Dawsoning - Recent Notebook Entries

Notebook: Commerce, GA

2011-03-18T22:41:05-04:00

Meg and I are just about seven weeks out from the birth of our second, Asher's sister yet-to-be-named. There are days when I'm sure we're ready. Some days, I'm just not sure what the impact of going from tag-team to man-on-man really is. I mean, there are known-unknowns, and then there are unknown-unknowns. Exactly how many unknown-unknowns are we talking about?

For instance, take today. I spent most of the last 8 days in Atlanta at PyCon 2011. It was a blast, but I'm tired and my head is full. And on Sunday, I'm supposed to be running a half-marathon with Jessie et al. – an annual ritual that's entering it's fifth year.

On the drive down, Asher got a case of the pukes. We're all a bit gun-shy about the pukes these days, after a Christmas bug put two of our family in the hospital (they're both fine), so we decided to spare the clan from a possibly contagious kid and holed up in a hotel in Commerce, Georgia, a few miles from the scene of the explosion.

All in all, it was a good evening. Asher's feeling a lot better, and we even hit up the local outlet mall. (Sara tells me Atlantians trek up here regularly to shop.) His stomach's hopefully calmed down for good; we grabbed some passable mexican food a short drive from our hotel. Risky, yes - but he enjoyed it.

And now Meg's reading him stories before bed, and I'm in the hotel lobby writing about the day. But the shape of the day would be so much different with a little baby girl in tow. Like Meg said moments ago, we'll manage. I don't doubt that at all. But I'm not entirely sure what "managing" looks like.

Notebook: Rituals

2010-10-23T22:48:23-04:00

These are some of the rituals Asher and I have established over the last couple of months.

A Saturday morning muffin shared at the Mudhouse. I get coffee, Asher has water. Once we're done with the muffin, I have about ten minutes to finish my coffee because that's how long it takes to get from the Mudhouse to...
The Discovery Museum. Ash will typically run himself ragged if there's a big crowd. Especially on the slide in the toddler room. If it's a week where the joint's less populated, much less fun is had.
An episode of Mister Roger's Neighborhood before bed. If I believed it before, I now know that Fred Rogers was a saint. Seriously. Go back and watch some episodes if you can find them. I was able to procure ~50 episodes. This is likely enough to keep us amused for the next...oh, I don't know...year or so, as Ash has a much higher tolerance for repeats than I. If you can help us find more, we'd be very grateful.
Dinner together at Bodo's or Eppie's when mom's teaching class. It's funny to think about, but the first couple trips were quite nerve-wracking for me. A public dinner alone with B. can be quite a production, especially when he's plum tuckered after daycare playground time with Eli, Esme, Leila, and the gang. At this point, though, we've got the routine down pretty much pat.
Tag-team vacuum jobs. Asher's got his toy dirt devil. I've got the Dyson. His only real problem with his is there's no cord to mess with.
Weekend nap time. For some reason, Ash is far more amenable to being put down by dad for naps then by mom. The kid really has a hard time at school, and it actually occurred to me that I should offer up my services for when daycare nap goes horribly awry. But that's just crazy talk.

It's crazy how much he's talking these days. The single word utterances mostly make sense, and he'll repeat just about anything you say. The fact that he'll usually pick the second of two options just by the merit of it being the last thing you said can be exploited, but not every time. Sometimes, the kid wants what he wants. They tell me that's what it means to be a toddler.

They don't tell you as often how much toddlers laugh. How easily amused, and how every moment not spent eating or sleeping is spent playing. Every moment. It's an awesome thing to watch.

Notebook: A Great Help

2010-08-01T23:48:53-04:00

This weekend, Meg and I took Asher to visit his grandparents at their new digs in DC. The trip was fantastic. Asher's experiencing a language explosion at the moment where pretty much any word you prompt him for gets returned in some recognizable fashion, even if its first time hearing it. One of the big surprises for me this morning was "escalator." True, it came out a bit closer to "eh-cuh-cuh" than the real thing, but there wasn't any doubt what he was shooting for.

No doubt I'm excited about his sudden burst of words and babble. But I might be even more excited by Asher's sudden willingness to help out. Even better, he takes such pleasure in doing so.

Last week, as we were getting ready for bed, Asher pulled a basket of toys from underneath his bed and retrieved a toy within. When Meg called him into the bathroom for teeth brushing, Asher dropped the toy to the floor. I But he only made it five feet before he stopped, thought for a moment, then turned and walked back to the toy. Not only did he return the toy to the basket, he also pushed the basket back under the bed, a gentle smile on his face.

Then today, I caught him doing some kind of weird pizza-tossing business with laundry he'd taken from a nearby basket. Rub two sides of the bib together, slam the bib on the floor, then flip it over and try again. It wasn't until Asher was satisfied with his treatment of the first one that I realized he'd been trying to approximate folding the laundry. With the many baskets of unfolded clothes in these parts, this is a Very Good Thing.

And I can ask him now, from another room, "Asher, can you please pick up these toys?" and occasionally, he'll trot to where I am and do exactly what I'd hoped he'd do.

It's not every time, and of course I wouldn't expect it to be. But he gets it, and he's trying, and that's got his mom and I pretty chuffed.

Notebook: Big Boy Pants

2010-05-16T22:53:05-04:00

Meg bought Asher a (really kind of ridiculously dapper looking) set of cloth training pants today. Sure, it's a little bit of wishful thinking on our part to have this kid, not even one-and-a-half yet, trying at full-time potty sitting. But then again, he has successfully used the big boy potty a handful of times. And I've heard stories about kids (we actually know one of them!) who were potty trained before they could utter even the shortest short sentences.

The odds are stacked against these kids, really. Have you even seen a modern day disposable diaper? One of the Big Two companies just came out with an even thinner dipe. They were already wafer thin; now they're almost not even there. And these things drink forever, so the kid never even feels they're wet. (Just in case you're itching, don't lecture me about my social responsibility to be using cloth diapers. I've already heard it.)

Anyway, I digress. Asher did seem to enjoy his big boy pants as he marched around the house this evening. He seemed to know that Something's Up, and he seemed to embrace it. Luckily, that's becoming his M.O. and we're thankful for it. He'll be doing his first official full day in the tadpoles room at his daycare tomorrow. By all accounts, the transition from the baby room to the toddler room has been nearly seamless, if not without a few widely scattered tears.

He's an almost indefatigably independent chap. I'm not 100% sure where he got it, but I sure am proud.

Notebook: The Sincerest Form

2010-01-13T21:15:30-04:00

Asher's been copying people's actions since...well, way back. When he was feeling up to imitating a raspberry or clapping or silly kissy noises, there was usually a significant delay. Plus, he'd often seem unsure of himself and his abilities.

No longer. Asher is imitating everything now - and everyone. Dad snaps his fingers? Asher's got his hands at the ready, fingers coiled in an almost-right position. A gent walks through the door and everyone waves and says hi? Asher's arm is flailing, and has even managed a couple distinct "hi's" to boot.

Our favorite so far, though, has to be Asher's participation in our tooth brushing ritual. For months, Meg has brushed Asher's teeth during his bath. She's got an extra large cup at the ready, dunks the brush in the water, taps it on the cups edge to shake off the excess, and then brushes his teeth with a goofy little song. This process is repeated probably half a dozen times.

At some point, Asher picked up on this, as we had hoped. But on top of imitating the brushing, he's internalized the whole process. I doubt we even noticed the first time he did the dunk-and-tap, but once we did notice, we couldn't stop laughing - and commending him.

Language is right around the corner. "Cat" is far and away his favorite word, but "cup" makes frequent appearances, as well as the occasional "Papa" and "Mama." When "Dada" and "Nana" will start making regular appearances.

Oh, and walking, too. Daisy and Marta, his caregivers during the day, say he loves playing in the hall with the toddlers. I'm fairly certain his first steps will be in imitation of them, in the moment, and not with Mom and Dad here at home.

That's okay though. The milestones are ticking off at a breakneck pace, and we're loving every one.

Notebook: Knowing Better

2009-11-06T22:29:03-04:00

Some months ago, a good friend of ours chuckled when I asked if I was allowed to start calling Asher a toddler. "He doesn't walk," she said. "And he doesn't know how to say no."

Well, Asher still doesn't do either of those things, even if he is close. But he sure wants to walk, and he sure understands the word no.

Last night, Meg was coaxing the last punchy, laugh-turns-to-tantrum energy out of Asher before bed. It's become a familiar ritual; his goofiest moments are at this time, somewhere between 5 and 6:30. Asher paused on his fuzzy wool rug and ripped out a handful of fibers. Then he looked to Meg and slowly moved his hand toward his mouth.

"Asher, no," says Mom.

His hand moves closer to his smiling maw.

"No."

The smile broadens. Now his fingers are guiding the fuzzy bundle past his lips.

"NO."

And finally, the kid complies. Yet only a few moments later, as he's making a move like he's about to suck his thumb, Meg notices that smile again and sees he's trying to not-so-stealthily sneak in that prize.

Asher's had opinions for awhile. Take a toy away, and he's none too happy. But these are the first signs of willful disobedience. He's a super good kid. But he sure does like playing at being bad.

Notebook: Waves

2009-08-13T16:48:23-04:00

This year's Haury/Dawson trip to Florida is starting to wind down. Early Saturday, Meg, Ash and I will be on a flight headed back to Charlottesville. If he manages to sleep on the trip, Ash will undoubtedly still be dreaming of the gentle, lulling Gulf Coast waves.

He's a huge fan. They appeal to his action figure side near the shore – what with the face splashing, the pounding thud, the constant motion. Ten yards out, they appeal to his snoozy side. Watch him start to drift off on Mom's shoulder or in the blow-up whale of which he's so fond.

There's been a big development this trip, too. One we've been practicing since pretty much day one. At first it was just family members, but now we're seeing proof that Asher will, with no prompting, greet anyone with a huge pivot-at-the-shoulder wave. He even approximates an excited "aye!" We all agree it's probably just a new kind of request for attention. But that's almost all a greeting is anyway, right?

Ash is definitely gonna be one of those kids, greeting everyone, just because.

Notebook: Core Muscles

2009-07-11T10:36:16-04:00

Sitting up has to be the most under-appreciated, least anticipated milestone that a kid goes through in their first half-or-so-year. Goodness knows I wasn't waiting for it. But man, is it a biggy.

Bucking the timelines presented in pretty much every baby book Meg and I have bought, Asher tried to tackle crawling before he was even remotely interested in sitting up. He only made it as far as that on-all-fours rocking, but that he practiced with an obsessive fervor. I'm the lucky guy that gets to meet Asher in the morning, change the first diaper and then popping him into the bed next to Meg for breakfast, and every morning for more than a month, he'd be ready, already in the position, doing the back-and-forth.

But then suddenly, that four-on-the-floor toppled to the side, supported on one arm. The angle wasn't anywhere near a true sit, more like a slide into second. But then those core muscles kicked in. The angle increased. And before you knew it, he's upright with no hands. And practicing, to the exclusion of all things, all the time.

It's amazing how much more you can do with a kid whose torso isn't a wet noodle. That motherly hip-sit hold actually works now. Even more importantly, we're detecting a subtle shift in Asher's ability to amuse himself. The travel crib, his de facto play pin when something just has to be done around the house, actually keeps him amused now that he's got a higher vantage from which to select a toy.

Now that he's got it down, there are signs he's revisiting that whole crawl thing. He's got the hand and feet moving in the right directions, at the right time, for two or three quick thrusts. His head just hasn't quite gotten around the utility of this combo. It's gonna be flippin' cool when it does.

Notebook: Everything Hits At Once

2009-05-30T23:35:20-04:00

There have been so many developments in the last month. Daycare started last week. (It's going great.) Crawling is, like, hours away from happening. (Asher just needs to turn that on-all-fours backwards scoot into forward motion.) His face is becoming more expressive every day. (Smiles galore.) He's constantly testing his voice. (A whole bunch of gleeful shrieking, especially for one unlucky daycare employee. The poor soul.)

But the one that has me and Meg tickled at the moment is this sudden realization that the stuff Ma and Pa are cramming in their maws is FOOD.

Because of the constant attention he now pays to any food related activity, you could easily be fooled into thinking that you'd missed something in the last couple of weeks. That is, "He had to have been staring at me like that before. You don't just suddenly become fixated on a single activity overnight."

Oh, but apparently when you're a baby, you do. Meg's carrying Asher around in the Everywear Carrier a lot more recently, and every time she's managing him and a drink, his attention is focused on the mouth of that drink. Gimme. It looks good. Today, as I enjoyed a tasty lunch salad, every bit of Asher's focus was trained on the movement of my fork. I played at feeding him a bite or two, airplane style, just for practice. If I'd gotten any close I have no doubt he'd have bit.

First purchase: the first sippy cup and a few baby spoons. Soon: the high chair. Things may be messy around here now, but I'm betting they're about to get a whole lot messier.

Notebook: On Sleep, Part II

2009-04-26T15:11:44-04:00

The sleep problems Asher had were almost quaint at first. He slept only when held, but when he slept, he slept deep. In the first few weeks after coming home, there were a handful of nights where he really was getting the sleep he needed.

Of course, Meg was sleeping propped in a seated position, Asher cradled in her arms. That's a tenable solution for maybe three nights.

You have no idea.

Your parents and your friends with kids will warn you about the sleep deprivation you'll endure. They'll be really serious about it, and they'll give you that "you think you know but you have no idea" half-smile. I shrugged off the warnings with quippy little responses. "I've been a sleep camel for the last six months, though. I'm totally ready."

They were right all along. I had no idea.

I've noted before that as a dad, I ain't seen nothin'. But still, I have seen the effects first hand. There were days where I thought Meg was seriously-no-joke about to lose it.

What I didn't expect, though, was how hard it would be on Asher. In retrospect, I realize how naive that sounds. I assumed that Asher would keep us up but that in the midst of all the tossing and turning and night crazies, he'd somehow take care of getting the sleep he needed. But that's just not how it works.

We tried the co-sleeping thing, mostly because that seemed the easiest solution. Asher rejected the standard bassinet outright, so we got a side-carriage dealy. Meg would nurse, get him to a dead sleep, and gingerly place the package in his co-sleeper. No dice. Even when comforted with a hand on the chest, Asher would squirm himself awake every time.

Asher's exhaustion became more apparent every day. His eyes looked droopy, he cranked his way through every afternoon, and family members commented on his demeanor. The kid looked pooped.

Sleep training, FTW!

Something had to give. Meg did a ton of research and settled on Weissbluth's extinction method. It was a harrowing experience, but it worked – and fast. After seven days of training, Meg and I could put this kid that previously wouldn't sleep on his own, even when a mere foot from his mom, into his crib and have him sleep for 11 consecutive hours. It may not last forever, but for now it's working, and well. Asher's more alert, more himself.

For me, one of the hardest parts was that I spent most of my research time online. And let me be the first to tell you that the subset of mothers that spend every waking moment online, writing about their parenting experiences, they're a very opinionated bunch. Meg was right: you just have to do what works for you.

I hope you never need to sleep train your child. It's not one of the highlights of parenthood. But if you haven't needed to, you have no idea.

Asher, your mom and I would be proud of you no matter what. But when we wake up at 8 in the morning and you're still asleep after having gone down nearly 12 hours earlier, we do a little high five in your honor.

And when you wake and you're ready to play, we'll be there, far more rested than we were a month ago.

Notebook: We Have A Cold

2009-04-06T15:11:15-04:00

This weekend, Asher and I shared our first communal cold. Parents more experienced than I inform me that every cold from here on out – as well as every stomach bug, bout of pink eye, and ring worm – will also be shared. And the frequency of such events will increase on an exponential scale.

That's fine. Not to sound like a martyr or anything, but I'm no stranger to disgusting infections and rapidly spawning grungies. There's not too much Asher can throw at me that I haven't seen.

What's tough is watching your little shorty snort his way through a pretty Spring afternoon, unsure as to whether this condition will ever subside. When you spend 50% or more of your day with your mouth attached to – let's keep this as couth as possible – a feeding apparatus of some sort, the kind of mouth breathing that's required of the worst head colds can put a major damper on your meal schedule.

There's a quality to the cry of a mildly sick three month old that's unlike any other cries. It's not pained, not despondent. It's just whiny. And maybe pleading. The poor little guy just wants you to know he's not in a good mood.

I hear ya, bud. This'll pass soon enough. Promise.

Notebook: Am I Boring You?

2009-03-18T21:44:13-04:00

Right now, there's a tight group of people that spend time with Asher on a regular repeating basis, and recently we've all started voicing the same worry: Am I interesting enough for this kid?

It's been an interesting thing to watch, really. For the first month, Asher, while alert, didn't lock onto any one thing in particular for more than a few seconds. This is, they tell me, totally normal, but it had the general appearance of severe ADD. Granted, it was that elusive form of the disorder that also includes sudden, inexplicable (if mostly short-lived) narcolepsy and cheesy-smelling spit-up. But still.

At week 12, there's still a fair bit of that. But there are these periods mixed in where this kid is just on. You can see it in his eyes. "Input," he's saying. "I need input." It's hard not to feel a little bit of performance anxiety during these moments. The mindless "bah-buh-duh-buh-duh" gibberish songs we were singing just eight short weeks ago suddenly sound really friggin' silly. Dad's stupid dancing still seems to entertain consitently – but then again, how couldn't it?

There's even a new kind of fuss now to accompany this base need for stimulation. This seems to be Asher's first attempt at conversation. "Uh-GHAA" roughly translates into "what now, guys?" It gets louder if you don't hop-to. And that's when you really start reaching. Does anyone remember the twelfth verse of "This Land is Your Land?"

Yeah, it's true. We are, to some extent, over-thinking things. Asher's also developing the endearing habit of making friends with inanimate objects. This is a world full of entertainment for him.

I just want him to know that when he turns his head in my direction, I'm trying my best – even if it looks like I'm dying up here.

Notebook: Averages

2009-03-02T22:13:48-04:00

Today was Asher's two month doctor's appointment. Meg and I have commented with increasing frequency about his rapidly increasing size. It feels unlikely that at one point we worried that, as the nurses suggested, we might have to supplement his feeding. With what I don't know. Steakums maybe?

So it was a surprise when Dr. Wong whipped out her baby sizing chart, pointed at a seemingly arbitrary point and told us Asher measures in right at the 50th percentile. 50 percent. Totally average.

That's great news, really. I feel the pain of all you parents with kids in the 90th percentile and above. That's gotta do a number on you. At three months, our nephew Jack was up there. Plus, that kid's a furnace. It takes a toll is all I'm saying.

In related news, Asher's head measures in around the 25th percentile. Average body, tiny head. That in itself is a minor miracle. The Haury's are known for their big, big heads.

Notebook: Smiley Smile

2009-02-23T00:06:56-04:00

I've got an assignment for you. Go turn on TLC during the daytime hours – preferrably somewhere between 1 and 3. You there? Cool. Start a stopwatch. Now see how long it takes for some well-meaning, over-earnest, imaginary mom to mention BABY'S FIRST SMILE.

Five minutes. And that's being generous.

Of course, now I understand why. Sure, real infant smiles – the ones where they're tugging on those eyebrows and "goo!"ing at you – are undeniably cute. But for me, Asher's smiles have triggered some kind of understanding that this suck-push/food-poop machine is a really, really cool dude.

Seriously, guys. Let's be frank. Attachment and love happens right away. No question. And everyone tells you how important the first few weeks are, how all that crazy clown-like behavior – what with the face-making, the jumping the wubba-wubbas – are helping the bean's brain form all sorts of connections. But then you wonder: when will it start? What will it look like when he stops being a baby and starts being a kid? Will it be a smile? A sigh? A first word? A first step?

Or will it be a game of tongues?

This is all happening sooner than I expected, but it's twice as good.

Notebook: The Size of Things to Come

2009-02-07T12:09:07-04:00

When Meg was still pregnant, I'd joke about our baby's probable birth weight. Nine or 10 pounds sounded perfectly reasonable to me, and I had very little experience with gauging the relationship between an expectant mother's giant belly and the size of the baby within. If I'd been a little less conscious of Meg's feelings, I might have even suggested a much higher number. Is 13 pounds reasonable? Why are you crying?

Now, of course, I realize how truly idiotic that question would have been. A 10 pound baby is big. Really big. I might lose or gain two pounds of water weight on a long weekend run, but a two pound shift in a toddler's total size is no joke.

Suddenly, half of Asher's clothes don't fit. His Papa (that'd be Meg's Dad, for anyone keeping track of all the nicknames floating around) noticed earlier this week that we'd dressed Asher in an outfit that prevented the poor bean from fully extending his legs.

How did you get so long so fast, little guy?

Just a couple weeks ago, sack of potatoes was a viable mode of conveyance. It allowed Dad to make a pot of coffee with relative ease – which, by the way, is still the litmus test I use when choosing an infant hold. Now, sack of potatoes is one hell of a gamble. A newborn's freak-out is never more intense than a couple head jiggles and a deafening scream. Asher's core muscles are now seem more fully developed than my own, and when he suddenly arches his back, it feels something like a ten pound carp trying to fling itself from your shoulder.

I spent many hours those first couple weeks bobbing a tiny circuit around the center of our house – kitchen, living room, dining area, repeat – babbling repeated phrases.

"BAH buh buh duh. Bah DUH buh duh."

"CALM our selves. CALM our selves. CALM our selves. "

If a baby weighs somewhere south of eight pounds, no problem. You can do it for hours. Really. I don't pretend to be a particularly strong dude, but add a couple extra pounds, and all sorts of stuff starts to go haywire. The bobbing-march step is suddenly causing serious hip problems. Keeping an arm elevated to support his gargantuan cranium for more than 10 minutes is about as much as my spaghetti arms can take.

But listen to that! As I write this, Asher's bouncing in his Ikea-aping Svan, cooing for mom. What a good little plumper.

Notebook: We're Comin' Out

2009-01-24T18:14:15-04:00

Week four was the week Meg and I finally started feeling normal enough to bring Asher out into the world. Thursday, there was the trip to Dad's office. Friday, the first stroller walk around the block. Today, the first trip to Nana and Papa Haury's house.

As much as I miss him when I'm at work, it's been a sanity making experience, re-establishing the whole work routine. Meg's teaching one class this semester, but do the math. If you're only out of the house for four or six hour stints twice a week, that means you're spending a crazy insane amount of time indoors, shuttling between the bed and couch.

I'm writing this from the Haury house, and while I can't say for sure that Asher really understands that he's at not-home, Meg and I sure can tell the difference. No matter how much you love the comforts of your own home, you can't underestimate the toll that being truly housebound can take.

While Asher's slowly beginning to realize that there's a world outside 620 Mac, Meg and I are busy pondering how it'll feel when all these firsts – super-stuffed diaper bags, changing pads, travel tubes of butt cream – are finally part of the new normal. The Dawson family, unsteadily at first, is on the move.

Notebook: On Sleep

2009-01-13T14:11:18-04:00

I started to compose this smug little ditty three days days ago. It was all about peaceful, compliant babies who sleep (nearly) full nights right out of the womb.

I've heard a good dozen stories in the last several months from parents who'd had "angel babies." What makes an angel baby? If you're listening to these parents, these are the kids that can, among other things, switch off immediately, 3PO-style, and stay that way for at least four hours, every night.

(An aside: If four hours sounds to you like not at all enough to function, you're not alone. It's just I'm not much in the mood to talk about what flavor of masochist you have to be to fully enjoy parenting a newborn baby.)

Meg and I were both certain we'd had this perfect kind of kid. And I'll admit, he is perfect in that way only your child can be. But holy hell, is he getting squirmy.

I don't even have it bad. The beauty of being the father in a breastfeeding family is that when McSquirms starts flailing at 3am, your job is, at most, limited to strapping a fresh set of plastic pants on his rump and pulling the covers back over your head. Still, nights like last night are really starting to try those angel-baby-assumptions we'd made about the kid. He eats at a glacial pace (how many human beings do you know that takes an hour and a half to eat three ounces of anything?), and now that he's figured out he's got arms, he'll fight your every move just because he can.

Today was Meg's first day back teaching. She got a paltry three weeks off between birth and work. Plus, she had to operate on just under two hours of sleep. As I write, Ash has just blissfully drifted off. He's likely to stay that way, in this exact same position, all day. This means even more excitement on the night before Meg's second class tomorrow.

Oh well. So much for angel babies. Guess we'll just have to settle for the breathtakingly real one we've received.

Notebook: Asher Has Arrived

2008-12-31T21:01:23-04:00

I expected not to sleep. But I didn't expect said lack of sleep would set off this exact set of symptoms, complete with hiccuping synapses and dizzying nausea.

I knew I'd be house bound. Meg and I are already pretty reclusive, and we thought we knew what it'd be like. I just didn't expect to feel quite this grubby.

I expected to be frazzled by the incessant screaming. But I didn't count on feeling this overjoyed at being able to coax such screams out of the little bean. Turns out little newborns actually sleep more than anything else, just not on any discernible schedule. When you want your little bean to do important baby things – like nursing – a little agitation is required. And agitation is the one thing mom and I already have down.

So, everyone: Welcome Asher James Dawson to the world. His mom and I couldn't be more enamored with him. I'm holding my breath to see if maybe this isn't just some strange sleep-deprived honeymoon period we're experiencing. But I wouldn't count on it. Right now, I wouldn't trade this fatherhood gig for anything in the world.

Notebook: Due Dates Are Rubbish

2008-12-24T15:46:58-04:00

Three weeks ago, Meg compiled a list of all the folks that needed to be on the baby announcement email. In retrospect, the best thing I could have done was send a simple, single email to the whole list, right off the bat. THERE IS NO BABY. YET. BUT YOU ARE ON THE ANNOUNCEMENT LIST.

Because people go crazy when a due date draws near. They seem to think it means something when really it means less than nothing. Especially when you have parents like me and Meg. I mean, honestly, when was the last time we were on time to anything?

Yeah, I participated in all the conjecture. And I really did have a feeling about Friday. Meg has to go back to teaching mid-January, and the earlier he comes, the more time she gets with him before life – what? – returns to normal? All our already-parent friends chuckle when I say junk like that.

No people, he's not here yet. Very little has changed, actually. I swear the belly dropped last week. But after today's doctor's appointment, I swear he made a northward retreat.

He's not here yet. But you'll get an ear full as soon as he is.

Notebook: Boy Clothes

2008-12-17T21:09:59-04:00

Meg and I spent the better part of five months talking about our now almost-baby in very gender-certain terms. We couldn't have possibly cared less about the sex, though I will admit to experiencing a sudden, exhilarating rush of virile delight when the news finally came. In conversation, though, we posited that a girl might just be...well, easier.

Why? Are they more even tempered babies? Not in my experience. Are they easier to potty train? Meg tells me signs do point to yes on that one. Is it because a girl means never having to make a decision about the big snip? Most definitely, yes.

But honestly, it was mostly the clothes.

It's not that we're big clothes buffs. The salary of a PhD student and web developer could hardly support such habits. But we do like nice looking stuff. With girls, there're just way more options, or at least that was the sense we got from early shopping trip. I've counted four or five truly upscale baby stores in Charlottesville where, assuming four walls packed with clothes, three and a half are fully for the girls.

What we must have missed at first was the total and complete awesomeness of what parents of little boys have to choose from. Zebras. Bunnies on butts. Cars, trucks, and vespas. Pretty much anything they put the boys in over at Zutano. These are clothes I wish I could wear.

He's due in six days now. Meg's belly has done funny things the past nine months, broadening, much to her chagrin, out to the sides, slowly. Then in a month, BAM!, straight out front, making her – yes, truly – waddle and struggle to stay upright. He's right up front and ready.

Hope he appreciates all this fashion.