Food

Hey Archer,

Turns out you love to eat. Mama taught you the signs for "more", "done", and though I can't prove it, I think she taught you a sign that means "Taylor Ham Pork Roll is disgusting" just to screw with me. She can hate on it all she wants but you, me, and Uncle Rattlesnake (code name, not an actual rattlesnake) are going to eat the shit out of some Taylor Ham egg & cheese sandwiches one of these days.

When I was your age I didn't eat like you do. Or rather, I don't think I did. Grandma doesn't seem to remember and Papa Petey isn't around any longer to fill in that gap. But considering the times, I probably had my fair share of jarred baby food and was on to cans of ravioli soon thereafter. It's just the way it was. Half the adults, or more, in this country likely inhaled a half pack of second hand smoke with each meal as well. I tried to name you Parliament, but like my other childhood-based name ideas (Schwinn, Swatch, Evil Knievel, Cavarrici, Beef Ramen) your mother didn't see the brilliance.

It's all good, though. Archer is a great name and you wear it well. But, I was talking about eating...

You eat as if Gywneth Paltrow's nutritionist partnered with the raspberry council and an Indian shaman on your menu. Lentils, nut butters (get your mind out of the gutter, pervert), eggplant, and garbanzo bean flour pancakes are common. You're personally putting a strain on the raspberry producers of america, and "is he supposed to be eating an entire sweet potato?" is a common question from those that help feed you. You usually start your meals in a delicate way, carefully selecting a single piece of something to try. But soon thereafter your hand turns into more of a ditch-digging shovel and the pace of the rest of your meal defies physics and kicks heartburn right in the nuts. If I ate like you for just two meals I'd either choke out or stroke out. It's impressive.

Here are a few food related points of interest from your first year...

• Eggs - One of my go-to dishes for your breakfast is a two egg omelette with a variety of vegetables inside. It's one of the few foods that you'll sometimes reach past raspberries to eat. I don't make it in the typical omelette shape. I go for more of a thick disc of egg so I can cut it into small pieces for you to grab and eat on your own. Sure, you could say I started cooking eggs that way because it didn't require me to physically feed you. But you could also say it was brilliant. That first omelette disc may have been the moment I truly became a dad. That or my first pun.
• Pancakes - You'll eat these in any style. It doesn't matter if we use garbanzo bean flour, buckwheat flour, or rice-a-roni. You love the shit out of a pancake no matter what it's made out of. It's a bonus if we add fruit. I made you a giant pancake for your first birthday and didn't cut it up because I was hoping you'd hulk-smash it. But no, you picked it apart piece by piece like a goddamn gentleman. You're already a better human than me and it's barely been a year.
• Berries - When I was a kid I, for who knows what reason, broke a classmate's finger. She was probably asking for it because I'm a lover not a fighter, but the exact details are lost to time. You're a loving, happy kid but if there's one thing I would bet on that could trigger your black rage it would be someone stealing your raspberries.
• Eggplant - It couldn't look more gross but you don't care. All credit goes to your mama for this one. I wouldn't have done it on my own. Too much time cutting and roasting just to compile soft (but healthy!) squares of food that resemble snot more than anything. 
• Sweet Potato - It was the first thing you ate and in between those first bites you would cry until we got the next spoon near your mouth. That love has not wavered. In fact, it honestly wouldn't surprise me if some day I returned home from a work trip right as dinner is being served and you stiff arm my hug attempt on your way to a plate of steaming hot sweet potato. 
• You've begun to sign for more food before you actually get started on the food you have. Because we don't always feed you everything at once (one part of your dish could be too hot still, or you've been playing with it too much so we're dishing it out slowly) it's like you want us to know that you aren't stupid. "Hey, big servants! You know this isn't going to be enough, right? You could fire up another pot of that goodness right now or you could let me get upset, and nobody feels like cleaning up a physics-defying shit that somehow travels straight up out of my diaper, do they? DO THEY?!?

Well, I've gotta run. NeeNee and Nay (the names you've given to your cousins) are sleeping over and everyone is expecting raspberry pancakes when they wake up and the way you've been housing food these past few weeks means I'll have to make a double batch. 

But before I go, some advice:

If you do decide to break another kid's finger, go for the pointer. You can get by easily without a pinky. Ring finger? Mostly for show. Middle fingers won't be important until you get older and start driving and dating. Even the thumb, which is my number two choice for snapping, isn't as important as your pointer finger. It's the focal point (pointer!) of every thing you do with your hand. It's how you pick your nose, the barrel of your hand guns (PEW! PEW! PEW!), and the only finger that can pull off sass. It's the star of the show when you use your hands to indicate sex.  You'll use it to stir things when you're too lazy to get a spoon and, I can't stress this enough, it's the finger you'll use over and over again to point at the slice of pizza you want from a restaurant so that you get the Arnold Shwarzenegger slice and not the Danny Devito one. That's a solid reference from the movie Twins, by the way. Movie quotes are going to be important in your life, but that's later. For now, just remember to go for the pointer.

Time Change

Hey Archer,

Right now you're sleeping upstairs with mama. Your morning routine has been frustrating, but consistent. You wake up at 5:30 every morning, almost on the dot, and fuss until one of us comes to get you. Once we bring you into bed you'll hunker down on mama's milkers, on and off, for around an hour which more than doubles daddy's lifetime best of 27 minutes. Thankfully you usually sleep through the night until this happens, lightening up on the parental requirements that once saw us (mama) getting up every hour or two to feed or soothe you.

But, like anything else we think we have figured out it all goes to shit at some point.

We fell back an hour recently, and now you magically wake up at 4:30 every day! I've never been one to care about the time changes, though many people argue that they're dumb and they probably aren't wrong. But I care now. Once you're up, I'm usually up. Mama falls back to sleep like a champ in the mornings but once my brain starts churning I'm awake. Stupid songs are to be stuck in my head, work things must be considered from all angles, and embarrassing dreams are to be compartmentalized and locked away, never to be thought of again.

It's tough work and it keeps me awake.

Which gives me some time to write this list of my ten favorite things you're currently doing!

1. You find it hilarious to fast-crawl away from us toward the kitchen. When we give chase and say "Where are you going?" or "I'm gonna get you!" it makes you start giggling in the most adorable way. This has been going on for months.
2. You love mimicking us and making us laugh. So far you mimic sounds, clapping, snapping, dancing, and sometimes you'll do what we call "strong man". This is when you raise clenched fists and yell.
3. You can climb stairs like nobody's business. Smooth as silk, but dangerous as all get out. I've built you a baby gate already and just need to get it stained and installed.
4. You continue to love being upside down. I've been playing crane game with you as the crane and your toys as the prizes. You're hit rate is nearing 50%.
5. The look on your face when you shake your head no is indescribable and adorable. If wielded correctly later in life this will likely convince your mama to give you whatever you want.
6. Your babble is finally containing the typical "ba-ba-ba-ba" type sounds but you still sound like you're trying to bypass single words for phrases. Elephant would be your first word right now if you could just figure out how to say it. It's not for lack of trying though, as you've fallen in love with the odd (Indian?) string of alternating bells and elephants hanging in your room.
7. When we chill in bed for a few minutes before getting up you sometimes spaz out and literally launch yourself at mama's milkers for a good old fashioned motorboating. Video evidence of this would be inappropes.
8. When you're getting close to finishing dinner you'll start leaning your head down on your tray (we serve dinner prison style) in this super cute contented way, staring up at us with pure love.
9. Peek-a-Boo still astounds you and a boop on the nose almost always stops the crying in favor of giggles. Even better, when I use my dad's patented technique (bobbing and weaving my finger while repeating "Where's he gonna go? Where's he gonna go?") you do it back and it maybe brings me all of the joys.
10. You love facetiming with me when I'm on the road. You try to grab the camera and give it kisses. I thank the flying spaghetti monster that we live in a time where we can do this because I can't imagine what it would be like traveling this much without the ability to see you in real time.

OK, I have to get moving. But before I go, a bit of advice...

Get comfortable taking yoga classes and shopping at Whole Foods. These are the two places I wish I would have spent more time as a young single guy with a hump switch permanently stuck in the "on" position. Unless of course you end up liking dudes. Although, no, you'd still want to go because I'd assume you'd be of the fit and fabulous variety. Yoga will keep you *shudder* flexible, and probably make you lots of bff's. And Whole Foods will keep your fridge stocked with fake milks. Those are the three most important things for gay men according to my limited (read: none) research. Hell, that can't be right. It's probably not even close to true for any gay men. I'm sure the same thoughts go through any man's mind, regardless of who they want to bone. Things like giddy excitement over eating some terrible but fondly remembered candy from your childhood, like circus peanuts or wax lips. But, as a future fyi, let me just end this by saying Fun Dip holds up extremely well.  

Unconditional Love

Hey, sweet baby Archer!

Overkill on the cheerfulness to try to mask the fact that it's been approximately 2 months since we have written anything here? Maybe. As you know, we have been very busy helping you grow from a helpless but adorable newborn into a giant, smiling infant who can sit up all by himself for at least a few seconds.

Archer, you are pure joy. You smile almost all the time. Your laugh is a sound all your own. It is a deep, rattly giggle that is impossible not to echo with my own laughter because it is so beautiful. You are so alert and curious and grabby with your sweet little hands. You eat actual food now! And you love it! From the first time we fed you, you were so greedy...in the sweetest way possible. Sweet potatoes are your favorite, but you haven't yet met a food you didn't like (at least once you tasted it a few times). Your current diet includes: avocados, bananas, butternut squash, lentils, pinto beans, peas, carrots, green beans, apples, mangos, aforementioned sweet potatoes, and I'm always looking for new things to add to the mix so you will like all sorts of food. I prepared some eggplant for you tonight, so tomorrow we'll try that!

This seems like a lot of detail about your eating habits, but it is actually related to the inspiration for this post. Sweet baby Archer, tonight, you pooped on me.  Not like I was changing your diaper and it was messy so I got some of your poop on me. Nope, that's happened on several occasions. You once had a pretty serious blow out that required the disassembly of your car seat for washing. There was lots of your poop that happened to touch me. No, this was not that. You actively pooped on me, after I took your diaper off and we were on our way to the tub. And you know what? It was almost cute. I mean, it was a little gross, because poop. And real food poop is waaaay stinkier than baby breastmilk poop. That is like pre-poop. If it was in school, breastmilk poop would be remedial poop. Your poop now is like junior high school poop. Still totally immature but it thinks it's all grown up. But this is what a mother's love is. It didn't really bother me. I laughed about it. I'm glad your daddy was here to help me clean it up, because there just weren't enough hands while holding a naked poopy baby to clean you and me and I wasn't about to introduce that situation to your little baby tub unless it was absolutely necessary.

My love is clearly unconditional. Let's just not make a habit of it, ok?

Love,
Mama

Dinner Plans

Hey Archer,

I know it's going to be a long time until you find yourself in the situation I found myself tonight, but I wanted to get it down on your blog before I forget. Tonight I am on the road and in Athens Georgia. It's a place I had big plans for. I wanted to walk around and try some local beers, see what the city has to offer, and give it the ol' college try as I've never been here before. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I got in a little later than I thought and ended up in the hotel bar.

In a perfect world you'll always do the right thing, eat in the best restaurant, and maximize your time.

(Quick side note: I'm in my hotel room and typing this as Shark Tank is on. The latest inventor introduced himself as a "dadtrepeneur" and I already hate him. It turns out his idea is stupid and now I feel vindicated for those feelings.)

But in an imperfect world sometimes you do the wrong thing, or a thing that deviates from the original plan that on paper seems disappointing. Tonight I gave in to the laziness of a late arrival in Athens but in return I had a wonderful experience. In a way, I feel a little bit like I was meant to be in the hotel bar to meet Julie and Earl.

(Also, just so you're prepared, I don't mean for this to be a bummer of a post but it may seem like that at times.)

It started with a free drink and appetizer offer thanks to my super duper double secret elite status with IHG. Once in the bar, taking advantage of the offer, I overheard a couple talking about the Big Ten Conference and their hatred of Ohio State University. Being a Big Ten alum in agreement with that sentiment I piped up and we were off and running.

Their oldest son is my age. Soccer was a huge part of their lives, as was mine. They've lived in some of the same places I've lived. Lots of parallels. That oldest son and his wife have been trying for five years to have a child and they're finally pregnant. Major parallel.

In a cruel twist, their oldest son also has been diagnosed with incurable brain cancer.

Life can throw you some pretty rotten fucking lemons. It's really hard to make lemonade from rotten lemons and I can only imagine how hard it is to even talk about rotten lemonade with people. As it turns out, I have a soft spot in my heart for people dealing with cancer. I also have a Flying Spaghetti Monster-given talent for engaging strangers and finding common ground.

I didn't have any advice for this 70yo couple that they wouldn't have already heard. But I did have a kind ear and the occasional commiserating story to make them laugh. It was pretty clear that they've had a really tough go of things and when the story unfolded to include both Earl and the grand-dog recently getting diagnosed with cancer I wasn't going anywhere. Dinner at the bar for your dad.

There isn't a way I can adequately explain how impressively positive and loving this couple was. Yes, we talked about cancer and how much it sucks. But we also talked about raising children, the importance of good childhood sports experiences, and even Lady Gaga. Through all of it they had this palpable energy associated with their stories that I found amazingly impressive in the face of their struggles. It was like they couldn't get out their stories fast enough, their eyes lighting up as they realized partway through one story that it reminded them of another.

Through all of it I couldn't stop thinking about how unlucky they've been but also how lucky they've been. They seemed to have developed a really fantastic grasp on living life to its fullest, enjoying everything, and making decisions based on compassion and common sense.

As a very new father I can honestly tell you that it isn't always easy to have that mindset. I think daily about devastating problems that could occur while raising you. What if I lose my job and can't quickly find another? What if I get sick, or your mom gets sick? What if you get sick?

It's the scariest stuff I've ever had to consider and nothing has even happened yet. For some people, probably a lot of people, it isn't just a fear but a reality. I hope your mom and I can raise you with the tools to persevere in the types of situations Julie, Earl, and many others have found themselves in but also the compassion to lend an ear when someone else needs one.

I gotta run, but before I go...a little advice...

Don't create a blog and be all fun and happy all the time and then randomly drop a sad post in the middle of it all. Your tens of readers might get bummed out.

~ Your Dad

Growing

It's been almost 3 months since you were born! It's not a wonder that I haven't written much here, as I've been busy staring at your sweet face and snuggling you. Also cleaning poopy diapers, feeding you pretty much constantly (you're a hungry little man!), and trying to get us out of the house occasionally. More than occasionally actually.  You come to yoga with me almost every morning. You sleep most of the time, but when you are awake, you love to watch the people. Everyone there is so sweet with you. They tolerate your interruptions, both cooing and fussing, equally.

You are growing very quickly. I'm determined to not miss any of your beautiful moments. Nothing in my life has ever been better than watching you discover the world around you. You wake up slowly, bleary eyed and hanging in that space between slumber and wakefulness for longer than I'd expect from a baby. The very moment you edge over into consciousness, you are all smiles. You awaken expecting nothing but good things to happen now that you're aware and ready to experience life. I hope so very much that stays with you. Optimism is lovely and too rare a trait.

You're a pretty good sleeper, unless of course, you are going through a growth spurt. This is happening now. You are currently ravenously hungry all the time and unable to sleep more than a couple hours because there must be more eating! The only thing equal to eating for you is snuggling. You are always a pretty snuggly boy, but during this growth spurt it is the only way you will sleep without nearly constant fussing. It is not a huge sacrifice to sleep with you cuddled against me. I know that these days will be behind us all too quickly, and I will miss these special moments when you are tiny and need me so much.

On that note, I will end this because you have woken up from your nap and are very unhappy about being alone.

Love,
mama

The Early Years

Hey Archer,

I've been thinking a lot about how little you'll remember from this time in your brand new life. Hell, even we'll start to lose our memories of these first few months as you get older, more interactive, and your mom and me start our gradual decline toward dementia.

Sad, right?

But maybe it's not all sad. I mean, maybe it's for the best that you won't really have any memories about your grand entrance and the subsequent months/years.

Take, for example, your first experience outside of the womb. You went form chilling out in the only environment you'd ever known to being unceremoniously yanked out by weird looking giants. It was crazy bright and everyone you first laid eyes upon was covered in blood due to the c-section.

You wouldn't have known, because you haven't lived long enough, but there will come a point where if giant strangers came crashing through your bedroom walls in the middle of the night with spotlights to pull you (naked) out of your cozy confines and into a new, strange world you'd be pretty fucked up over it.

And I don't even think that's the weirdest thing you endure during these first few years.

Thank god you won't remember what it's like to get your diaper changed, butt-paste applied, and all your nooks and crannies cleaned. I mean, think about it...Every three hours or so a thing 5x your size takes you from slumber or a warm embrace so they can basically attack your genitals with wipes and ointments.

And all the while these giants are smiling and analyzing your body for changes.

Creepy.

I honestly believe that the reason we can't remember these years are because if we did it would completely fuck up the rest of our lives.

Gotta run, but before I go here's a bit of advice:

Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened. And also because you bet two dimes on the winner at +250.

~ Dad

Laundry

Hey Archer,

While I’m gone you may need to step up and handle a few things. For this trip it may be important to focus on laundry. There’s a backload of clothes and towels that need folding as well as quite a bit of dirty things waiting their turn in the wash. Here’s the rub though, some of the things are easy to figure out but some things (YOUR MOM’S THINGS) are often confusing and difficult to handle. So here’s a quick guide to handling laundry.

MY LAUNDRY

1. Lump all whites and colors together in a reasonably sized pile and wash on whatever setting you like. I call this the Great Unifier technique. We’re all in this together, buddy. Dry at surface of the sun temperature.

YOUR MOM’S LAUNDRY     

1. All yoga clothing goes in together and don’t you dare put a towel in there with it. IT’ll BEAD!! It won’t. But god forbid it does because your mom will want all new clothing and have you ever bought anything at Lululemon? No, you haven’t. I know this because you aren’t rich and because you’re a baby with no income. Nothing gets past your old man. Replacing her clothes would bankrupt us. So keep em separate. 
2. Wash on the most delicate setting which, in the case of the very expensive washer your mom made me buy, is called Gentle Whispers. This setting will lightly spritz the clothing with artesian well water while the clothes are slowly tussled. There are many breaks in the tussling where the washer will whisper encouragement to the clothing, saying things like “You can do this. You is strong. You is smart."
3. When the washer has stopped promptly move mom’s clothing to the dryer as to not disrupt the journey. Now is a good time to also reinforce the washer’s words and make sure her clothing knows that they are fully supported during this process. But for god’s sake please whisper.
4. Drying her clothing is a very delicate process. First you turn the dryer on and spread the clothing out without bunching. Then you shut the door and let the dryer use its “Natural Drying” setting to handle things. This allows the dryer to offer nothing more than a safe haven for her clothing while they air dry without the harmful effects of forced air.
5. After approximately 3 times through this cycle the clothes will be still wet. Simply spread each piece of clothing out on top of the dryer and any nearby surface until dry.
6. For all other clothing just separate into these simple piles: Colors, whites, dry clean only, no drying, wash without detergents, don’t wash, hang dry, requires treatment, wash inside out, shake first, purchased before 2000, foreign bought, accidentally reversible, and sentimental pieces.
7. Repeat steps 1-6

Well, buddy, I’m on the road and it’s time to turn in for the night and prepare for my account call in the morning. But before I go, a little advice:

Be not afraid of going slowly, be afraid only of standing still. Especially in West Virginia. Always watch your butthole there. <banjo music>

~ Your Dad

Making You (Great) ((Again))

Hey Nugget,

Our great nation is about to transfer power from a role model to a model of everything we don't want you to be. Actually, I'll be on board if you can be rich. That's cool. But otherwise, we'd like you to respect women, people who aren't white, and people who have a different origin story from you. To listen to those with opinions that differ from your own and be willing to see things from their perspective even if it's uncomfortable. Be nice. Apologize when you should and keep your mouth shut when the situation calls for it. It won't be easy, but if we take an honest look at the state of our country during this transition it's more than a little concerning.

But that's our country. How about us, your amazing parents? How are we doing?

As of 1/17/2017 your parents are doing great. Sure, there are times that I look at your mom and think "WHAT THE F$%* ARE YOU DOING?!?!" but I'm sure there are an equal amount of times that your mama looks at me and thinks "Damn if he hasn't crushed it again. He's as amazing as he is handsome!!!"

Guilty as charged, buddy.

I guess what I'm getting at is that it's not easy to be parents. We, literally, have to create you from nothing (nothing but humping...unghhhhh) and nurture you into a tiny human being. Shit can go all sorts of wrong in all sorts of ways. You'll be relying on us to handle things swiftly, effectively, and safely. It takes a steady hand and a clear mind to accomplish this task and I absolutely know I'm up for the challenge. When it comes to your mom, and I'll be completely transparent here on this blog that I know you've read every day since well before you were born, she's more than up for the challenge too. More. Like sometimes she does more and takes things a little farther in her quest for a safe household.

Here's an example...

Allow me to take you back a few months to the early morning hours of a random work day, the wee hours if you will. I woke up to take a leak (a wee!) and noticed your mama was fully awake. That's part of the job, unfortunately. Growing you in her belly, not unlike how scientists are now able to grow you a new nose on your thigh, takes time and comes with many drawbacks. In this case, that drawback is being awake in the middle of the night because you decide to have a dance party.

(Mama won't admit it but I'm 100% sure you were doing the Robot. It's in our blood.)

Well, the morning comes and you two are still sawing logs due to your late night dance party. I'm up so I head out for rations and while I'm gone I receive a text that asks where I am and informs me I wasn't around for something I'm calling "Palmetto Bug-Gate 2016".

If you aren't aware of what a Palmetto Bug is, and you probably aren't because you're a brand new baby, it's basically a roach in the south. They're big and they do look scary. That being said, they aren't shape-shifting death bugs who, at their whimsy, can leap or fly directly at your mouth to give you aids. They're scared of us. They'll hustle for the safety of your walls and molding before you can even light anything on fire.

Most people would just grab a magazine, or if you're under 60, some of those godawful advertisement bundles that won't stop showing up in your mailbox, (Fuck you, RedPlum!) and beat the stupid bug to death.

But your mama is not most people.

There's this product available on the market for all of your hornet and wasp killing needs. Because those beasts are stingers, and because most of us (me included) can be pansies about stinging things, you can fire this spray from up to 25ft and it will kill a hornet or wasp's family quicker than Trump kills democracy. (pound sign and that's quick pound sign did I do this hashed tagged thing right?)

But let's get back to what's important, your lovely mother's response to a Palmetto Bug.

She, animal rescuer and sucker for all living things that aren't jerks, knew she had to kill this thing before it morphed into a human-sized killing machine. You know, every hornet or wasp's destiny. So she ran downstairs to grab something she could kill it with, knowing full well that this harbinger of death would likely capitalize on her absence to set up a trap.

I imagine her frantically slapping away bottles of dishwasher detergent and rarely used things like Bamboo Oil so she could gain access to something that might kill this thing setting up shop in our bathroom. Something in or around the "scorched earth" level of destruction.

Enter Spectracide Wasp and Hornet Killer. Works from 25 ft away and was likely chilling at the very back of our cleaning cabinet underneath the kitchen sink due to its ability to kill things simply by touching them. Please enjoy this picture of said spray lounging with a friend in a sweet SoHo loft.

Now she has a weapon with which to take out this demon of the bug world and it's on like Donkey Kong.

Imagine, if you will, a window in any given room. It's standard window height and probably 4ft by 4ft. It has a little handle to spin that opens the window out into the world, which I'm sure has a specific name but I can't be bothered. But anyway, keep this type of window in mind:

Now imagine your mama as she stands 15ft away and burns three quarters of a can trying to kill the single bug on the window sill. She doused the entire set of blinds, the wall below, and the floor from the wall back to her firing position.

Of course the bug died. Maybe not even from the chemicals as much as it probably drowned in the sea of Spectracide your mom unleashed. Now your dad has to clean everything up because those sprays have harmful chemicals your mama can't be in contact with. It took 30 minutes to clean and almost 12 hours later I'm still a little annoyed by it.

But the good news?

You'll never feel like we didn't try hard enough. And before I go, a piece of advice:

It's said that a dead bee makes no honey. But if you don't particularly like honey or bee stings it definitely sounds like a win win to kill that bee.

~ Your Dad

The unrelenting freight train of time

Ok, that title may seem dramatic, but how is it that you are already more than six weeks old? Weren't you just born, helpless and kicking imaginary ninjas under the sun lamp meant to cure you of your slightly yellow hue? It sure seems like it, but at the same time, you have gone through a hundred little metamorphoses. Your little infant face is so different every day, and yet still a little carbon copy of your daddy.

You already know how to smile, the sight of which melts my heart into a puddle. Refuse to nap, even though I know you are so tired and that staying awake will throw off your tenuous sleep/wake schedule? Just throw me one of those open-mouthed gummy grins, and I'll gladly snuggle you against me until you drift into slumber. And then stay there, because who wants to unsnuggle a warm sleepy baby? And your snuggling is seriously other level. You squirm your entire body into mine, nuzzling your face under my chin so that you are breathing your magical breath right into my neck. I am consumed with your sweet baby smell and it is the closest thing to heaven I've ever experienced.

You make the funniest noises when you sleep. These can vary from your very unsubtle poop-making grunts and groans, to the softest, gentlest high pitched sighing of satisfaction that you are really just that cozy and content. I look at you and swear I have never been that comfortable or as deeply asleep as you are.

Your awake time is so much more alert now. You are fascinated by lights and shadows. The painting above the couch in the living room is your favorite. I'm not sure what you are seeing when you look at it, but your eyes get lost in there, as if in search for the beginning and end of every brush stroke. You love music, so much so that it will never be the way to get you to sleep. It is a reason to stay awake, to listen intently and bop along with it. You were born with rhythm. Too early yet to see if it's an innate musicality or if you'll have the most wicked white man shuffle in town, but either way, it seems to make you happy.

All this is to say, this love story is only just beginning. The more I discover you, the deeper I fall. You are the greatest conductor of love. Not only do I love you fiercely, but you inspire deeper love for those around us. Your father holds you and makes you giggle, or soothes you when you're having a moment, and my heart is filled with even more love for him. When your grandparents, aunt, uncles and cousins come to visit you, and anxiously take turns holding you, they are newly precious to me, because they are all important limbs in your family tree. I see the qualities I love in them and what I imagine you will learn from each of them. It's contagious, this love. Thank you for letting me see the world through you. It's such a gift.

Love, Mama

How I Know That 794 Isn't A Working Area Code

Hey Archer,

Did you know that 794 is not a valid area code? Yeah, me neither. Turns out that's a good thing. I'll explain...

You were born a boy, and boys have, barring some sort of cruel DNA joke, boy parts. That means your pleasure center™ is an outie. If you were a girl you'd have an innie as well as a dual purpose outie. That last part is a more in depth discussion for a few years from now but all you have to know now is that when you have your Pleasure Center™ fully on the outside there's this thing your mom and dad have to decide on, called circumcision.

Circumcision is a procedure that, in terms you may understand, takes that really long sleeve on your elephant pajamas and cuts it back so your gigantic arm can more easily make it out of the sleeve. It cuts back on your arm getting stuck in the sleeve and allows you to show off your Popeye-like forearms without hassle. Your arm won't get as many infections and you won't look different from your dad. You know, should you someday walk in on your mom and I wrestling and accidentally see something.

Does that make sense?

Well it will someday, but that's just the backstory to the story.

We got you circumcised and it was our first time taking you out of the house except for a couple checkups with your pediatrician. She's a great doctor and understands that you're a newborn and susceptible to scary viruses or bacteria until you get a little older. Thus she schedules your appointments first thing in the morning and we get invited back to the exam room almost immediately, which is important. For the first 30 days of your life we needed to keep you away from anything that could give you a fever. If a fever occurred we would have had to bring you in to the hospital for a spinal tap due to scary complications of even scarier conditions.

The place we brought you for your circumcision was, well, let's just say it was like taking you into a house from the TV show Hoarders.

Little kids were running around without parental attention being paid, messing with the visibly dirty toys meant to help keep these disgusting little rugrats busy while Obama personally calls in to add $90 to your copay and inform the staff where you keep your guns. You, being the most beautiful and precious thing currently on planet earth, were in danger of catching something from these scrubs (don't go chasing waterfalls) and wouldn't you know it took 45 minutes of exposure before we got called back. So gross.

Once back your mom politely refused to go watch the procedure. I, on the other hand, am a more curious and tolerable soul when it comes to this stuff and happily went back with you. Not four seconds after walking in the room I was posed with my first solo parental decision that could have led to decades of conflict between your mom and I.

I have barely shut the door to the procedure room when the doc turns to me, holding up what looks like a Dum Dum brand sucker, and says "OK if I give him a sucker?"

(OK, so full disclosure here...Your mom has two faces when it comes to food stuffs. Her main face is the beautiful one you're used to seeing and it appreciates anything organic or sustainable. If it was blessed by a shaman or has a yoga pose on the packaging than all the better. Her other face is triggered by meat or anything your dad likes and IT. IS. SCAAAARRRRRY.

Zero to sixty, buddy. There's no in between.

So just know that suckers at the tender age of 15 days old fall into that second category. It may surprise you that I actually feel mostly the same way, though I am much more willing to let a medical professional do what all of the world's evidence suggests is the best thing in the moment. That being said, this seemed a bit unnecessary.)

I chuckle at first, thinking he's joking. Then I realize he isn't but figure he's interested in giving something for pain (maybe?) that is just in sucker form but is really just very helpful or important medication.

After I chuckle I say that I don't think your mom would be happy about it and he says that it works like a sedative. I still decide to decline because I do believe there's no need for you to have sugar for sedation when they plan on sticking you with needles to numb the whole area of concern.

He tells me it's no problem and starts prepping. It's at this moment that a nurse walks in to assist and, seeing that you have no sucker in your mouth, immediately grabs the sucker and starts to put it in your mouth. Both the doctor and I catch her in time and your CMO diet (Chest Milk Only) is intact for another day.

The doc does his thing and you scream like a little bitch. Ha! Just kidding, you definitely screamed but it was for good reason and there isn't a guy on this planet, save for Kanye West, who isn't man enough to admit he'd have probably cried too.

We get done and the doc gives his instructions for care and what we should look out for. He says we can call him or text him pictures if there's anything we have concerns about.

As it turns out, we did end up having concerns about how things looked and I took to my phone to text a picture to the doctor. Because I'll get flagged by some douchebag if I post the picture I actually took, here's an exact rendering, to scale, of what I sent.

I asked if what I was looking at was normal, expecting to get a text back saying that it absolutely was and I shouldn't worry. Instead, I looked down at the message I'd just sent and noticed I fat-fingered a 9 in place of a 0.

PANIC SET IN!!!

I began frantically typing out an apology and a follow up text using a little humor to hopefully diffuse the situation before some offended person turned me in for trafficking child porn.

Then my phone dinged and I thought, "Well, here it is. I'm either going to get an understanding person or an offended person" and I was overwhelmed with relief to see a text bouncing back mine as not deliverable because 794 isn't a valid area code.

So that's the story about how your junk is totally normal and I almost went to jail before learning that 794 isn't a working area code.

Before I go, a little advice:


They say you should measure twice and cut once but I'd like to change that to check twice and send once when it comes to pics of any baby dicks.

~ Your Dad