I finally have a manageable routine:
Wake up around 7:00 AM to Chloe making cute baby noises.
Pick her up, take her upstairs and change her.
Bring her downstairs for Laura to feed her.
Go to work.
Wait eight hours to go home.
Go home.
Eat dinner.
Do various things.
Go to bed.
That’s my typical weekday. But once in awhile, life throws you a wicked curveball that you don’t expect. My curveball came in the form of a dead car battery after my eight hour wait to go home. Luckily, my mother-in-law and I work for the same organization, and since she has AAA, I went back into the building to cry ask for help.
She called AAA for me and they said it would be at least an hour before someone would even call me. (What was I to expect for Friday at 5:00 PM?) So since the weather was decent, I took a walk around the 26 acre campus.
When I reached the back of the campus, I saw a AAA flatbed in the distance, trying to find Leon the Neon. I turned my walk into a brisk Mt. Lebanon mom power walk to make sure these guys didn’t miss me.
“Who are you here for?” I asked. The guy in the passenger seat was a total “dude” and gave me the right name.
“The car’s behind that building,” I said, pointing ahead.
“Get on the truck and we’ll go.” he said.
“Like, stand on the runner here?”
“Yeah, just hang on.”
So I stood on the side of the AAA truck as it went up the road to service my auto. I felt like a firefighter!
We got to my car, popped the hood and tried to start it.
“I think it’s the battery,” I told them.
“I think it’s the starter,” said the driver. “You wouldn’t have any interior lights if it was the battery.” So I let it go, trusting his expertise.
The driver was clearly training the passenger. “Where’s the starter?” he asked the trainee. The trainee pointed in one direction and the driver pointed in another. “Hmmm,” I thought.
So they went over to their truck and brought over something that looked like a cross between a crowbar and an elevator cable. They jammed it between some things under the hood, applied some force and told me to start it. No success.
They ended up towing my car to the garage down the street, but the garage folks couldn’t even look at it until Monday. We placed my keys into an envelope for the garage’s drop box. All of my information was written on the envelope and the guys wrote ‘starter?’ in the comments section.
Two days later, the garage folks call to tell me I just needed a new battery. And so I had them install the friggin’ battery.
So what’s the moral of this story? Tell the AAA guys to jump your battery so you can take your car to Advance Auto Parts and save $30 on unnecessary labor costs.
Annoying And Aggravating
At least I got to hang off the side of a flatbed. That was fun.
Chloe is seven weeks old today. These were seven long weeks that went by very quickly (if that makes any sense).
She’s now starting to smile and make girlish cooing noises that make our hearts melt. I find myself saying cute but obvious things to her like “You got a nose!” and “Who’s a baby?” hoping she’ll let out something close to a girlish laugh. She’s tons of fun, even when we’re just watching her sleep, which can be up to 6 straight hours. Goodbye, twitching eyes!
One thing I’m noticing is her developing addiction to her pacifier (or “binkers” as I like to call it). She seems to need it in her mouth all the time, and the second it drops from her lips, she bursts into screams which shoot through our eardrums. Of course, the only solution is to shove it back in her face. Binkers is going to be a hard habit to break someday.
I changed a diaper this morning that smelled like old milk and bacon. It was interesting.
Anyway, I haven’t posted any “life with baby” updates for while since I’ve been searching for that balance between full time employee and dad. I think it’s actually going pretty well (thanks to my wife who is kind enough to take all nighttime feedings and changings during the weekdays).
But then again, there are days when I’m a dumb zombie, unable to hold a conversation, remember a conversation and recall the name of the person I’m talking to. It’s kind of like living through a dream; I’ll transition from one place to another without any recollection how or why I arrived there.
And on those zombie days, I usually develop a headache that either makes my head feel like it weighs 20 pounds, or produces a sharp pain in the very middle of my head; not just my forehead, mind you, but my three dimensional skull. Sometimes I think it’s my brain about to explode.
But these “days of death” are few and far between. In fact, Chloe actually slept through the night a few days ago (from 11:30 PM until 6:00 AM). This of course, was a fluke since she woke up twice the very next night.
I’m hungry, so I’m not going to wrap things up in a nice little package here.
And, unlike most zombies, I’m not craving brains for breakfast. I’m going for Wheaties.
Today was my first day back to work with over eight hours away from Chloe. It was the longest we’ve been apart since her birthday a week and a half ago. Needless to say, it was a nice little break. Too bad I wasn’t sleeping.
And before you think I’m heartless, I’ll admit that part of me really missed her. I missed the way she sometimes tries to suckle my knuckles… the strange noises she makes from her pack ‘n play… and even the baby scent she gives off (which is a combination of ointment, diapers and laundry detergent). Sometimes this smell is so overwhelming, it gags me.
The day sure went fast though. In just a few hours, I’ll attempt to get three or four hours of sleep before the cries of hunger wake me. I’ll also make sure to shut my eyes extra tight as I try to avoid the intense glow of the most powerful night light ever created. (Thanks again for installing it on my bedside, Laura.)
Goodnight!
A few people have asked me this question. Here’s the answer: Life was getting a little boring and predictable. I mean, how often can Laura and I go to a restaurant, not get dessert, come home before 9:00 PM, watch Cake Boss in the living room and the Weather Channel while in bed before it starts losing its luster? And since no one ever wanted to hang out with us, we figured hey, why not create people to hang out with us. Makes sense, right?
My wife and I had a baby because we love each other and felt it was only natural to turn our love (an intangible feeling) into something physical and very real. And that’s beyond awesome.
Having a baby is one of life’s greatest experiences… but you can read that in just about any parenting magazine or birthing brochure in the country. I’ve only experienced the first week, and I know there’s much more on the way. But as for now, all I can say is that it’s life changing. Instead of “us,” there’s now “all of us.”
It’s been nearly a week since Chloe came into our lives. Juat a week ago, I was sipping over a pint and a half of stout in the dining room, reading through a beer magazine while Laura sat in the living room watching Ghostbusters. This was the scene just before her water broke at 11:30 PM.
This week has been a whirlwind of excitement, worry, bliss, frustration and tears... and sometimes all at once. We have what is called the “baby blues”.
Here’s what St. Clair Hospital says about the baby blues:
Up to 80 percent of new mothers cry easily or feel stressed following the birth of a baby. When this happens within the first two weeks of pregnancy, it is called the “baby blues”. These feelings may be associated with changes in sleep patterns and/or appetite. They are considered a normal part of early motherhood and should go away as quickly as they came within a few days.
Tempers sometimes escalated this week. Earlier today, Laura questioned me on my whereabouts.
“Where were you for the last ten minutes?”
“Watching some videos online.”
“That’s great. Why don’t you do something a little more adult?”
“Like what? Do some taxes in my spare moments?"
This was obviously the wrong answer, but we worked it out!
Achieving a new balance is more than just a slogan for a shoe company. It’s a goal we are striving for right now. And I think after a few weeks, we should have a good idea on how best to live our new life as a family (or so I’m told).
The last few nights and days have run together. My wife and I sleep in four hour intervals and wake up to feed our daughter and change her diaper. It feels as if all we ever do is feed, change and console her.
Last night was no exception. Although we were able to sleep uninterrupted from 9:30 PM until 2:00 AM, we woke to the sound of our crying newborn. After changing and feeding her, she was still quite fussy and so we decided to take a short car ride to Rite Aid to get some gas drops at 4:00 AM.
After fighting with a grasshopper that somehow snuck behind Chloe’s butt in her car seat, we were off. It was a quick ride (since there was no one on the road) and so Laura stayed in the car with Chloe as I stumbled into Rite Aid.
The cashier, Elizabeth, asked me if I needed help, and I mumbled something about the gas drops. She took me to the diarrhea and gas aisle and showed me some product while describing all of its ingredients. “Yeah, that’s fine,” I said, but she insisted that we take a look at the children’s section. There, we found products that were “organic” or containing “gerelsdhl” or whatever she said.
“You know what gerelsdhl is, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Your grandma probably used that. But I’m not a doctor. You may want to call the hospital she was born in. They always have a pediatrician on call. On second thought, this also has ginger in it. Let’s go ask Tara what she thinks.”
I followed Elizabeth to the back where Tara was either unpacking boxes, doing yoga, or trying on outfits (vision was quite fuzzy) and she said something I don’t remember at all.
So I followed Elizabeth back to the front of the store and purchased the gas drops. She told me to let her know how things go.
This post isn’t a knock at Rite Aid. In fact, I thought the service was awesome. But when it’s four in the morning and I look like crap, just give me what I need and let me go.
Laura and I are changing our routine today. Rather than waking Chloe up every three hours to eat, we’re letting her sleep until she’s ready. And she’ll let us know when she’s ready. We’ve already had a few hours to ourselves and were able to do a few things we need to around the house (including writing this post).
Does anyone know of a good hotel I can check into for a few nights?
As some of you may know, my wife and I welcomed our first child into the world on the morning of Saturday, August 27. I want to try and explain the amazing experience of childbirth but, well, I’m too tired to try (I’ll explain in a moment).
At the hospital, my wife and I had a pretty good routine. Hold the baby, put her down, watch her sleep, pick her up again, feed her and so forth. In reality, we didn’t have a lot to do in the hospital room so we focused our attention on the baby and the guards… I mean nurses. But now that we’re home, we have a ton to do AND we have to take care of the baby. In fact, relatives are due over sometime today and I have quite a few “decorated” pairs of underwear piling up in the dining room. That’s right, the dining room.
My wife is upset because she takes pride in keeping our house clean. I’m not sure how it happened, but it looks like hurricane Irene hit our living room, dining room and pretty much the entire first floor.
I’m fine with the mess; it’s the constant screaming that irks me. We went to bed around midnight and that’s when Chloe decided it was time to open her beautiful eyes and look around. Of course, the lights were out and she couldn’t see a damn thing, but she let us know… and let us know… and let us know. My wife is considering coffee. I’m considering hard liquor.
To make an unnecessarily long story short, it feels like I have rocks in my eyes. In fact, the muscles around my eyes are getting quite buff as they work harder to keep my eyelids open during 3:30 AM swaddling attempts.
But then, for that brief moment, she looks up at me with her brand new eyes and makes it all worthwhile. I know you hear this type of thing all the time in movies and novels, but there’s really no other way to say it. Holding my little baby that grew from virtually nothing, I get complex feelings of wonder, love and the burden of responsibility. She depends on me for everything. I am her world.
My stomach is eating my spleen right now, so I’m going to eat something.
People have been giving me (the expectant parent) all kinds of advice I didn’t ask for during the last nine months or so.
Below are some of the most popular pieces of advice I’ve received since we were expecting.
Your life is never going to be the same.
Well, of course it’s not. We’re growing a human.
Sometimes people say this one with a “you’re screwed now” tone while others give a more sincere “this is an unbelievable blessing” vibe. Either way, for better or for worse, things are going to change. Duh.
When is the due date?
I’ve told you a half dozen times, and I really don’t want to have to say it again. (This one isn’t advice, but I’m just tired of the question.)
Get your sleep now. / Sleep as much as you can.
Should I sleep for a solid month? Two months? What about my job? Should I quit? Really, I’m not too worried about this one. If I can attend college classes, work part-time and hold an internship simultaneously, I should be able to add a baby to my current “work and sleep” schedule.
You’re going to be a daddy.
Yes, I know. I don’t have the uterus.
Come to think of it, none of this is really advice... just things people feel the need to say… every day.
If you follow my every move on Facebook, you probably know that I ate a bowl full of live ants this morning with my generic version of Golden Grahams.
I followed my usual routine: Stumble out of bed, accidentally step on a cat, make my way to the kitchen with my eyes barely open, grab a bowl, spoon, cereal and milk and eat up. It was no different from any other morning.
The cold milk, combined with the constant chewing, helps me regain consciousness. So, of course, it wasn’t until I was just about finished when I saw them. A few had already drowned while the survivors kicked their six legs in a struggle for life. But it was a struggle that ended with a garbage disposal.
Needless to say, it was a really gross morning. Laura compared it to the scene from Honey, I Shrunk the Kids when Rick Moranis is about to eat his miniature son from a bowl of Cheerios. Well, at least that didn’t happen. At least I didn’t eat any mini children.
I have a lot of good ideas that don’t always make it onto my blogs, but I make sure to share most of my clever thoughts with my wife. Sometimes I wish her brain was the Internet, posting my ideas instantly to the web. However there would be a few downsides to this ability… like sharing images of me in my Simpson boxers and white socks. It’s really an unprofessional image.
Another humiliating scene occurs almost every time I enter a particular restroom. For some reason, this restroom is a regular hangout for sewer flies. If you’re unfamiliar with them, they’re little black flies with wide wings… and when you pour water on them, black stuff washes off. It’s probably poop.
These little jerks like to hang around the urinal, and so when I try to use it, they get into an uproar and swarm around, which makes me nervous since they’re basically little poop creatures. Taking aim just angers them more, but trying to avoid them from landing on, um, me looks ridiculous… and can sometimes be messy.
“But Jon,” you may ask, “Why don’t you just use another restroom?” Well it’s because all the other restrooms are too far away. And I don’t like flies telling me what to do because if I used another bathroom, that’s exactly what happens. The flies basically win.
I did not share this experience with my wife, but once she finds out I posted this story, she’ll probably go back to using her maiden name.
Wow. I had no idea how much work and effort it takes to be a good blogger. Good bloggers put in hours and hours of work – not only in their writing but in their design as well. I know some people blog full time, but how do they afford life? (I guess this is a trade secret I may never know.)
I have great respect for those who blog like it’s their job. They have a reoccurring theme, regular readers and post daily… or in some cases hourly!
My best attempt at a blog is Gray Collars, but I think it’s time to give this Jonfiction blog a theme. It’s time to explore new territories. Here are a few blog ideas I’m considering…
Teddy Bear Tester
I test various teddy bears in the state of Pennsylvania and rate them on their cuddliness, lovability and, of course, hugableness (yeah, that’s a word now).
Celebrity Basher
With this idea, I would bash celebrities that everyone else bashes. What’s one more voice, right? I tried a test run here. (Note: Test run was highly unsuccessful. I lost the one ounce of credibility I had.)
Couch Critic
I visit furniture stores, test out couches (oftentimes lounging for hours) and rate them on my blog. I’ll have pretty photos too. High res. People like that.
On second thought, I really don’t see any of these ideas going anywhere but in SPAM folders. But even if I had a winning blog, I would still have to read, comment and promote other blogs too! Holy crap!
How do you bloggers do it all?
No posts, no readers. I’m well aware.
On the bright side, I’ve been trying new things. I’m in the process of possibly becoming a freelance social media manager/consultant, I’m in the final stage of becoming a notary and I’ve joined the Twitterverse. Now you can track my every move!
Although I’m now on Twitter, I’m not going to provide food consumption updates, bowel movement news or thoughts on video games. Sorry to disappoint, but I’m going to use my Twatter account to make a difference and not sell out when Zach Galifianakis offers me the role of Business Man 2 in The Hangover 3.
Follow me, friends!
I have the unique ability to destroy a garden hose with a single touch. And with only a few seconds of contact, I can destroy the hose hangout too. I do not know anyone else to possess this talent.
After committing several hose murders, Laura suggested we get an expensive rubber hose that would surely be immune to my touch of death. So we went to our neighborhood lawn and garden center and bought a $60 hose. But after putting a slit through it a few months later, I feared Laura would find out and beat me with the newly broken hose.
So I tried to patch it up with some duct tape. Unfortunately, the hose was in a kink as I wrapped it up, so my patchwork looked, well, awful.
Despite my efforts, Laura eventually saw my mangled mess a few weeks later. “What’s this?” she asked. And in an attempt to avoid answering her question (or at least cause a delay until I could come up with something good), I answered her question with a question. “What’s what?” I said.
But there was no fooling her. In fact it was obvious to everyone in the garage (even the spiders) that this hose was my latest victim. My hands were green with evidence (well, not literally).
So as summer approaches, I’m going to try to stay away from our hoses and save my cutting for the umbilical cord.
I bought an Amazon Kindle, and I sort of feel as though I’ve contributed to creating a lesser world.
A year ago, I laughed at the idea of buying an e-reader, and now I find myself holding one in my living room. It’s really weird and I feel I’m losing my grip on myself.
So am I contributing to a potentially bookless future? Am I the enemy? Or am I helping to save the world by using less paper? Who am I?
I really don’t want to become a yuppy, so like Mike & The Mechanics, I’ll say it loud and say it clear: I prefer books bound and with real pages; books that don’t rely on electricity or technology; books that don’t need access to my bank account. Bound books will never go away. It’s a medium that has survived thousands of years.
So what should I do now? Return the Kindle? I will admit that it’s pretty neat. Maybe I’ll use it for magazines or reading classics I’ve missed in my younger years. Maybe download a game or two?
I saw something today that I don’t see too often: Clown art. (And by “clown art,” I mean paintings of people dressed as clowns… not sculptures created by clowns.)
I caught only a glimpse of the piece hanging on someone’s office wall. It looked as though a clown was walking across an empty void, just below five large clown heads. Perhaps this was the walking clown thinking about his other clown friends… or maybe the clown heads represented the founding clowns of America (if there is such a thing)?
Whatever the case may be, the painting was more than odd, and I immediately thought of those with an irrational fear of clowns. This freaky painting would surely send them to a psych ward. And I’m not a clown-fearing person, but I could see the painting’s horror potential.
This has been my incomplete thought of the week. Thank you.
After keeping the secret from our families for nearly a week, Laura and I decided to tell everyone that we did in fact learn of the baby’s gender during our last sonogram.
We shared the news by baking a cake and dying the inside either blue or pink. When it came time for dessert, the first cut into the cake determined the gender. The cake was pink.
It was a real surprise because many of us were convinced it was a boy (including me). But who really knows? Baby could have been tucking it back in an attempt to foil our preparations. (I’m obviously skeptical.)
But whether it’s a boy or a girl, I will love my baby… and I don’t need an ultrasound technician to tell me this.
A van crashed into a nearby house earlier this evening.
My wife and I were at home considering dinner at our favorite Mexican eatery when we heard what sounded like an avalanche. The electricity flickered off and on and then stayed off. We rushed to the window to see neighbors running down the street. That’s when I put some pants on and ventured out.
About a third of the van was in the house. The driver fled the scene but was kind enough to turn the van’s hazard lights on before running away. My wife joined me and a few other neighbors to gawk at the scene and snap a few photos. I wanted to submit a photo to a news station, but Laura saw this as rude. Needless to say, someone else got their photo on TV.
So after a few slack-jawed moments, we went back into our house and got dressed for a refried bean fiesta. But before we left, I noticed a camera man walking through our yard, on his way to the scene. That’s when I saw her – Julie Fine from WPXI!
Julie is one of my favorite reporters. She’s quite professional and never looks the same twice. “Hold on!” I told Laura as I left her at the car and headed for the crowd. I could see that Julie was asking for testimonials from my neighbors.
For some reason or another, I looked back at the car where I left Laura. She was motioning me to return to the car. I turned around like a sucker. She was hungry.
The story is here. They may post Julie Fine’s video later. (I already saw the segment on the 10:00 news . You’ll see my neighbors but you won’t see me.)
So what do you think of this new layout? Let me know in the comments below!
So far, the worst part about this pregnancy (for me) is the regular cleaning of the box containing our cat turds and piss clumps. I often scoop the soiled sand rather hastily, kicking up particles into my mouth, my hair and, of course, onto my clothes. (Perhaps I should see this as practice for the human waste coming soon.)
And even though baby has yet to arrive, it’s rare that I get a chance to enjoy myself. On Saturday night, I got the call that would change everything. My friend Pete invited me to see Kesha (or Ke$ha if you want to be technical about it) on Sunday afternoon in Oakland, next to the Cathedral of Learning. Watching her perform dirty songs in skanky outfits would be the perfect after-Church activity.
The concert was outdoors, and we couldn’t have asked for a better day. It was just the right amount of warm and cool; perfect cola-sippin’ weather.
The die-hard Kesha fans took the fist dozen or so rows, tossing everything from clothes to crutches (I have the pictures to prove this). During the 45 minute free show, she talked dirty, welcomed Santa Claus to the stage and had some guy dressed as a human wang hop around the stage. It was the ideal freak show, but I felt sorry for Pete who, at one point, just stood there, staring at the sidewalk with his arms crossed. I told him to at least pretend he was excited before someone took a video and posted it on You Tube with the title “Unenthusiastic Ke$ha Fan.”
I have to admit that it seemed out of place to have an artist like Kesha in the middle of Pittsburgh’s academic capital. But on the other hand, it also made the most sense (i.e. drunken student bodies).
It was fun but in the back of my mind I knew piss clumps awaited me at home. And you can imagine the size of these clumps when the urine comes from a +30 pound cat. That’s right. Thirty pounds.
As I prepare myself for a sleepless life full of poop and puke on my clothes (or so I’m told), I’ve also been preparing the baby room for future life. Laura’s done most of the work, but yesterday I replaced the room’s two electrical outlets with new ones… and I’m proud of this.
The room is ready for a fresh paint job, a crib and other baby related things. Painting and decorating should be interesting since someone I live with now tends to have random breakdowns about things like potatoes and blankets.
Coming from a Steelers Fan Friday at work, I was hungry for some good old “black and gold” cooking. I knew Eat N Park would kill my craving. (NOTE: If you think this is a promotional post for Eat N Park, you are wrong! Read on.)
From the customers to the stuff for sale in the foyer, we arrived to a cluster of black and yellow. I felt good… I felt alive… I felt like devouring their famous Whale of a Cod Fish Sandwich!
So that’s what I ordered. While waiting for my boatload of cod to arrive, I suppressed my seafood appetite with some clam chowder from the salad bar. (Delicious.) When my cod arrived, I lathered it with tartar sauce and gave the bun a gentle squeeze. (So soft.)
I thought, “Oh my cod!” after the third bite, realizing that it wasn’t fish – it was chicken! I smothered a chicken fillet with tartar sauce and was savoring the flavor. (Disgusting.) If I wasn’t feeling so happy in the first place, I may have scalded someone with hot chowder, but it was all good! The waitress was quick to give me the cod I so wanted.
The Whale of a Cod Fish Sandwich from Eat N Park, paired with their delicious Friday Clam Chowder, was the perfect meal for a Pittsburgh Steelers fan.
(Sorry for the promo!)
I went to Best Buy today intending to use a few gift cards I received for Christmas. In the past, I could walk around BB and find half a dozen things I wouldn’t mind taking home. These days however, all I ever seem to do is walk around the store.
Maybe it’s because I’m getting older, but I just see a lot of their merchandise as garbage in five years. The store is basically centered on the latest technology and technology is usually outdated within a month from purchase, right?
Looking for something to buy was a challenge, but the characters I met were well worth it. I asked one of their “associates” about a sound card that I could plug my keyboard into.
“Well what kind of keyboard are you looking to plug into it?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, one for typing or one for music?”
Why in the hell would I want to plug a “typing” keyboard into a SOUND card? The guy was also playing with his 3G, wi-fi, whatever the hell they call it, phone half the time I was talking with him.
So after a long search, I found a video game and a DVD – a combined value of $40. I went to one of the random new checkouts in the middle of the store and the cashier was lost in his own computer world.
“Excuse me?” I asked. No answer, so I tried again.
“Hi, can I check out here?” Still no answer, so I stood there until he was done.
“Hi, can I help you?” he finally asked.
He charged me $9,999.99 for the game and DVD. Long story short, I should have stood in the winding line at the front of the store because by the time he figured it all out and successfully read my gift cards, I would have been out of the store and on my way home.
I hate shopping!
