Teddy is officially one month old! I would like to say that this month flew by because of sheer joy…but the truth is far more complicated. My son is a normal baby and hence requires a lot of attention, food, and diaper changes. Added to this “normal” baby workload is the fact that Teddy needs supplemental formula. During the first three weeks, we had to bird-feed him through a special syringe because we were told bottle feeding would confuse his tiny brain – apparently, the nipple on a bottle is different than my wife’s nipple. After several exhausting nights, we gave up on the arduous procedure of the syringe and went against the better judgment of the breastfeeding police. We gave him a bottle and it took him about 1 second to figure it out. The bottle along with breastfeeding helped Teddy gain 3 pounds within two weeks and helped us get some well-needed rest. I once took a class in “Animal Behavior” while getting my Biology degree – I think more than anything else, that class has gotten me through the past month. My son, for all intents and purposes, is like a little puppy right now. He doesn’t have any rational thought or reasoning – my Chihuahua has a leg up on him at this point in time. It sounds harsh to say, but it is the truth – all babies start at the bottom of the IQ animal totem pole.
There are three significant things babies want throughout the day: food, comfort, and security. The first two needs are pretty easy to figure out as a parent – feed the baby every couple of hours and change the diaper. The last need is what requires some knowledge of animal behavior. Teddy is very good at crying and grunting so that he will be held and feel secure. Unfortunately for Teddy, we both need sleep. When we lay him in the crib he grunts almost constantly, and after a month, I have deciphered the meaning of those grunts. A single grunt within a 10-minute timespan means he is dreaming of breasts. A double grunt within a 5-minute timespan means he is farting, pooping, or dreaming of a field of breasts. A triple grunt within a 2-minute timespan means he is about to wake up and cry for my wife’s breasts. Hence, instead of rushing to comfort him at every grunt, I now have a fickle system of baby mathematics.
For matters other than grunting, we took Teddy in for professional pictures, and I am proud to post them below. The photo shoot was exhausting, and I commend the photographer for her patience – Teddy feigned sleep like a cocaine addict on the first of the month. He is scheduled for more pictures at 3, 6, 9, and 12 months…please keep us in your prayers.
Christina is now 9 months pregnant! Our house is filled with baby stuff, and I don’t know what to do with half of it. We have a panoply of beds for Teddy to sleep in: a crib in the main room, a portable crib in the living room, a baby rocker, a baby crawler, a play mat, and a bathtub sleeper. I’m jealous of my son’s sleep options and I wish I would have taken more advantage of my infancy. It is a cruel joke that we don’t remember the best years of our life; the years when all we had to do was eat, sleep, and poop. The last main obstacle before he comes is figuring out the cloth diapers. I am both a philosopher and a cheapskate. My budget requires reusable diapers and hence a firm relationship with poop. People give me a lot of advice in respects to cloth diapers.
- “They’re great! I used those with my 10 babies. My sister wives love them also.”
- “Do you not care about your son? You know I just saw on the news that studies found more poop residue in cloth diapers compared to disposable diapers!”
- “Don’t listen to the naysayers. You’ll get used to spraying crap into the toilet.”
Besides the obvious complexities of discarding the waste, cloth diapers have the added disadvantage of a thousand buttons. To factor in all baby sizes – from teacup chihuahua to Mississippi Bufford – the clothe diaper provides you with Transformer level adaptability. There is a row of buttons that looks like a dominatrix, and there is an endless number of insertable pads. Added to these problems is the fact that Teddy is a boy. I know from personal experience that the penis lives by its own rules. A second brain that is hard to control for a grown man is essentially a Cracken-like monster for a newborn baby. There is no doubt that Teddy’s one-eyed bandit will take advantage of my clothe diaper fumbling.
Besides my pee anxiety, there is the anxiety of the snuggie. Human babies have the most high maintenance sleep requirements in the animal kingdom. Take a newly born crocodile. As soon as that crocodile leaves the egg, it slithers into the water and sleeps in the mud. Take a newly born ferret. As soon as that ferret comes out of its mother, it sleeps in some nasty pine needle foliage. Take my son Teddy. As soon as he is born, he requires a specialized snuggie which makes him look like a polygon from a high-school geometry textbook. The human baby cannot survive outside this modern covering, and if a blanket is put into the crib, Child Protective Services will be called. Along with the Snuggie comes the fear of overheating the baby. He must be wrapped up like a snug burrito but at the same time be cooler than a bowl of gazpacho. A cruel joke for sure and I believe a ploy by the pharmaceutical companies to increase sales of Xanax.
Finally, I must update you on my beautiful wife. Christina glows like the sunshine, and her belly looks like a basketball. I’ve never before looked at a pregnant woman and thought – “Wow she still looks like she could go to work.” Christina tries to moan and groan, but I think she could probably carry that baby for another 9 months – the Jerome Bettis of pregnancy. Her hormones have been erratic the last week – when I told her that she was like Brett Farve, she got agitated. The final countdown is upon us, and I am genuinely ecstatic to be a father. I can’t wait to dodge little Teddy’s pee and master the cloth diaper instruction manual. I can’t wait to hold my son and place him in my wife’s arms. I can’t wait to teach Teddy about life and help him discover wisdom. Keep us in your prayers; Lord willing, the next pregnancy update will come with pictures of my son. Here’s to the final countdown!
It’s been quite a while since I’ve updated everyone on my chihuahua – Max. For new readers, Max is a rat-dog that spices up my life by transmitting love through excessive barking and shaking. Max is in his teen-doggy years, and like most teenagers, he is experimenting with his nether regions. A typical night involves me reading while Max lies next to me – vigorously licking his wiener. Life is not complete until one sees a Chihuahua orgasm, but for those who never will, it entails half of the scrawny body flailing around like MC Hammer putting on a new pair of parachute pants. Each time it happens I sit there and ask myself, “What has my life come to?”
When Max isn’t masturbating, he is usually lying down shivering or trying to entice Christina into playtime. His favorite toys are a green-level Tae Kwon Do belt and an orange frog with no eyes. In previous posts, I have mentioned Max’s singular focus and his ability to exert intense concentration; an example of this focus occurred last night. Christina likes to eat while watching TV but is entirely incapable of multitasking. She will hold a spoonful of food near her mouth for minutes if a show is grasping her attention. This is ideal for Max because he knows that Christina will put her guard down – allowing for a quick gastronomic theft. Yesterday, as usual, Christina was transfixed by an infomercial for closet organizers, and Max seized the opportunity – he ended up eating an entire drumstick – bone and all.
Upon this python-like feat, Christina began to panic and like any 21st-century woman – she immediately got on Google. For the next hour, while trying to watch the Lions game, I heard my wife read articles about dogs dying from chicken bones and how we should monitor Max’s crap for the next 99 hours. She ended up spoonfeeding the dog oatmeal so that his stomach would be protected from the razor edges of the bone – all while Max was trying to play with his orange frog. Max survived with minimal discomfort, and in the end, the only member of the Oldham family who had a stomach ache was my wife – at one point she was ready to rush Max to the emergency room. This whole ordeal made me think that we are all like Chihuahuas. Max shakes and is scared most of the time. Unlike Max’s physical shaking, we are always mentally shaking.
We worry about things that have no real impact on our lives. Max has to worry about being squished or dying of hypothermia at temperatures of 75 degrees. What real dangers lurk around the corner for us? Most of our worries revolve around social status or future plans – things that are intangible and hard to control. So when we look at these small dogs are we not just looking at ourselves? When I ask Max – “Why are you shaking?” – shouldn’t I be asking myself the same question? Extending this analogy, do we also have a loving-Filipina woman looking out for us when we accidentally eat a metaphorical chicken bone? We do but multiply that Filipina by a billion, and you have God. God cares for our shaky insignificant problems – He loves us more than we can comprehend – virtually the same as a dog’s understanding of his owner’s love. In the end, Max yet again gave me some wisdom, but hopefully next time it won’t require me to examine his poop.
My Chihuahua – Max
Most of us are prisoners to comfort. Our lives are shaped, adjusted, and optimized to experience all sorts of pleasure. Take the common experience of taking a dump. The toilet seat is not too high or low as to elicit discomfort while sitting or squeezing. The lighting is soft and there are usually good smelling agents to mask your butt smell. The toilet paper is soft and textured for easy excavation. If you are in Japan, the toilet will even shoot water on your cheeks while playing soothing music. The removal of the poop only requires pushing a handle and sometimes no work at all with automatic flushers. After the disposal, you wash your hands in water that required no effort to gather. I love a good bathroom experience just as much as the next fricker but it made me think how we get use to all the luxuries in our life.
Being an adult has a lot of perks. Many of these perks include choice: what to eat, when to sleep, where to vacation, what we live in, who we spend time with, etc. Of course we don’t get everything we want but on a daily basis we do a good job at being comfortable. I love being able to make choices to optimize my day to day life. The problem with comfort is that we can quickly adapt and become use to our hedonism. This adaptation happens because we become accustomed to stimulus overtime. For example, the comfy bed becomes the norm, the running water becomes the norm, the after-work ice cream becomes the norm. These small comforts are great but we tend to desire more comfort stimulus overtime. That stinky hotel that you thought was the beezneez when you were 20 is now replaced with the Hilton. The shower head that cleaned you countless of times is now in the trash replaced by ShowerHead10000XSuperMax. Is it bad to increase this comfort? What is wrong about wanting to stay in a Hilton?
Inherently nothing. Who doesn’t want a shower head that mimics Niagara Falls? There is a problem though when comfort is not countered by the uncomfortable. We need contrast in our lives so that we avoid hedonic adaptation and the ever increasing desire for stimulus. Being uncomfortable is not a popular pursuit but it is so essential to a happy life. A great example of this is when the lights go out during a storm. We take for granted the comforts of electricity and in its absence we are uncomfortable. But when those lights turn on again there is a rush of euphoria that is quite pronounced. Another example would be camping. Sure, you may have a great time (or not) but everyone would agree that going home to your own bed feels like heaven. This is because the stimulus changed and we had enough contrast to forestall the adaptation process. This concept can be applied to everything. Is your sex life dull? A lot of people may go for a bigger and better sex stimulus. No need. Just take a break and let that stimulus become novel again. House to small? Most people would say get a bigger house. No need. Make it a goal to use half your house for a month. After that your brain will explode with all the available space. Use contrast to better your life, limit excess, and experience optimal happiness. Comfort, although awesome, is a drug and can be poisonous-consider this an intervention.