We just got done at Benjamin’s followup appointment, and are excited by a good report! We thought things were going well, but as always it is good when the professionals agree with my amateur diagnosis. The best point in the appointment (well second best to the moment the doc showed up after making us wait for an hour and a half) was when she said we can let Benjamin sleep on his back, as long as he is wearing his helmet. That is spectacular news, meaning we can reimplement the swaddle and hope that he sleeps for a few more hours at a time! Our next appointment is November 11th! We’ll keep you posted as things progress. Thank Jesus the next time you talk to Him for a resilient little boy. We have already thanked Him for all of you and your love and prayers through all of this!
Learning to sleep.
We had no idea how good we had it. Before his surgery, Benjamin was sleeping 8 to 10 hours per night, generally with one wake up break (just to keep us honest).
These days, little man just can’t quite get comfortable unless someone is holding him. It’s a great arrangement for him, and he is still getting 8 hours or so, but we are holding him for 3 of those hours (at least), in the middle of the night.
I was convicted last night that I don’t pray nearly enough for the little guy, and when I do pray it is often very general, virtually unanswerable prayers. So today I prayed specifically for him to start getting comfortable enough to sleep on his own, and for us to be able to sleep well.
I have gone back on campus some this week, leaving Jacqueline to care for our newly high-maintenance little guy. Pray for her especially during this time.
Day with Daddy, or "How I got rice cereal out of an infant’s nose"
There are just some things that didn’t show up in the new daddy brochure. They warned you about diapers, about not sleeping, and about spit-up; but nobody ever mentioned the wonder of modern science known as the baby spoon.
I have watched Jacqueline feed little Benjamin rice cereal (which, by the way, seems to be a wholly inaccurate name for it, on par with calling meatloaf a “rib-eye”), and she is pretty adept at keeping it in his mouth, for the most part. At least the part that doesn’t go in the mouth goes south from there to the chin or bib.
I am more of an adventurer than that, though. I like to see how close I can get cereal to going in his eye, all the way to his sinus cavity, or into his diaper. Like an x-games athlete, I am into the extreme sports. Yesterday he spit cereal at least 10 inches onto his new high chair tray. It’s cereal, daddy style.
The problem is my spoon technique, I think. The “what the heck am I doing” face I make during the process doesn’t help, but instead makes little Benjamin laugh while there is food in his mouth, turning said food into a projectile. At which point I laugh, thus exascerbating the problem.
Then, once I get the next spoonful near his face he decides that it would be an appropriate time to try out the new head-bang maneuver he’s been working on, and plants his conveniently spoon-sized nose into the cereal. The shock of it on his face causes him to inhale violently, and we have a problem. See, his nostrils are far too small for me to get anything out that has gone in. Being the resourceful guy my wife married for wit, charm, and reasoning skills, I decided to utilize a device small enough to dig out the misappropriated mush, little Benjamin’s pinky finger. Seemed like a logical choice at the time.
To make a long story short, don’t try that. Trust me, you’d rather leave the mush in there. He still controls that little finger, and once you get it wedged in there, he closes his hand in a fist, and then gets mad because somebody is squeezing his nose.
All in all, daddy day yesterday was really fun. I thought I’d share one of the more comedic moments with you. Now, to go and update that brochure…
Dad’s Revenge.
Dad, this post is for you.
Around 3 AM this morning, I passed a new milestone of life.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. The story starts 12 years ago. It was a Saturday morning. Being a 16-year-old kid, Saturdays were sacred. Our school board was under the mistaken impression that it was smart for older kids to go to school earlier than younger kids, and so my weekdays started at 6 AM, and I was showered and sitting behind a desk by around 7:40. I longed for Saturdays.
My dad has a great sense of humor, and having purchased top-of-the-line stereo systems for both my older brother Andy and myself, knew just how to put them to use on this particular Saturday morning. Around 7 AM he sauntered into my room, pilfered the remote control to my stereo, tuned the radio to his favorite bluegrass station, and gave the volume knob a good whirl. He had already done the same in Andy’s room, and for good measure he had also turned the stereo in the living room (with the two-foot-tall speakers sporting a rear-ported 12-inch woofer in each one directly through the wall behind my head) to the same loving tones of banjo, dobro and high tenor. There are some things that two pillows can’t muffle.
Yes, on Saturday morning I ended up not-showered and sitting behind the steering wheel of a lawn mower by 9 AM.
But the curious thing is that Dad always called it “just getting payback for all the times you got me out of bed.” And I never really knew what he was talking about. Sure, he had explained that when I was younger I woke him up. But there is a difference between being told the stories and living them.
Last night I lived it. Benjamin is on an antibiotic that we think is the culprit keeping him awake at night. He sat wide-eyed and staring at me from about 1:55 AM until 3:07, when I passed the milestone, and got to see a glimpse into my father’s world. In addition to that time, he probably sat awake for more than 3/4 of the rest of the night.
So here’s to you, Dad. I think we can call it even now. I’m shopping online for stereos for my son’s room.