Rambo skulked off.  He then stepped back and sniffed Bianca, nudging her before laying down next to this shivering kitten.

It was our first moment with her.  From that point on we treated her like a dog.  We taught her to play fetch.  I chased her.  We fought.

Those of you who have met her now understand how our cat became skittish and had a penchant for swatting ankles.  She was extremely territorial.  She thought of herself as a dog.  She was brave until someone bigger came by and she'd run away,  My mother was deathly afraid of her for a while and my father in-law would carry a bag whenever he walked by her, just to protect his ankles from a random swat.

But to us, to Angie and I, she was an angel.  She was our baby.  She always knew the exact moment to jump up and curl on your lap.  She'd meow incessantly for water in her special bowl, even when the one near her food was full.  She would twirl between your legs when you came home.  She always appeared out of nowhere as Angie was coming down the hall from work.  She knew our sounds, our footsteps. 

While I was gone working out of town for a long stretch, Bianca was Angie's best friend.  She took my place in our bed.

I had to work hard to reclaim my place when I got back. 

The picture I always had with me was one I took late one night, a typical night when Angie would fall asleep on the couch and Bianca would inevitably jump up and nestle in, head and front paws resting on A's hip, body tucked in the crook of her knees.  I can't show that photo because my wife would kill me... and it's just mine.  My own personal perfection.  My ideal life until we had Turtle.

When Turtle was born, we were nervous about how Bianca would handle it.    From the beginning she was fine.

What we realized was this child, this person, had the smell of both Angie and I on him and was so new and so small, the cat would quickly acclimate and the two would simply grow together. 

A few months ago, Bianca fell over.  She couldn't walk, dragging her kicking hind leg as if her back had been broken, but her legs were still trying to gain purchase.  It was a frightening night as she meowed in confusion and we stayed up with her all night.  In the morning we took her in.  A new vet this time, not the huckster who drained our Machu Picchu account with surgeries and teeth cleanings every couple months.  We took her to Astoria Veterinary Group... Those of you in Astoria know how great they are.   The determination was that she had probably had a stroke and for an old cat, there is very little one can do.  Every morning I would put a long needle under her skin for a drip and Angie would hold her as I gave her shots. We nursed her back as best we could.  And then the seizures started.  She couldn't jump off the couch or bed with out doing backflips and landing with a thud.  She'd lift her head and it would drop back down to the floor.  We had a sense the end was close.

The other night we knew.  She was telling us it was time. 

Today, I watched as Turtle sat next to her and ran his fingers through her fur.  Bianca didn't move.  She just let him pet her to his heart's content.  She didn't swat, she didn't growl.  She watched him, closely as his tiny hands gently pet her and then would pat her body, giggling and "talking" to her the entire time.

A few hours later we took her in and let her go. 

It may be the hardest thing I've ever had to do. 

Sixteen years. 

People have tried to define love and I realized today that truly loving someone, or something,  means being able to conjure up every moment you shared with them in an instant.

I saw them all.  As she lay there in a final quiet moment with the three of us, I saw them all. 

And I looked at my son and I saw all the moments to come, moments our little Bianca would miss as part of our family.   And it hurt.

And then we let go.

Safety Tatts

I'm not one for putting tattoos on children, but this one is amazing.

http://www.safetytat.com/

They're waterproof tattoos for children with an emergency contact on them.  Heaven forbid you will ever have to use them, but they are certainly worth getting.

He's standing?

Oy...  Turtle stood for the first time.  He does have to support himself, but he does stand.  He just started crawling and this whole standing thing is a little soon for me.  I just to the ground level childproofed.  Now I have to move up the schedule.  Pretty soon he'll be jumping to touch the door jamb. 

I noticed, as he held on to me and stood at his music class that Turtle is a very large infant.  He's the youngest at 10 months.  A baby who is 15 months and walking was a good few inches shorter and about probably 5 pounds lighter. 

What the what?

My child's a giant.

And he's rising to his feet.

today's moment

My wife and I are firm believers in co-sleeping.  Turtle slept in our bed much of his first three months and by month five he was happily sleeping in his own crib with the occasional night with us.  We made sure he knew that his crib was not only a safe place to sleep, but also a happy place to play, explore, stare at his mobile and squawk.  This weekend, he woke with a start in the middle of the night and we knew, as usual, we could walk with him for half an hour and get him back down or we could slip him between us and we'd all be asleep in minutes.

We chose the sleep.

Then something interesting happened.

Our ever so territorial cat, who has shown signs of displacement - especially in our bed - climbed up between us and decided to rest her front paws and head on Turtle's lap.  I realized that he was actually awake.  It was about three a.m. and he was just laying there, staring at the light through the blinds and as the cat settled in, he just gently began to pet her head and play with her ear.

Our cat simply lay there, purring.  If you have ever met her, you know this is highly out of character.  There is a small metal sign on our front door that reads, "Attention:  Chat Feroce."  That should sum it up for you.

And yet, here was my 9 month old, quietly soothing the savage beast in the middle of the night.  One exploring, the other ever so patient.

My wife has inspired me

My wife is doing a year of grace.  I have decided it's a great idea and may help me write more often... and I tend to be on a constant rage against the injustices of the world and I hold my personal moments of grace close to my chest and dear.  That needs to change.

In the last month my son has learned to crawl, communicates with me better than I could possibly imagine, has taken to jumping for joy when his mother comes home, sleeps, and makes my life a joy... My wife and I have rediscovered each other - something indescribably important for a couple with their first child. 

So, I will share my moments of grace with you.  That may help me actually put more here as well.

a sick household

We're getting our first experience with a sick baby.

We recently got back from  week long cruise of the Caribbean.  Twenty-one members of the family attended this cruise and we almost didn't go.  When the trip was planned, Turtle was still in utero, so needless to say we felt uncomfortable booking him on the trip.  After he was born, we decided against the trip because we thought, "Really?  An eight month old on a floating petri dish?"

Turns out he was just fine.

He even made a little trip into Cozumel, despite our initial promise to not leave the ship.

But somehow, on the last day of the trip, Mom caught strep throat.  Our little one, already getting over a slight cough, has been fine, but he's completely stuffed up and has been combating a runny nose and congestion and a very weepy eye.  (which freaks me out.)

I've spent a couple sleepless nights between the wife's heartbreaking cough and constantly monitoring Turtle's breathing - like his stuffy nose is going to prevent him from breathing at all...  I know it's not going to happen, but I still check.

Somehow I've managed to come out unscathed (knock wood) but the VanDijk house is definitely under the weather.

The Boy's Club

Here's an update on life in the Boy's Club.

The cloth diapering situation is interesting.  The actual diapering is easy.  There is, however, a funky dead shrimp smell. 

Yes, a dead shrimp smell.

It's from the diaper bin. 

I know.  It's gross.  We are doing this exactly as we have been taught in our diapering class and also on the bummies website.  The steps outlined are to prevent this, but the reality is that there has been a stink.

I am searching for a solution.

I have the Turtle on a routine.  We're getting into rhythms.  We are attached at the waist (quite literally) and everyone we meet finds him adorable and irresistible.

I have done little work.

Seriously.  I have done little work.  I have pages written down longhand and notes I've been able to scribble, but I need to get down to brass tacks.

Again, we're figuring it out.

I am tired, occasionally cranky and my own personal schedule is a bit wonky but we're figuring it out.

The Boy's Club is truly a moment to moment exercise.

LeBron James: The Teachable Moment

This whole circus around LeBron James has created a surprising teachable moment for my son. 

One one hand, James is right to take a pay cut and change teams to play with his best friends - two superstars in their own right - to try to win a championship.

On the other, he's a total ass for doing it the way he did it.

So, I will teach my son that it's worth taking less to follow your passion with people you love.  I make theatre and film with people I love.  It makes what you do easier and more enjoyable.

Also, there is no I in team.  Sometimes you have to sacrifice to succeed.  I don't think LeBron's pay cut is a huge pay cut... his paycheck could fund a small country.  However, taking less so you can put the best group together, taking less so you can put together the best product, is always worth it. 

Now...

There's also a way to do it.  There was a lack of humility in the narcissistic, selfish way he announced.  Michael Jordan announced he was returning to basketball with a fax to reporters that said, "I'm back."

That's the way you do it.

You make the decision and you inform the people involved and be done with it.  You handle your business with humility and professionalism.  The way LeBron handled this was a disgrace.  

And never refer to yourself in the third person.

The World Cup experience

I was going to write this post on our cloth diapering experiment (which is going well, by the way) but instead I was influenced to write about Turtle's first World Cup experience.

First let me say that I come from a futbal family.  My father was born in The Netherlands, a place I hope to go with him soon, and in our family we played soccer.  Unfortunately I didn't keep with it.  I took up baseball and basketball and eventually football.  Until recently I never thought about why.

Now, I'm a sports junkie.  ESPN is on first thing in the morning.  The worst thing ESPN did was change from repeating Sportscenter to live Sportcenters, because now I constantly think there's some breaking news I might miss and I just keep it on.  I was good with my hands, so I played goalie but eventually moved to sports where my manual dexterity could be put to better use. 

To my father's credit, he evolved right along with me, going from a top notch soccer coach to coaching baseball, basketball, coming to my football games and eventually traveling with my little brother all over the country with tennis racquets in tow. We went to Jazz games, Yankee games, Utah football games... I think my father discovering so many sports with us really influenced my pure love and appreciate for all sports.  I'm a sucker for a good curling match.

Soccer is not a hugely popular sport here in the states.  I'd like to take in a New York Red Bulls game and my old home town finally got a professional team, which is very good, after we moved:  Real Salt Lake.  But it's always been a second tier sport. 

I was talking to a friend as we sat in a crowded Omonia Restaurant in Queens, watching the Netherlands/Uruguay match - a room full of European immigrants and Southern and Central American immigrants - a lively bunch to watch a match with.  (Omonia always has soccer on the tv... always.)  We discussed the game and why it never took here in the U.S. 

We have too many options.

Soccer is a poor man's sport.  It requires a ball. 

That's it. 

A round ball.  You can make a goal out of a pair of shoes.

We did.  As kids we'd play barefoot in the back yard and we'd make a goal by placing a shoes on the ground to mark goal posts.  

My father always managed to score.  He was a young father, when I was a little kid at the height of my soccer playing years, he was only in his early thirties and I remember him having legs like Pele.  He'd flip the ball through his legs and with a magic little twist, he'd have the ball airborne and over my head, a little chip shot that would land softly behind me.

You only need a round ball. 

Here in America, there is another sport where you only need a round ball.  Basketball.

Once you have a hoop up, you have a game.

And hoops are everywhere.  (Thank you department of parks and recreation.)

And basketball is a game of instant gratification.  It's much easier to score and you score a lot.   You can rack up 100 points in a game.  And it's fast.  It's not as spread out as soccer.  It feeds our desire for a quicker pace. 

And soccer loses to that every time. 

And basketball is a gateway sport to baseball and football and hockey.  We have so many options it's almost overwhelming - and good!  Such a cornucopia of events to view and play!

The rest of the world has soccer (or futbal).

And they make it beautiful. 

I tried to describe it to my friends who don't understand the game this way:  Imagine your favorite baseball team is playing in the final game of the World Series.  Your team is down by three runs, the bases are loaded and your teams best home run hitter is at bat... the winning run is at the plate.  It's a full count:  three balls, two strikes...  Imagine that...  FOR NINETY MINUTES.

That's soccer.

So.  Every four years, I geek out, dress in orange and lose my mind a little.  My first experience with World Cup was Italy in 1990.  We were there on my senior trip.  We partied with German fans the night before the final and it was intoxicating.

I didn't go to a single match during the World Cup that took place here in the US and I regret not participating in that experience. 

This World Cup has been special because I've been able to experience it with my baby son.  We've watched almost every match together.   We have matching "Nederlands" and "Hoera Oranje" t-shirts.  I hold him and bottle feed him in the middle of a restaurant full of cheering fans.  There have been many phone calls to my father and it's been interesting that as my relationship with my father has grown even stronger since I became one, too, this thing that we enjoy sharing is happening at the same time.

Yesterday I called to remind him that the game was on.  He was in a Taco Bell drive through getting tacos to take home... he was leaving work to sit and actually watch an entire match - his Netherlands versus Uruguay. 

So here I am with my new son, participating in the thing that only comes around every 4 years but is special to me.  He won't remember it.  He'll only have the photos of it to look back on.  But if the Dutch win the final Sunday - a final they have not been in since 1978, when I was six years old running around with my Grandpa Gerrit in the backyard with a soccer ball and my little mesh soccer shirt - it will round out the most perfect few months of my life. 

blogger's block

I've been working on this post for weeks. 

The truth is I have little to report.  The turtle and I are in a routine and things are running smooth.  That's not to say I haven't had challenges.  I've had to remind myself several times to take a breath and all will be fine - he has very few needs right now and I am miraculously able to meet them all.

So, I have little to report.  He's brilliant.  He smiles and has this giggly, cooing, rolling laugh.  I don't really believe in angels much less a chorus of them floating above us, wings outstretched, but if I did, they'd sound like him... that laugh.

He's amazing. 

But I've been dry when it comes to writing here. 

Maybe it's that I've been doing a lot of work lately and after staring at a blank screen for hours, squeezing words from my veins, I just don't have anything left.  It's Hemingway's dreaded "blank page."  

Maybe it's that I've been watching my sister and her husband say their goodbyes as he fights cancer. 

The horror of leaving Angie and Turtle is unimaginable.  He finally succumbed to the disease yesterday.  He leaves behind a young son and my sister's three that he treated like they were his own. 

What they are going through makes my blogger's block seem petty.

Petty.

But it's made me cherish every moment I get with my son.  

Daddy at Home - Day Four: Going Solo

Going solo is a bit misleading.  I am not solo, I'm taking a shift.  It's a solo shift, but it lasts about nine hours and then we're back to being a trio again. 

So, I'm not completely solo, but when most people get up and go to work, I begin the process of feeding and diapering a three month old.  (In this posting, we'll use his nickname, Turtle... or Dutch...)

I thought I knew how things would go down when the wife went back to work.  I'd probably hang out, feed Turtle, get in some X-Box, put him in his crib, get dinner started, bake some bread... it'll be easy.

Wrong.

The first day was exhausting.  I had no idea what his schedule was, no idea how much he ate at each feeding - we're breast feeding, which means he eats until he's full.  I had no idea.  And I've been around!  I've been here every day.  I've read countless books to prepare myself and still...  I was being treated to the same learning curve that my wife went through on her first solo day.  It's very different when you're working as a team.  Very different. 

He knew it was different as well.  I'm sure he could sense it. 

Which made him scream and cry.

"Where is my 24 hour buffet!?"

"She's at work earning money to keep you in this house with all these nice things.  You get me until 6."

...And cue the crying.

Feed him with what mom pumped.

Attempt to burp him.  (he does this very stiff legged, standing, leaning, arms flailing thing... and screams...  then he burps and feels fine.)

He falls asleep and I... lay here with him on my chest, helpless because every time I put him in his crib he cries.

But by day two, we had become old pros.  I had learned a few tricks.

1) Go to gym late at night and then shower in the evening.  Makes mornings more efficient.
2) Don't sweat the small stuff, like dishes.  They'll get done.
3) Thank God for World Cup Soccer!  I love watching it and he loves the lights and movement on the tv and the sound of the vuvuzela's, the buzzing white noise of a million futbal fans.  So we get all geared up in our orange and Dutch and I watch the Oranje and the US teams play. 

(How cool is it that my first month as a stay at home dad is during World Cup!)

4) Get out!  Seriously... get out.  Strap him in the mei tai and get out.  Take walks.  Explore.  Hit the market.
5)  VISIT MOM!  This one is very important.  We can easily take the train, get into the city and visit mom  at work where the 24 hour buffet will be open. 
6) Skype.  Call Mom, video chat, make sure she knows she's missed and is still needed.  Her voice alone soothes him. 
7) Poop comes from either formula or watching FOX news.  (I don't know... it's either an overabundance of shit or Sarah Palin's snarky voice...  I have not been able to figure it out.)
8) Poop is not something to freak out about.
9) Pee pee tee pees don't work if you've got a good solid stream... they fly right off.  It's hilarious.
10) If the Turtle falls asleep, let him sleep on you.  If you fall asleep, take it.  Your body needs it to keep up.
11)  Swoop him into bed.  If you try to lay him down slowly, his reflexes kick in and he flails and wakes himself.  Hold him firmly and swoop him in and he's fine. 
12) Read to him.  He finds your voice soothing and hilarious at the same time.
13)  Try to get one thing done each day... one non-baby related thing. I meant to write this blog posting on day one... but didn't.  However, I have today, so I'm done for the day!  Bring on the poop and soccer!
14)  Kids love the grocery store.  Lots of colors!
15)  Use that sling/mei tai/baby bjorn at home!  Go hands free.  (I now know four different carries for my mei tai... tummy to tummy (legs out and in), facing front, on the back (which he's too small for but will be ready for soon), and the side carry.  All are haaaaaandy... or haaaaaands free, as the case may be.
14)  Relax.  It's not as if these early months will influence the rest of his life... oh... wait... 

Uh oh.

My son, only 11 weeks old, repeated the words "uh oh" last night.  Five times he made the sounds with my wife and I and it was kind of a magical moment. 

As I watched the news - taking a break from our full series LOST marathon - I found myself saying "uh oh" a lot. 

I was once told that I would become much more conservative after I had kids. 

It was a lie.

I have become more progressive than ever.   I am angry at our backwards priorities, the useless culture war, the petty politics that get in the way of good policy, the winner take all game that is played out every day. 

I believe in a greater good for all of us.  That we all contribute to the society we get.  I believe that people should spend more time looking at their reality rather than stargazing, thinking "one day I will be a millionaire."  That's how most of us are duped to chanting for lower taxes for those at the top of the money pyramid - because one day that could be us. 

It won't be. 

I believe in living in this moment.  Life is a moment to moment exercise.  Looking too far ahead leads us to missing the very thing that is happening now.

I hope my son becomes a compassionate, fair person who not only believes in social justice, but demands it - fights for it.  I hope he is passionate about peace, but is realistic enough to know that some things are worth fighting for.  I hope he learns that compromising your truth, your principles, your core for a small victory means you do not have them to fall back upon during the big battles. 

I want to teach him that reason, facts, truth and knowledge will always trump ignorance, bluster and outright lies, no matter what the ratings of some morning shock jock turned comedian turned "cable news man" may say. 

What I really hope is that our age of greed and avarice will pass; that human beings, the air we breathe, the water we drink, and the earth that feeds and shelters us will become more important than corporate profits and the bottom line.  

I hope that this time where fifteen minutes of fame last years, ends; that our addiction to cele-bu-tants ends; that we again can find that communal, progressive spirit that celebrates the individual when he does something that contributes to the greatness of us all, not just because of how much money he makes, how many crap albums she's sold or whose sex tape is now making the rounds. 

I hope my son never has to stand in front of the tv watching the news, holding his son, saying, "Uh oh."

Babywearing: my view.

My wife and I are coordinating posts today.  Babywearing is an important topic and deserves more than a five minute "fashion" segment on the Today show that lacked substance and was dangerously irresponsible in it's paucity of information.   Rarely do I ask people to pass on a blog, but please, if you find anything below helpful, pass it along! 

My wife's blog is much more reasoned.  As usual, mine is a bit more bombastic.

Babywearing.  If you watch the Today Show you are now probably of a mind that baby's should never be worn for the first four months or they will suffocate and die.  You are also perfectly up to date on the most fashion forward way to coordinate your baby sling with your outfit! 

Babywearing is more than a way to keep your hands unburdened with your child.  It's not about you.  It's actually about your child... who is not a burden.

Dr. William Sears, noted pediatrician and author of the Sears Parenting Library, includes babywearing in his seven B's of attachement parenting.  You can find a month's worth of reading on the subject at http://www.askdrsears.com.

This is a serious subject and the viewing public would be better served with some information.  Rather than an editor from iVillage.com who comes on with a string of models, why not bring in a babywearing instructor from one of the local shops to demonstrate the best and safest ways to wear your baby.

I'm sorry, but a sales associate at Buy Buy Baby or Babies R'Us is not going to know the ins and outs of every carrier and, as their selection of carriers shows, that's certainly something they don't specialize in.  On our last trip to one of the big baby stores, I counted nearly 150 different strollers ranging in price from $30 to the pimped out Stokke at $1000.  There were five baby carriers.  They were all of the low bag sling type, exactly like the Infantino that was recalled. 

These bag slings ARE dangerous to young babies.  It's true they do not have the head support they need and can suffocate.  While these slings have a serious design flaw, as a parent you should be constantly in connection with your newborn.  Putting them in a sling is not an out of sight out of mind exercise.  There's no excuse for that.

But rather than copping out and advising you to never carry your baby, maybe they could tackle why these are unsafe and what kinds of carriers are safe for your baby and best for you - at all ages.

When the sling controversy first occurred, my wife and I were understandably upset.  We had been given slings as gifts and were anxious to use them.  They were low slings, though and we were unsure of their safety with a newborn.

A good sling should be worn high with a newborn and proper positioning is key.  But how?

I did a google search.  It took me five minutes to find the following and it gave me more information in less time than the entire Today Show segment.

A google search!  It's like iVillage and the Today show researched this by going through a catelogue.

Having worked ever so briefly in tv, I know how partnerships and branding work.  Bring out parents with kids in carriers, focus on the logo of the product.  We needed more.

Now, don't get me wrong, the slings they brought out were great!  I love the moby wrap.  We were persuaded to avoid it only because it is summer and 12 feet of fabric wrapped around you in August in New York City is... well... I'd rather be hit by a bus.

Full Disclosure:

We have a Baby Bjorn - it was a gift and we have not used it because it does not support his head as a newborn and he has to be old enough, or big enough, to put his feet out.   He will be soon.

We purchased the Mei Tai carrier that allowed us to carry him as a newborn.  It's almost like a kangaroo pouch, which is an entire parenting style - Kangarooing!  It promotes skin to skin contact with your baby, especially preemies.  My little man was born three weeks early and while technically not a preemie, he was darned close.  I can and have put him into the Mei Tai and we've walked around skin to skin.  His head is supported, he's in a position where his head is directly under mine and I am fully aware of his positioning at all times.  (I should add that he is with his mother, this morning, nursing in his Mei Tai.)

It's very similar to the Boba they showed on the segment but without all the bells an whistles and clasps and clamps and hooks and things...  It's just fabric that you tie. 

We also have the smaller version of the Kelty they had on the segment, the Kelty TC-2.0... TC as in Toddler Carrier.  The Today Show listed it as being usable "up to 50 pounds."  That's dangerously wrong. The instructions for the carrier specifically say, "warning!  do not use carrier with an infant weighing less than 16 pounds." 

We can't put him in it yet, however in about a year, look out... we'll be trekking in it everywhere.  (Thanks Justin and Lindsay!)

So, yes, we have some of the carriers they showed, but the point isn't the carrier - it's how you use them!   Let people know that they are safe for all babies.  Teach them.  How do you put the baby in there?  What's the safest way to carry them?  Where can I find resources like free babywearing classes? 

And stop spreading misinformation!

Almost all these infants were facing out in their carriers.  You can't carry them facing out until they have complete control of their heads and that may not happen until four to six months! 

In fact, every baby they showed on the Today Show was around 6 months or older.  Babies do not show up at your doorstep six months in.

Any bets out there on how many new parents are going to try putting their babies in one of these carriers that they rushed out and bought on the internet with no idea what they're doing - and put them in there facing out?  Any takers?

And it's not new parents' fault.  According to author Michael Levine."Having children makes you no more a parent than having a piano makes you a pianist." 

It's true.  You have to have a liscence to drive, but not to have a child.

We want - we need - information.  

It does nothing for the public good to have a parade of babies in cool, hip carriers when you still have not shown people how to use them.

Information is power.  Right?  But we are utterly powerless when the places we trust to spread information, to spread news, fail us.

Seriously, all it took was a google search. 

This goes by far too fast.

My son is now going on nine weeks.  Nine weeks.  It's gone by so fast.  His tiny little fingers are now longer and thicker.  His toes that once looked like potato bugs are bigger.  His cries, once easy to interpret, are getting more complex and musical.

And I find myself not writing about it. 

There's so much to cover:

Can we give him formula to supplement without feeling guilty?  If so, is there a way to do it without the nasty poop? 

We're co-sleeping... we don't care what anyone says, it's easier on us and on him... but when is the best time to really start crib training him? 

Why does he always wake up three minutes after going into his crib? 

Yes, mobiles are a miracle.

A baby smiles around two months. 

And it's glorious.

Pee on the wall (and ceiling, and floor and strategically on our clothes) is preferable to poop blowouts.
Spit up and drool are easy to clean.  

Tracking feedings and diaper changes is a good thing.

Grandparents are too far away. 

A Mei Tai carrier is a godsend.

We have to take better care of ourselves.  And we have know what we are eating and where it comes from because it also goes into him and studies have shown an increase in autism, childhood obesity and diabetes that are linked to the food we find on the shelves of our grocery store.  Little things help, like eating locally and buying organic food... or what our parents and grandparents called "food."

Schedules are good.   And totally impossible to keep.

Restaurants are surprisingly kind and understanding with babies.  It is possible to go to all you can eat sushi with an infant.  Once he turns two or three... we'll see.

There's so much that one blog can't possibly hold it all. 

I always have said that my career is a marathon.  So is parenting.  We learn five new things about him every hour.  We have ten breakdowns a day.  And we're doing really well.  

Baseball

Tonight is the home opener for the New York Yankees.

Correction - the defending World Series Champion New York Yankees. 

I got an email from a friend offering me seats behind home plate for $100.

I turned them down and I realize the money is not the only reason.  It's true, $100 can buy a lot of diapers, but the experience would be entirely worth it.

No, that's not the only reason.

I'd really like to get home to see my boy.

I'd also like to get home to give my wife a break.  (Not that she needs or wants one.)

For as much as I'd love to go the game, I feel like I miss a lot while I'm away.  He changes so quickly right now.  I looked at photos and realized that he's already grown a great deal.  It's quite striking.

And I only want to go to the game with him.

I know, I know, he's only four weeks old.  But I looked at a photo of my friend with his baby at the Padres opening day and I want to do that.  I want him with me.  Even if he doesn't get it, doesn't know that he's somewhere special or that there is an event happening before him that makes our summer, I want him there.  Eventually he'll get it.  Eventually he'll know that Yankee Stadium is a special place.  That going to Rockies games with Grandma and Grandpa in Denver is a treat.  He'll crave the sounds of the park and a $10 hot dog.  (It is still Yankee Stadium.  They have to cover that ridiculous payroll somehow.)

Someone asked me why I'm a Yankee fan.  I'm not from New York originally, I didn't grow up in a baseball family.  I have no ties to the team.

My answer is always the same.  Lou Gehrig.  If you've never seen Pride of the Yankees, rent it.  Go to Netflix and stream it.  As a child Lou Gehrig, was my hero because of that movie.

Okay, Gary Cooper as Lou Gehrig...

Lou still stands out as the model for a perfect ball player, and a near perfect man.  So when I think of the Yankees I think of a line of great players and noble gentlemen from Lou to DiMaggio to Mantle to Mattingly to Jeter.    Recently I read an interview with Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens and he mentioned that he saw the 1932 World Series game in which Babe Ruth "called" his home run.  Lou came up to bat directly after Ruth and hit one of his own.

My first reaction was, "You got to see Lou play."

When I'm that age, I'm sure someone will remark, "You got to see Jeter play."

Yes I did.  With my son in his Derek Jeter t-shirt and Yankee hat.  Both of which he already has...  at four weeks old.

Explosive Poop!

In the middle of a diaper change, my wife was startled by a loud, "Ah, shit!"

It was me.

My son has, twice, had explosive poop episodes while I'm changing his diaper. 

It's not gross.  It's not strange.  Babies do little else.  They eat, they poop and they sleep.  We are armed with a stack of wash-cloths...  btw... new parents - think back to what people did before wet wipes.  Yeah.  A warm wet towel.  Your baby hates nothing more that an ice cold wet wipe on his/her ass.  And if you wasted money on a wet wipe "warmer"...  get off this blog.  I mean it.  Go.  No soup for you.  Get a few cheap washcloths (Ikea: 12 for $2) get warm, warm water - and wipe your babies bum.  Save a grundle of money.  How much is a grundle?  No idea, but it's a lot.  Save the wet wipes for the diaper bag.

Back to explosive poo.

Babies have a gastro-colic reflex.  It's what makes babies eat and poop simultaneously.  Thankfully, we outgrow this. 

Well, some of us outgrow it. 

So, he poops.  He doesn't necessarily wait to do it when the diaper is on.  Sometimes he does it on the changing table while dad yells out, "Ah, shit." 

But it's good poop. 

Good poop has been described as mustardy yellow - yellow/tan with hints of green... and seedy.

His has been a brilliant mustardy yellow.  And seedy.

Which leaves me one question - one that is "Ah, shit" worthy:  Since he's on a breast milk/formula liquid diet... where do the seeds come from?

38

Yeah.  38.  An obviously blind young woman who does know me actually thought I was 30.  I asked her if she really didn't see all my gray hair.

I'm hoping this child keeps me young.  I certainly don't feel 38.  In fact I do feel 30.

Is it clean living?  I don't know.  I spent a few years in my twenties abusing my body in so many ways.  It can't be "clean living." 

My body is like a roller coaster.  I've been a whopping 215lbs and then in a short three months dropped to a cut 175.  Within six months I'm back at a very puffy but strong 195, then skinny and a little soft and 180 pounds.  Why? Who knows.  Lately I've been sporting the slight pooch.  I'm back to working on it, kettlebell in hand, but it just happens.

So, it's certainly not anything to do with how I treat my body.

I would also venture a guess that my youthfulness has nothing to do with what I eat.  I do have a fairly firm rule that we only eat real food.  Nothing processed with stuff we can't pronounce.  Which is good.  But I can sum up my food philosophy in one fattening word:  butter.

So, it's not diet that keeps me perpetually 30.

I'm a bit of an insomniac, although that's working with the little one.

I don't smoke, so there's that.

I don't drink a lot and have not since I was about 22.  So that's good.

I don't drive but once every couple months, so there goes stress from road rage... but I do have to navigate the streets of the most stressful city in the country, so that might be even.

Maybe it's that I'm still just a kid.  I'm the oldest of three kids, but I maybe the youngest soul.

My occupation is to create plays. The word "play" is an integral part of what I do.  I play for a living.  So that must have something to do with it.

I can only hope that it lasts.  I can only hope that I can keep my youthful exuberance until he goes off to college.

And I have to keep working on other things, too...  I have to keep the knees healthy so I can get into a squat to catch for him as his Uncle Justin teaches him how to pitch.  I have to keep my back strong I can teach him how to post up and track rebounds.  I have to keep my heart healthy so I can keep up with him when Uncle Adam has him cross courting tennis balls at me.

And I have to keep myself from settling into the "adult" role too much, so I can dream with him, imagine with him and be open to play whenever the urge grabs us.

I only hope when I'm almost 56 and he goes off to college that I might look, and feel, around 45.

There's something to be said for having kids early.  You get to grow up with them. But having them later has it's blessings, too.  We feel ready, secure and surprisingly youthful.

lesson: Keep your eyes and ears open

There are a lot of things I want to teach my boy.  This is of them.  Keep your eyes and ears open!

I walked across Seventh Ave today, sans headphones.  I try not to wear them on my commute, unless I'm trying to drown something out.  I was privy to the best train conductor in the city on the V train today who is as entertaining as he is informative.  It's a treat to get on his train, so I was feeling particularly upbeat.

As I'm cruising across the street, taking it in, carrying my weekly latte (the coffee here at Le Showtime is horrid...) I step off the curb and I notice a lovely young woman so engrossed in her text-ing that she is completely oblivious to everything happening around her; traffic, other pedestrians zipping around her, a firetruck turning the corner... everything.

Nothing is so important.  No conversation is that important.

If it is... STOP.  Have the conversation.  Then move on.

The bubble of oblivion she'd created around herself cut her off from any interaction with another human being.

She probably got to work and immediately slipped into her cubicle and continued texting or im'd her bff about how she just couldn't seem to meet the right guy  OMG.  LMAO...  LOL.

Hello!  Look up!  He might be right in front of you!

I find myself running into friends on the street all the time.  We notice each other from up the street because we're active participants in the moment we're in. 

I've also heard from friends who say, "I was just there!  Why didn't I see you?"

"Were you on the phone/texting/im-ing?"

"Yeah."

"That would be why."

So keep your eyes and ears open.

One week

I have been a father for one week. 

It seems like longer.  Seems like I've been doing it all my life.  Holding him is one of the great joys of my life.  He opened his eyes within the first hour, really opened his eyes and took in the world.  I'm amazed at how alert he is already. 

We are in the middle of a little experiment.  Since Angie is on maternity leave and her mother is here to help out, I went right back to work this week.  We thought it would be helpful for me to know what she's going to go through when she goes back to work and I stay at home with him.  My boss told me it was quite enlightened of us. 

Something odd happened this morning on the way to work.  As I walked to work today I realized how much I enjoy mornings in New York.  I stopped and grabbed a coffee, walking with the early morning work crowd on this crisp sun soaked spring morning and wondered how my days would soon change.  No more solo walks through midtown, skyscrapers towering over me.  Soon it will be me and a little one, bottle feedings, into the stroller and maybe heading to a cafe to write while he sleeps in his carrier.  All very suburban in our little enclave in Queens.  It's going to be a big change.  This little role reversal will make me appreciate these mornings but having had them, I can't wait to start spending my mornings with my little man.