Having come back from my spiritual 'mountaintop experience' last weekend to a vomiting baby (that's the world's way of saying "welcome back from the mountain. This is what real life is like, just in case you forgot. Feel like cleaning up some vomit? No? Tough."), I haven't had many creative things to say. Caleb is still cute, in case you were concerned. In fact, he's trying to branch out--he was telling me this morning that he's tired of just being seen as another cute baby. I think he feels somewhat pigeon-holed. So I told him I'd let him take the reins once more and post a guest blog. I will say that I'm not responsible for what he has to say. There is a devious side to him--I see a spark in his eyes every time the cats pass by. His little hands reach out without even thinking, and the cats keep a wary distance. More to come later on this recent development. Without further ado, here's Caleb.
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Goooooooooooooooooooooooo. EEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Sorry for that, everyone. I just wanted to get that out at the beginning. That's all mom and dad hear. Let me tell you what that really means: Can I have a hamburger?
The real reason for wanting to blog is to give a progress report on this figure commonly referred to as 'Dad'. You all see the preacher side of him, with the big, fancy words and the people all listening to him. Let me give you a bit of a behind-the-scenes look. I'm going to group this into easy areas.
Milk Feeding: B+. Earlier, this would have been an F. I'm not kidding--this guy was terrible at it. I'd wake up in the morning, and all I wanted was some breakfast. Preferrably bacon and eggs, but milk seems to be the only thing in the fridge around here, and they only let me go to Waffle House from daycare. Dad never takes me. Is one trip to IHOP going to kill me? Probably not. (Dad's note: Maybe.) Anyway, he gave me these cold bottles after I've been in a cold crib in my cold room all night, and then he kept jamming the thing down my mouth. I told him fifty times to warm the bottle up, but he never listened, until mom finally got his attention. Where would this clown be without her? So the feedings have vastly improved. Still no bacon, but a warm bottle is almost as good. Now if only he'd stop slamming me in the back every time I ate--when I get older I'm going to try that to him every time he has a glass of wine, see how he likes it.
Rice Cereal Feeding: F-. Mom does most of this, but I'd just like to point out that Dad seems to be encouraging it. Have you ever tasted the stuff, dad? Rice cereal? You support giving this stuff to me? Wait until you're in the nursing home and I'm giving you plain Jell-O as revenge. Then we'll see how much you like flavorless food. Oh, and as for making me sit and watch you enjoy Tuna steaks and hamburgers--not cool, dad. Not cool.
Mornings: C. Just a pointer here, Dad. When I make noise in the morning, that means I'm awake. It doesn't mean that I'm just talking to myself in my sleep, chattering about my dreams. It means I'm awake and ready to get out of this crib, and I'm hungry. I don't care that you're in the shower, and whatever you're doing is less important than feeding me. Especially if it's sleeping. So why don't you just get up at four and be ready when I wake up. Otherwise, I'm going to start exploring outside catering options. And you're paying.
Daycare drop-off: A-. Yes, I notice all the potholes you hit when you're driving. And yes, I'm well-aware of what we just passed. Because I'm always facing backwards! Other than that, this part goes pretty well--Dad's pretty efficient at dropping me off with the nice ladies and my cool friends. Although he could stand to show me off a little less to everyone around. I know I'm good looking, dad.
Daycare pickup: D. Every darn time I fall asleep, there's day, waking me up, throwing me in the dark seat and chucking me in the car. He's got this big goofy grin on his face, apparently not at all disturbed by the fact that I just fell asleep. Care to wait a minute, big guy? I've got important things to do--like sleep during the day so I have energy to keep you and mom awake at night. These things aren't easy, dad. A 5 minute nap just won't cut it.
Hugs: B. I get it. You love me. You think I'm the greatest thing ever. But seriously, dad, we're out in public--can't you just play it cool? You're hurting my image with the ladies with all this love stuff.
Diapers: B-. Know what's not cool? My own poop. Know what I can't do? Anything about it. So stop acting so disgusted by it and just do your job. The only way it's going anywhere is if you fix it, dad. And just so you know, maybe if you found me some waffles I'd hold one in until mom got home.
Sports Team Affiliations: B. So I've been talking with some of the guys at daycare... and it turns out that some of the sports teams you have chosen for my life are, what's the word, lousy. I know, I know, you'll spout this stuff about recent playoff appearances and long-term contracts. I have two words for you: Mike Brown. As for the Reds, I have to say I'm pleased with some recent developments, but I want to see them in a World Series in the next five years, or I'm seriously considering becoming a Braves fan. This Jason Heyward kid can hit. Joey Votto seems to be a good player--so that helps your standing here a lot, dad. As for that glorious University of Kentucky championship, that was pretty cool. I'd have to say that this particular affiliation greatly helps your standing in this category. Bumps it up at least one letter grade. It won't help during football season, but everyone knows that UK football is merely a distraction until basketball season starts. Mom gets a lot of the credit here.Exercise: C. So let me ask the readers this: What purpose does it serve to go to a big room and pick up heavy things and set them down repeatedly? Oh, and did I mention that dad pays for this? And is probably going to want me to 'work out' in a similar manner? What fun, dad. Can we go mow the lawn later for kicks? Oh, and soccer--glad to know you're planning on signing me up for this. Because your bum right knee is a great testament to how wonderful that sport is. So that leaves baseball--because what kid isn't excited about having a ball thrown at them? I've already heard I'm not allowed to play football. Laughter will probably be banned, too.
Folks, I'm going to wrap this up before Tolstoy feels threatened. Hope this gives some insight into dad, better known as 'Not-Mom'. He seems to think that he knows what he is doing. He's wrong. Please remind him of this and tell him the proper way to raise a baby. I'd be forever grateful. Thanks.
Dad's note: He's right. I have no idea what I'm doing. But how about those Wildcats?
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