And on the Eighth Day, God Created Pacifiers

I'm not really sure why, but up until this weekend, Jude and I stayed away from pacifiers. Not literally, as if we're scared of them, but we haven't tried to see if John Patrick will take one. Personally, I guess I had an irrational fear of dropping our son off at school for his first day of kindergarten and watching him walk into the classroom with a pacifier in his mouth.

Our pediatrician, in fact, told us a little more than a week go, he didn't see a down side to allowing John Patrick to use a pacifier. He flat out dismissed the idea of "nipple confusion." In other words, he didn't think John Patrick was likely to have trouble nursing, if we started him on a pacifier.

We didn't think too much about it, either way, until the latter part of this week. John Patrick had been pretty fussy and hadn't been sleeping quite as well. Still, we hadn't really considered using a pacifier.

Today, while Jude was napping, our visiting friend, Cyndi Baines, and I were watching television with our children, when John Patrick started crying. He wasn't hungry, because he'd just been fed, and when I checked his diaper, it wasn't wet or dirty. In an act of desperation, I took a pacifier out of its package and tried to stick it in his mouth. He promptly spit it out. Looking at Cyndi, I remarked, sarcastically, "boy, the pacifier works really well," as John Patrick continued to cry.

Shaking her head at my ineptitude, Cyndi told me to hold the pacifier in his mouth, not just stick it in and let go of it. I followed her instructions and, suddenly, the clouds parted, the heavens opened, the sun shined down and angels sang in unison. Miracle? Maybe, just maybe. John Patrick relaxed, stopped crying and started sucking on the pacifier. For the next hour or so, he laid in my lap with the pacifier in his mouth and slept comfortably. More importantly, during the same hour, Jude slept comfortably upstairs in our bedroom.

Weekend Update

John Patrick was one month old yesterday. That's insane! Tonight, Jude and I were talking, and we agreed the first month has really flown by. It's hard to believe that our son has been with us, already, for a month. Everyone with children always reminds us how quickly time passes by and, I suppose, this is proof positive.

We received some good news last Thursday, when Jude took John Patrick to our pediatrician's office. He weighed 8 lbs 9 oz, which was great, since he was 7 lbs 11 oz the week before. In other words, he gained almost a pound in the past week! I told Jude her breast milk must be laced with steroids or HGH (human growth hormone). We were very relieved and encouraged, because we had been a little concerned about his weight. Our physician was pleased, told us John Patrick looks great and we're not due to take him back for six weeks.

Jude's best friend, Cyndi Baines, and her three month old daughter, Finn, arrived from Jacksonville, FL, Friday afternoon. We all hung out together last night, but went to bed early. Unfortunately, Cyndi woke up this morning with a sore throat and fever. She's been in bed, with Finn, all day and tonight, as well. Hopefully, she'll feel better tomorrow. Jude and Cyndi have both been looking forward to spending this weekend together, with the kids. I'd hate for the weekend to be a bust due to Cyndi's illness.

This morning, I hit the pavement early with John Patrick in my new "Baby Jogger" stroller. While Jude took some time off, I wheeled him down to Belmont Boulevard to watch part of the Country Music Marathon and Half-Marathon. It was a nice trip, although it was a little cool and windy. I had him bundled up underneath a couple of blankets, though, with a stocking cap on his head. It was strange for me to be watching the race and not running, because I don't think I've missed participating in the marathon or half-marathon since the inception of the race a few years ago. We got some good daddy-son time in, which was really cool.

Ready, Aim, Fire!

Okay, this blog entry might not be for the faint of heart. If that's you, stop reading, right now.

The other night, Jude had taken John Patrick upstairs to change his diaper, then feed him and put him to bed for the night. I was sitting downstairs, in my recliner, reading or watching television. Suddenly, I heard Jude shriek, not too loudly, but shriek nonetheless. I went upstairs to see what was wrong. I walked into "the Men's Lounge" (my name for the nursery, since it's the room that John Patrick and I share, as it has my closet, his crib, etc.). There, I saw Jude, at the changing table, hands in the air, laughing. She was dripping wet, John Patrick was dripping wet, the changing table was dripping wet and the floor was wet. There was pee everywhere.

I asked, "what happened?" "He peed on me . . . again," she said. After Jude had taken off his dirty diaper but before she could put on a clean one, John Patrick had unleashed a torrent of pee, covering everything in his general vicinity. That's my boy!

Today, Jude called me at work, laughing, because it had happened again. This time, she was careful, easing the dirty diaper off very slowly, peeking at John Patrick's weapon, I mean, penis, so she could slap the diaper back down if he started to pee. In my mind's eye, I can just see her, leaning over the changing table, peeking into the diaper, with the theme from "Jaws" in the background. Just when she thought it was safe to pull the dirty diaper off, BAM! He's peeing again. That's what happened today, anyway, as John Patrick again peed straight up in the air, mostly on himself. I think he was probably startled, because according to Jude, he started crying at that point.

This is where it gets really funny. After she wiped him down, Jude decided to take a closer look at John Patrick's penis to try and figure out how it worked. Not literally, but to see if there were any warning signs she should look for, to avoid getting soaked over and over again. I could have warned her, never look straight into the eye of you infant son's penis . . . that only makes it angry. It's like staring down into a volcano. Suddenly, John Patrick began peeing again, straight up into the air, like a baby fountain! This, mind you, in spite of the fact he ha already peed minutes before. Again, that's my boy!

I reminded Jude, of course, I've yet to be peed on, mostly because as a guy and a father, I know the signs to look for to determine if my son is about to pee on me while I'm removing his dirty diaper. That went over well with her, as you can imagine.

So, in light of the above, here are the basic rules, given my nearly four weeks of experience changing my son's dirty diapers, for avoiding being peed on by your infant son. Keep in mind, of course, an infant boy's penis has a mind of its own. Listen carefully, because I know of what I speak.

1. Never stare directly into the eye of the penis. That only makes it angry.

2. If the penis starts to track your movements, you're in big trouble. If you move to the left and it follows you, you're most certainly about to be peed on. The effect is kind of like those black and white photographs of civil war soldiers hanging on the wall, where the eyes seem to be staring at you, no matter where you stand. It's unnerving, really.

3. If the penis is pointing straight up, like a flag pole, put the clean diaper on, quickly, because that is a sure sign peeing is imminent. It's like "Old Faithful."

4. Never, ever, turn your back on your infant son's uncovered penis. That's just asking for trouble. After all, nobody in their right mind turns their back on a man holding a loaded gun, especially if it's pointed directly at you.

5. If your son is crying while you're removing his dirty diaper, as is usually the case, then suddenly stops crying, you're in trouble. This is like those western movies, when two gunslingers are walking through the middle of the town and it's deserted. One looks at the other and says, "it's quiet, too quiet." Then, the shooting starts and moments later, they're both gunned down in their tracks. If it's unusually quiet all of a sudden, you're probably about to be peed on.

6. Don't show fear. Your infant son's penis can sense fear, without question. You'll be peed on immediately, if you show the slightest hesitancy or trepidation. I recommend whistling or singing while you're changing his dirty diaper. Anything to mask the fear you feel.

7. Last but not least, to quote the immortal John Wooden (a.k.a. "the Wizard of Westwood"), "be quick, but don't hurry." Get the dirty diaper off and the clean diaper on, quickly.

Man, who knew changing diapers could be so dangerous?

Cats in the Cradle

One of the really great things about all the baby gifts Jude and I have received is that all three of our cats are getting so much use out of them. As you can see, our cat, N.C., has claimed John Patrick's stroller as her own.

Visiting Dignitary

Last Thursday evening, my longtime friend, Famous Doug Brown, was in town from Atlanta to visit his father, Harvey, who is ill. On the way home from the airport, Doug stopped by and met John Patrick. It was great to spend a couple of hours with him.

I think Doug is one of those "child whisperers," because as soon as he picked John Patrick up and started talking to him, he stopped fussing and just stared quietly up at Doug. Amazing. Of course, the fact that Doug has two children of his own, Katie and Jack, may have something to do with it.

Cutting the Tie that Binds

I'm not sure why this is such a big deal, but to Jude and me, it is.

This morning at 5:30 a.m., when John Patrick awoke us with his crying and I got up to change his diaper, I noticed that the piece of his umbilical cord that we had been carefully cleaning every day was gone! Now, he has an actual belly button. I guess that means he's here to stay!

Saturday Night Live

It's 11:28 p.m. and outside, I can hear a train whistle sounding in the distance. I'm sitting downstairs in my favorite recliner ("the man chair," I call it), with my son in my lap, his head on my knees and his feet about waist level on me.

He fell asleep to one of my favorite Miles Davis albums - "Kind of Blue" - playing on my laptop. As he sleeps, I'm re-reading James Lee Burke's "In the Electric Mist with Confederate Dead." Jude is upstairs asleep and other than my man Miles playing quietly, the house is silent. Across the room, one of our cats, Mini, is curled up, asleep, on the ottoman.

It's funny, but this is kind of what I hoped fatherhood, or at least part of it, would be like. When John Patrick is sleeping, like he is now, and I look at the peaceful, tranquil expression on his face, I can't help but think Jude and I are going to be able to handle being parents, after all. Of course, I'm already dreading the day (and it's coming soon), when he will be too big to lay comfortably in my lap, late at night, and sleep.

Maiden Voyage

Yesterday, as I pulled up outside our house after work, I saw Jude on the sidewalk with our gonzo Grado stroller, preparing to take a walk with John Patrick. Perfect timing for me, as I hopped out of my truck and accompanied my wife and son on their inaugural trip in the stroller. It was a beautiful spring afternoon and though I was still in my suit from work, we took leisurely walk around the block. It was definitely the highlight of my day and, hopefully, one of many walks to come.

Workin' for a Living

Yesterday, I returned to work after a little more than two weeks at home with Jude and John Patrick. As I suspected, it's been really, really tough to leave home each morning, then return in the evening. When I see him, I get the distinct feeling I've missed something . . . that while I have been at work, he's learned to make a new facial expression or a new sound. I must admit, what I'm doing at work seems a lot less important, now that I have John Patrick to come home to each evening.

This afternoon, when I walked across the street to the courthouse to look at a new file, I took with me a couple of framed photographs I have in my office, one of John Patrick and one of Jude holding him. Like the proud papa that I am, I showed the photographs to the ladies in the circuit court clerk's office and the clerk and master's office. They were tickled to death and oohed and aahed over the photographs, agreeing with me that he is probably the best looking baby of all time.

On my way home from work, I stopped by Wolf Camera and picked up a small, soft-covered book that holds 36 4 x 6 photographs. As Jude, John Patrick and I watched the season premiere of "The Deadliest Catch" on the Discovery Channel tonight, I filled up the book with photographs I selected from the 300 + I already have taken with my digital camera. My friends, clients and colleagues are really in for it, now, as I'm planning on taking the book with me wherever I go. For example, I have a mediation next door to my office tomorrow and I fully intend to show every attorney in the building the book and all the photographs in it.

A Sense of Perspective

It's a little after 7 p.m. in Nashville and I'm sitting on my back porch, nursing a glass of wine, as late afternoon slides into early evening in the city. The only sounds are a light breeze rustling the newly minted leaves in the branches of the trees above my head, the chirping of birds, an occasional dog barking from somewhere in the neighborhood and the hum of traffic. Jude is upstairs, feeding John Patrick, so I am enjoying what is left of a beautiful spring day.

I return to work Monday, with more than a little trepidation. I'm not worried about getting back into the swing of things. I'm actually looking forward to being back at the office, seeing everyone, and getting some work done. What I'm dreading is having to leave the house in the morning and not getting to see John Patrick again until 6 or 7 p.m. that evening. That's going to take some getting used to, for sure.

I've been so blessed to have the opportunity to take the last two weeks off work, to spend time at home, with Jude and John Patrick. I wouldn't trade the time I've had at home for anything in the world. I think I've been able to develop a bond with him, much more so than if I had gone back to work immediately after we arrived home from the hospital. Also, I hope I've been a help to Jude, upon whom the lion's share of the responsibility of caring for John Patrick often falls, given the fact she is breastfeeding him every three hours or so.

What I want to write about this evening, though, involves me only indirectly. As Deb Rubenstein, a friend and legal assistant at our office, suggested to me shortly after Jude, John Patrick and I arrived home from the hospital, it's really hard to understand what being a parent is all about until you have a child of your own.

To me, it's kind of like trying to describe to someone what it's like to parachute from an airplane. I've done it, once, and Deb has done it, twice. When I talk to her about what it was like to jump from an airplane in Buckeye, AZ, in June 1993, she understands, because she's done it. Now, on the other hand, when I describe for someone who has never parachuted what it felt like (sheer panic!) to let go of the strut underneath the wing of the Cessna 172, 3,500 feet above the ground, they smile and nod their head, but they don't really understand how I felt. They can't.

On some level, we all appreciate the fact that our parents joined together in a physical and emotional sense to create our very life, to bring us into this world. Then, on a practical level, we appreciate (or, we should) the fact that our parent or parents provided us with food, shelter and most important of all, perhaps, love and emotional support throughout our childhood and beyond. We know, if you can really ever "know" anything, that our parent or parents made sacrifices for us - time, money, friends, hobbies, professional advancement, etc.

But here's the thing that Jude and I have talked about a lot the last couple of weeks - until you actually have a child and bring him or her home for the first time, you don't really understand how much of their lives your parents willingly gave up to care for you. Until you've gotten out of bed six times in 30 minutes and walked over to where your 10-day old son is sleeping, like I have, just to check and see if he's breathing, you just don't, or can't, understand how much your parents loved you when you were born and how much they still love you. Until you've gotten up in the middle of the night and fed your 10-day old son (or daughter) and looked into his or her eyes with your sleepy eyes, you just don't, or can't, understand how strong the bond is between parent and child.

As we perform these tasks, these seemingly mundane but meaningful tasks, Jude and I realize we're walking in the footsteps of our parents before us. We're doing what they did, 41 and 38 years ago respectively, and probably feeling the same feelings they felt, so long ago. This, I think, is what is called "the circle of life."

Jude and I are so thankful for all that my parents, Jane Newman and my deceased father, Howard, and her parents, Jim and Jane White, did for us and continue to do for us, each and every day. I think the best way for us to show our appreciation and our gratitude is to assure them they are in our hearts and on our minds as we hold our son when he is crying, as we change his diapers, as we feed him and as we marvel at a new facial expression he has made or a smile he seems to have given just to us. Thank you, from both of us.

It's All About the Schedule

After tonight, we will have been home from the hospital, with our son, for one week. What we're working on now is trying to get John Patrick on a regular schedule, feeding and sleeping. That way, Jude can get some sleep, he can get some sleep and we'll all live happily ever after.

I've been doing some reading (imagine that) and, apparently, there are at least three feeding philosophies, all of which can be applied to bottle feeding or breastfeeding, which is what we're trying with John Patrick. First, there is hyperscheduling, where the baby is fed on a regular, inflexible schedule (i.e. every two hours, three hours, etc.). Second, there is demand feeding, where the baby is fed whenever he or she cries. This philosophy, while embraced by many, is hard on a breastfeeding mother, as it's really difficult for her to do anything other than be a snack machine for the baby, open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Third, there is parent directed feeding (PDF), which combines the first two philosophies, but leans more toward establishing a schedule for feedings (i.e. every two or three hours), with flexibility if the baby is extremely unhappy (hungry).

Although we're not really comfortable, at least not yet, adopting a breastfeeding philosophy per se, as a practical matter we're trying to follow a parent directed feeding model. In other words, Jude breastfeeds John Patrick approximately every three hours, sometimes a little sooner, sometimes a little later.

One of the advantages of parent directed feeding, according to my reading, is that between eight to ten weeks of age, the baby should be able to sleep through the night without having to be fed. Now, realistically, "through the night" means six hours, tops, not ten or 12 hours. Our hope is that if we can get John Patrick on a schedule, Jude will be in a position to get some real rest and not be forced to get up in the middle of the night two or three times, every night, to breastfeed him. I think it's critically important for her to get as much rest as she can, especially after I return to work next week and she's on her own during the day.

How's it going so far, you wonder? Well, I think it's fair to say the results have been a mixed bag. We're trying to put John Patrick to bed around 11 p.m. or so, after he breastfeeds. Generally, he wakes up once in the night, around 3 a.m. or so, when Jude feeds him again. Unfortunately, at that point, he's normally wide awake, eyes open and ready to look all around the room. Once he gets sleepy, she puts him down again and he's been sleeping until around 7 a.m. or so.

Some nights (like tonight), he doesn't want to go to bed. He cries and if Jude can't calm him down, I'll go up and get him. Tonight, I went upstairs when he kept crying, changed his diaper, which was wet, and brought him downstairs. He calmed down, we watched an episode of "The Wire" together and he fell asleep in my arms. To tell you the truth, I kind of like it when Jude can't get him to go to sleep, because it allows me to help her out by taking him, so she can get some sleep. Plus, he and I get to spend time together, late at night, when the house is quiet. One of the highlights of my day is carrying him upstairs in my arms, fast asleep, and putting him to bed.

Father's Day

If I could select one photograph to sum up what it means to me, right now, to be a father, this one would probably be it.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Guess which one is Dr. Jekyll and which one is Mr. Hyde.

Mother and Child Reunion

Jude spending quality time with John Patrick. It's a beautiful thing, isn't it?

Some Assembly Required

It's hard to believe, but Jude and I have been home with John Patrick for three days. It seems like longer, mostly because we're having to learn how to care for our son on the fly, often by trial and error. You can read all the books you want, listen to all the advice you receive from friends, family, doctors and nurses and attend all the classes you want, but nothing prepares you for that moment when you carry your child into the house for the first time.

Early, and I mean early, Wednesday morning, sometime after 2 a.m., as Jude and I lay in bed trying to figure out what to do to get John Patrick to stop crying, the predominant thought in my mind was "what in the hell have we done? A baby at our age? What were we thinking?" We were tired, stressed out, confused, intimidated and scared. Yes, all of those things. But, you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way. I just kept recalling what John Boatman, a close friend of mine with an 18-month old son, told us - "enjoy it all, especially the hard times, because he'll grow up so quickly."

It really does feel like Jude and I have gotten on the world's longest roller coaster. One minute, as I hold John Patrick in my arms, sleeping peacefully, I'm on top of the world. "There's nothing to this parenthood thing," I think. Then, a minute later, John Patrick starts crying. I check his diaper and it's clean. He's not hungry, but he keeps crying. "There's no way I can do this," I think. Up, down, up, down. An emotional roller coaster.

Here's the cool part of it, though. Every day, Jude and I are learning, just like John Patrick is learning. We're learning how to be parents and he's learning . . . everything.

We're learning he absolutely hates a wet diaper. We're learning he loves to be held and rocked in a rocking chair. It almost always stops him from crying. We're learning he loves to take long naps in the afternoon. We're also learning that when he takes long naps in the afternoon, he loves to wake up at 2 or 3 a.m. We're learning he hates to take a bath. I mean, he screams, wails, and his face turns bright red. We're learning he loves to stretch his arms and yawn, as he sleeps. He does it again and again and it makes us smile every time.

We've learned these things and more, in just three days! That's part of what's so exciting, for us, I think. We've been blessed, at the ages of 41 and 38 respectively, with the opportunity to learn so much about life and about ourselves. I don't think we can ask for much more than that. I really don't.

Photographs and Memories

"Photographs and Memories" is the name of a song by whom? (Answer below).

Rather than inundate anyone with the hundreds of photographs I have taken in the seven days since our son was born, I have uploaded many of them to a photo sharing website, Snapfish.com. I've organized some of the photos into online photo albums, which can be viewed as a slide show. It's pretty cool, actually. If you want me to send the online photo albums to you via email, just post a comment with your email address to this blog entry or email me directly at prnewmansr@yahoo.com.

Thanks.

(Answer: Jim Croce).

The Doctor is In

This morning, John Patrick ventured out of the house for the first time since we arrived home from the hospital on Tuesday afternoon. We had our first doctor's appointment with our pediatrician, Dr. Godfrey, at Green Hills Pediatric Associates. After Jude fed him, we bundled him up in his car seat (hat, two blankets and sleeping outfit), hurried through the rain to my truck, and buckled him in good and tight. And away we went.

There was no waiting at the Dr. Godfrey's office, which was nice. In the examination room, we undressed John Patrick, much to his chagrin, as he had been sleeping peacefully since our arrival. As he cried and wriggled around, the nurse weighed him - he's back up to 7 lbs. He's gained weight since we left the hospital, which is a very good sign. Dr. Godfrey said he looks and sounds great. More importantly, he didn't take him away from us and return him to the hospital, which I guess means Jude and I are off to a pretty good start as parents.

Mother (in law) Knows Best

"Mammy" White, in action earlier today, holding her grandson while he sleeps.

A Special Thank You

Yesterday, we left the the relative security of Baptist Hospital, after our four night stay, and brought our son home. Before I go any further, I need to say a word or two about the care we received there. After we learned Jude was pregnant, I heard from many, many friends that Baptist Hospital is a wonderful place to have a baby. After our experience there, from the delivery itself to the care they provided John Patrick immediately after he was born, to the care we received during the rest of our stay, everyone with whom we dealt was knowledgeable, professional, kind and caring. We couldn't have asked for more.

Immediately after he was born, Ginny Derryberry, a nurse in the nursery, escorted me, with
John Patrick in my arms, from the operating room to the nursery. There, for almost an hour, I watched her weigh him, check his vital signs, bathe him (his first bath - boy, was he pissed!), shampoo his hair and really provide him with the first dose of tender loving care he received on this earth. At the same time, she smiled and laughed with me, reassured me and made me feel at home in the nursery, handling my newborn son.

Another nurse in the nursery, Debbie Webster, was extremely helpful throughout our hospital stay. She helped us learn how to change a newborn's diapers, especially after John Patrick was circumcised Monday morning. She was a valuable source of information for us, patiently answering our questions about swaddling, diapering, bathing, caring for the umbilical cord stem, etc. Debbie had such a gentle touch with John Patrick and, most importantly, she continually reassured Jude and me that we would be great parents. We probably drove her crazy with elementary questions about the minutiae of caring for a newborn. Nonetheless, she patiently answered every question and made us feel like we were asking the most intelligent questions she had ever heard (which, obviously, wasn't the case).

In a previous post, I mentioned Paula Appleby, the lactation specialist who spent a great deal of time with Jude and me while we were in the hospital. Paula's instruction and encouragement were invaluable, as Jude struggled to learn the art (and it really is an art, not a science, as near as I can tell) of breastfeeding. Her patience with us and her reassuring, calm demeanor, combined with her obvious mastery of the subject matter (what I call "Breastfeeding 101") helped provide Jude with an environment conducive to her bonding with our son through learning the intricacies of breastfeeding.

There were others, many others, who cared for us during out hospital stay and made us feel welcome, almost like guests. These women (nurses, techs, etc.) were wonderful to us and I cannot thank them enough. Every once in a while you are exposed to someone, in their professional capacity, who gives you the impression he or she was meant to do whatever it is he or she does for a living. To me, nursing is a calling for those who do it best, rather than a job. That's the way it was for my mother, I think, and that's the way it is for the nurses, techs and other hospital personnel who cared for us at Baptist Hospital.