This morning I read Brett's how-to guide on being a new Dad, and it got me thinking about my 2 boys. Now that the youngest is around the 17-month mark, I have begun to realize that I will probably never be a "new' father again, so now even though I get to watch and experience new things alongside my sons, I also find myself reflecting on the things we've seen and done already. My personal favorite memory is one that actually happened with my youngest, and caused a fairly energetic spat between me and the misses and a lot of laughs the next day.
When my younger (Camden) was a newborn, he, like his big brother before him, didn't take to breast-feeding, so my wife pumped and stored, and we would just heat the milk in a pot of boiling water. During this time, wifey and I alternated feedings. One September morning around 3 am, I had had a particularly rough work day and was expecting another one the next morning, so I was unusually tired, but even though it was her 'turn', I let my wife sleep and jolted downstairs when baby got hungry. To the pots, boil the water. OK, water's boiling, bottle ready, it's going to take a few minutes, let me just have a seat on my super-comfy, warm couch. Next thing I know, wifey comes down and wondering what's taking so long and what the hell that smell is............................oh crap. Jump up, run to the kitchen, the water has evaporated, and the bottle has scorched. To this day, the funniest thing we can recall being through.
Not so much something I've done, and it wasn't funny at the time, but we still get mileage out of it seven years later.
Babies are poop machines, we all know that. And you can never reliably predict what's gonna be in that little gift wrapped package. So, one night (2:15 a.m., I can still see the clock in my mind) i got up to change my daughter. We had a dressing table/clothes chest sort of thing with a pad and a rail, so I dump the kid up there and undo the diaper. Not bad, all things being considered, but after the cleanup as I was reaching for a new diaper, she lets out a shart worthy of a merchant mariner. I'm talking it was like she fired a shotgun out her ass. In one of the less manly moments of my life, I yelled for my wife (ok, maybe "screamed like a little girl" is more accurate). She comes rushing in and busts out laughing. It was a horror show - the dressing table covered in poo, my shirt spattered like birdshot, and four-foot splatter pattern on the wall THREE FEET AWAY!
To this day, my daughter still occasionally asks, "Remember when I pooped all over the wall?"
Yes, darling, that's something I won't forget.
Beware the "Silence Meter" that you develop when the kids come along. You get used to the noise, and the absence of noise is an indicator of an impending issue. One day when my internal noise meter went off, I asked the wife where the babies were. She went one way, I went the other, inside/outside searching went on for a few minutes. We met outside the hallway bathroom. Opening the door we saw the little girl sitting on her potty reading one of Papa's cooking magazines and the little boy sitting fully clothed in an inch of water brushing his teeth with Momma's toothbrush.