Friday, April 23, 2010

When Dad's Head Weighs Forty Pounds

I've been sick all week. It started last Saturday with a very sore throat, which ebbed a bit the following day before hitting again on Monday with full force, along with a stuffed head and all the other bells and whistles that accompany a cold. It was so bad that The Wife worked from home yesterday so she could look after NJ and, to a lesser extent, me. I even had to skip going out to watch the NFL Draft with The Guys, something I've only been looking forward to since last April. (Longer, actually -- Dallas didn't have a first-round pick last year, so I was already anticipating this year's draft two years ago. But I digress.) After about 18 hours on the couch yesterday (the Draft, 'Blade Runner' on blu-ray, etc.), I seemed to have turned the corner and hopefully will be right again by the time the weekend starts this evening.

So with me lugging around what felt like a giant concrete head, hocking and nose-blowing and spitting all day, and slipping into the occasional Nyquil-induced funk, you may ask: How did things go with the kid? Things went fine. Monday and Tuesday went as per usual, and we even went for very long walk on Tuesday -- to the drugstore for throat lozenges. The bad day was Wednesday, when I was laid too low to do anything other than sit around. And NJ was a champ. She played with her bazillion toys and napped like a pro and didn't complain about anything, ever. Which leads me to the buried lead of this post:

At eight-plus months, NJ is a very happy baby.

Yesterday she started fussing and crying at about 5 p.m., and after a few minutes deliberation The Wife and I realized she didn't get a meal after her afternoon nap and was hungry. So she got a bottle, and I tried to think back to the last time she'd cried like that. And I couldn't remember. I can count on one hand the number of times she's woken up in the night crying. Putting her down for a nap, or at bedtime, used to mean enduring a five- or ten-minute temper-tantrum cry; now she hits the mattress and either goes to sleep or jibbers and jabbers to herself for a while until she's out. (The Thumb helps, too.) No crying on wake-up, either -- oh, perhaps a couple of baby shrieks, but once you're in the room you're greeted by a smile that'll melt your heart and put a cartoon bluebird on your shoulder. And yesterday, I was laying on the couch when I realized that I'd been hearing NJ laughing hard for a couple of minutes straight. I got up to find she and The Wife having a laugh-off at the high chair. The Wife was damned if she could tell me what started it. Organic laugh-offs are the best.

I could go on forever about this stuff, but if you want more Internet cheese I suggest you go here. I need to keep in mind the unwritten rule that hangs over this blog, which is that while all these things are new and wonderful to me, I'm late to the game and all parents have been there and done that. But mostly, I feel like I'm jinxing the whole thing by typing it out like this. So I'll end it here and go blow my nose.

1 comment:

  1. I love the way you write about NJ. It makes me almost consider having one. Almost.

    Glad you're feeling better.
    Hearth Cricket