This space is for friends, family and sworn enemies alike to bask in and reminisce about parenthood. Discussion is being led by a fellow who enjoys being a Dad but is very much still learning what the job entails.
Hopefully we can have some laughs along the way. If we don't, it's your fault.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Two Colds and a Baby
It was a long weekend at Chez Blackwell.
The sun was shining, the air was crisp and
there was a full slate of football games to be watched. So, it set up to be perfect.
And, while I watched plenty of football, I
did so through puffy, blood shot eyes, drifting in and out of sleep. I never
really “watched” so much as shared the same room with a television tuned to
football games. And that, my friends, is no way to watch football.
Pictured: two sick, tired, crying babies.
Sick, I was. There was plenty of sneezing,
blowing, snorting and other awfulness. But I wasn't alone in my misery.
Master Blackwell was also completely under
the weather with me. So, we shared similar discomfort as we endured what I'm pretty sure was the same cold. That said, he might have
whined less than I did.
He endured a lot of firsts last weekend.
First time experiencing the non-specific,
head-clogging discomfort of a cold. First time feeling that fuzzy, foggy,
disconnected, sick feeling. First time really coughing. First time having trouble
breathing through his nose. First time having mommy and daddy attempt to jam a
sucking device up his nose in vain attempts to drain it.
Note: If you don’t know how powerful a
20-week old baby boy can be, try to drain his nose. It’s not as bad as giving a
fully-grown cat a bath, but it’s in the same ball park, albeit with far more
Attempting to keep an infant clean and free
from wearing nose and mouth excretions like a chinstrap is a losing battle at the best
of times. When the baby is sick, it’s a full time job.
My wife and I watched – numerous times – as
one of us dabbed and wiped him clean only to turn around literally
seconds later and have a bigger mess on their hands.
OK. So, maybe draining my son's nose is less dangerous.
There are few crueler mockeries than watching
“things” go out – and then back into – your baby’s nose as he breathes while a burp cloth is far, far out of reach.
So, again, we learned a little bit more about
our boy and ourselves.
He is a fighter, to be sure. He can laugh
when he’s uncomfortable. The ceiling fan is still, bar none, the most
interesting item ever devised by man and sleep is still his – and our – best friend.
My wife and I are drawing closer to completing our education in
“gross” and, as sufficiently humbled creatures, we're also shedding what's left of our superficial pride.
To that aim, the boy demonstrated he's well ahead of us.