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Tuesday, January 27, 2009


Flying Solo, Day 1

What you probably couldn't tell from reading yesterday's post is that, about three-quarters of the way through my writing of it, I had to stop for a forty-five minute cry/shriek-athon. My little guy was uber-tired and wanted everyone in the tri-state area to know about it.

I worked methodically, as you're supposed to. I stood and rocked with him. I laid down on the bed with him. I rocked him in the glider. I changed the diaper, the utterly dry and poopless diaper. I thawed out a few ounces of breast milk and attempted the bottle-feed. Nada.

And that last one is especially galling, because it's the one part of the whole thing that is truly genderally unfair. My wife did a good bit of post-feeding pumping during the weeks before she went back to work, wanting to have a stockpile for the first days of her absence. Still, even with a decent amount of frozen Mommy shakes in the icebox, when Daddy thaws some out and the baby basically tells him to shove it, you--the Daddy--are left feeling double shame, because you've proved yourself unable to read your child's needs and you've just wasted two-and-a-half ounces of milk that your wife sat in a chair with a machine strapped to her chest to produce.

Eventually, though, the lad allowed himself to drift off to Slumberland and, other than that one rough patch, however, Day 1 went fairly well, all things considered. We had a successful feeding later in the day. There were no more screaming fits. Daddy got the laundry sorted and ready to go and managed to eat lunch and send Mommy a cute baby pic via cell phone. I even got some grades uploaded to the frustrating and crappy grade site my school is forcing us to use.

Bear in mind, here, that my wife only worked half a day yesterday. Who knows what I'll screw up today, with more time on my hands. Onward and upward!

How's it going, Dad? You're a lucky guy.
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