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Two days after our son was born, the good folks at
the hospital made the terrible mistake of letting us take him home.
I guess my wife looked trustworthy enough. Like most new
parents, we hopped in the car, buckled the kid up, started to pull out
of the parking lot, then suddenly looked at each other and screamed in
unison, "Ahhhhhhhh!"
"What the heck do we do now?" I recall
asking. My wife sputtered out a sentence that sounded something
like, "I... uh. We should...uh. Well...
uh." She didn't have a plausible answer and neither
did I. So we just drove home, giggling in newbie parent bliss.
Preparing for our baby's arrival, we had
attended a birthing class at the hospital. Meeting once a week
for six weeks, we learned strange and interesting facts about babies
such as: their bodies are covered with fine, soft hair called lanugo;
the placenta weighs about one-sixth of the baby's weight; and
most babies look like small, cone-headed aliens when born (so
don't be alarmed).
Most importantly, my wife learned that she should
calm herself during labor by breathing in a
"hee-hah-hee-hah-who" pattern and I learned which chair I
should sit down and be quiet in during the delivery. We
didn't find out too much, though, about what to actually do with
the baby after he
is born. You know, how to care for him and stuff. Despite
that fact, at the conclusion of the last class, we were awarded the
"Honorary Degree of Prepared Parent," which made me feel
proud in a wow-I'm-such-a-fraud kind of way.
Little did I know, however, that I would more than
make up for my ignorance by being conscripted into something I like to
call Mother Nature's Baby Boot Camp. I had just been
drafted for 30 days of intense baby training, like it or not.
Almost immediately, the drill sergeant in my head
barked out his orders: Ten-hut!
Private Kantz, this baby is under your command. He can do
little for himself — he's depending on you.
Don't mess this up! Well,
that's true. A baby can do very little for himself. I
guess that's the beauty of being a parent, though. It takes
your constant effort to keep him happy and healthy. And I was
ready for the challenge.
Private Kantz, you must feed the baby every
oh-three hundred hours! Don't be late!
Every three hours. That's not bad, I
initially thought. I soon realized, though, that if you do
anything every three hours, you start to lose all track of time.
The day becomes a blur. Your life becomes the formula. I began
trekking, wild-eyed, down to the kitchen at 4 a.m. each day muttering
my best Robert Duvall impression, "Ah, I love the smell of
Similac in the morning." And, yes, I was even tempted to
take a quick sip, which is why I can advise all new dads: don't
try the formula, it's not worth it. Might look like a
milkshake, but it doesn't exactly taste like one.
Private Kantz, you must wake up! Now! For the very same reason that babies eat every
three hours or so, that means they are up every three hours or so.
Or every 24 hours or so. It all depends on the baby's
particular mood that day. Like the newbie dad that I am, I
stationed the kid's bassinet an inch and a half from the bed so I
could hawk over him all night. A small spit-up, I wipe it.
A small cry from his mouth, I stick a pacifier in it. Then
you realize that it's 3 a.m. and you're still up, so you
flip on the TV and watch C-SPAN's coverage of the Congressional
debates over the government's wild mongoose conservation efforts
and other pressing issues.
Private Kantz, you must learn to identify the
weapons of mass destruction in your baby's pants. Veteran parents will back me up on this. It
doesn't take long to distinguish the infant groans for pee, gas
and poop. "Oh, that's just gas," I soon found
myself saying in mixed company. You also learn quickly with a
baby boy to avoid stepping in the line of friendly fire — you
know, that spray of pee that sends you diving to the floor.
Let's just say the first three times I changed my baby, I
also had to change myself.
Private Kantz, you must learn to assemble the baby
gear properly! Don't leave extra nuts and bolts when
putting together the crib! And you must learn to pack light and
efficiently! You don't need four suitcases full of baby
stuff for an afternoon trip to Grandma's house! Well, you get the point. Fortunately, I've
made it through the first 30 days of basic training intact, and I feel
prepared to move ahead with this baby-raising mission.
Brian is the author of "The Newbie Dad," a monthly column appearing in
Western New York Family magazine (Buffalo, NY). The column has also
been read on National Public Radio's Morning Edition for member station
WBFO 88.7 FM in Buffalo and has been published in regional parenting
magazines in such cities as Charlotte, NC, Tulsa, OK, Milwaukee, WI,
and Rochester, NY. For more information or to contact Brian visit his website.
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