The Thousand Yard Stare

The Thousand Yard Stare.

I had it the night after our son, Joseph Dylan Newman, was born.  I tossed and turned on the couch in our hospital room, what little sleep I could get constantly interrupted by what seemed to be an endless stream of nurses entering our room throughout the night to check Jude's vital signs or bring our son in to breastfeed.

I had it again our first night home from the hospital, Friday (Saturday morning, actually), about 2:30 a.m.  Jude was up feeding Joey, who was a a little fussy.  I heard J.P. call for Jude, so I got up to see what he needed.  When I got to his room, he was whimpering that his stomach hurt.  My eyes grew wide as I realized he had vomited in his bed.  Reassuring him that everything would be okay, I got him out of him pajamas and changed the sheets on his bed.  He took a drink of water and got back into bed.

I fell back into bed, exhausted.  Within minutes, J.P. called for me again and by the time I got to his room, he had vomited in his bed.  Again.  I cleaned him up, brushed his teeth and changed his pajamas.  Bleary eyed, I changed the sheets on his bed - again - using the only other pair of single bed sheets we have.  I even "flipped" the bed, making it up so that the head of the bed was where the foot had been, in an effort to psyche him into feeling better.

I staggered into our bedroom, tired and frustrated, wondering if this is really what being the father of two sons is going to be like.  As I pondered my fate, J.P. called me again and, yes, when I got to his room, he had vomited.  Again.  Like a mummy or a zombie, I staggered around upstairs, looking for more sheets for his bed.  I ended up finding a pair of double sheets that were too big for his bed.  I tucked the sides of the sheets under his mattress in an effort to make them fit.  By now it was after 4 a.m. and I was running on fumes, asleep on my feet.

He may have vomited again or that may have been a bad dream.  I'm actually not sure.  That's it.  That's the Thousand Yard Stare.

Fortunately, I was able to laugh about it the next day.  Our pediatrician laughed uproariously when I related the story to him on Monday (he has 3 children).  "Baptism by fire," he said.  And I guess it was.