Rip Van Blogger

Man, I woke up and it was two years later.  My now 28 month old speaks in full sentences, says "Barack Obama" and hikes in the woods. Not looking back, I will pick it up here and now. Posting from our house in the woods outside of Ottawa where there is still three feet of snow on the ground and I am a stay at home dad. 

Chelsea, the community where I live is in the Gatineau Park fifteen minutes up the highway from Parliament.  It feels folksy but gritty- like Jasper with shaved off mountains.  Lots of MEC wear, ski racks and snow plows.  

I recently took Vaughn to story time at the local library where knitted sweaters, hats and mitts were part of the dress code for the kids.   Along with the children's books, I took out the seminal mountain bike video "Roam," which was one of the five dvds available on the shelf.  I know I am going to like this place.  Once the snow goes away.

New found joys

There is much to celebrate in the first few months of a child's life. But the most reviled and celebrated moments involve bodily functions. I mean you would think my son scored a touch down or came home with and A grade every time he burps, farts or fills his diaper.

Conversations with Charla have changed from, "I tried that new Australian wine and it was pretty good. Not too fruity..." to "Yeah, he pooed. He's alright; it was mustardy green. Yeah, the curds were there..."

Some other new comments include:
"It was hillarious, he pissed all over my new shirt."
"Ha, ha. He just sneezed in my mouth."
"You pooed in Grandma's lap? Good boy!"

I guess bodily functions mean that his body is functioning which is the most important thing in our worlds now. I never would have imagined that his indelible shit stain on my jeans would make me smile like it does when I am away from him.

9 weeks- The Meconium Falcon

It has been several weeks since I have posted- nine to be extact. Of the multitude of advice, tips and wives' tales you are told when expecting to be a father, the one about the baby taking time seems to ring true.
"Get the baseboards on now, because when the baby comes there will be no time..."

I will be doing some catch up posting on the first few months.

Firstly, meconium. If I ever have a speed metal band it will be called Meconium.
"Tuesday night at the Snake Pit, come see Meconium with special guests, Colostrum."
Clean up your raincoats from the last GWAR show, cause it is going to be messy.

Meconium is a vile, tar like substance that is the first thing to be excreted from your beautiful child. Hands on dad that I am, I went in there to change his first diaper and there was this thick black green substance filling it and sticking to his body. I practically needed a window scraper to get it off of him. I am not sure what kind of ancient cultural belief is attached to this stuff but I'll reckon it has something to do with the evil spirits leaving the baby's body. It is from the inferno below and the scariest thing I have experienced. Not because it is so vile, sticky and dark, but because it has no odour. Cobain knew that Suskind had it right with his "Scentless Apprentice". The expectation of rankness is met with nothingness; disturbing to the core. Plus, if you get it on your clothes, the shit won't come out.

Wee Man Arrives

October 11th, 2005, 8:41 pm. He is finally here. 9lbs 13 ounces.

Sudden Birth Overtime: 41 weeks

There is a scene in the film Swingers where Vince Vaughn and Jon Favreau take a road trip from L.A. to Vegas. "Vegas, Baby!" they shout as they start out on the highway. After being on the road for several hours their enthusiasm starts to dwindle and their battle cry deteriorates to an exhausted murmur, "....vegas...baby..." I'll I can say right now is "...baby...baby..."

We are now 6 days past the due date. Since Charla was supposed to follow mother and sister's example and deliver prematurely, we were ready five weeks ago. When playoff hockey games are tied and the first overtime period begins, there is a level of excitement and intensity among the fans that is impossible to maintain. If the game continues and no one scores after about 15 minutes, the crowd settles into a pergatory of unsettling calm. Although the noise level has depleted, the intense anticipatory hope remains, and drains... I feel as though I have been living in a playoff overtime game for days. This sudden birth overtime is lasting far longer than the 9 period, 176 minute, Montreal-Detroit tilt of the '36 playoffs.

Nature's Balk: 39 weeks DEFCON 5!

Charla has not been sleeping well this past month. I guess it is common for expecting mothers to experience discomfort as they now carry and extra 30-40 pounds of fluid, placenta and baby. The strain on her back has been great and there are no positions that seem to be comfortable. I have been giving some middle of the night massages and have tried to stay up with her and make sure she is OK. The tiredness combines with the anticipation and gravity of the situation to make for a kind of excited paranoid state- a kind of almost disbelief that we will have a child in the next few days or hours. I feel like I am standing on the quiet beach waiting for the title wave to come.

"March" is X-rated on the Maternal Movie Ratings Guide: 37 weeks

When thinking of movies to avoid when pregnant, there are several things to consider. Pre and post natal demonic possession and tragedy are obvious non-picks. Movies like Rosemary's Baby, Basket Case, The Omen or Dead Calm are not the best of choices. But far more disturbing is the one described below. Damn you and your Electric Company Morgan Freeman!

Broken Flowers was an excellent pre-natal flim. Jaramush's subtle, quiet style, amazing ecclectic sounds and stylish comfortable track suits made for a great movie for someone in their ninth month of pregnancy. Nobody in the theatre experienced any variation in heart rate from the opening credits until the end. I was pleased with my choice and so was Charla. Buoyed with the confidence of my success, when the time came for us to go to another film I suggested March of the Penguins. That is where I lost my title.

On the surface, March of the Penguins was perfect. It had won awards, the birds are quirky and cute, it had Electric Company's Morgan Freeman for a narrator and it was rated G. I couldn't loose. I was imagining a kind of Incredible Journey/Benji meets Imax's Coral Reef. What a perfect movie for people who are weeks away from contributing another member to our grand planet earth.

Much has been written about the sensitivity and universiality of motherhood. We are all aware of animals caring for each other's young. Feral children who were raised by wolves and other species are well known. Last year there was that abandoned baby in Kenya who was brought by a dog to join it's litter. There seems to be an unexplained connectedness between all mother animals and newborns. Oh, and if you want to experience that first hand, take your quite pregnant wife to March of the Penguins.

At about 5 minutes into the film when I had a sense that things were not what I had anticipated. The fun began as the birds came out the water to obviously march with their clumbsy waddle across the crispy snow. Ha, ha. Look at the funny bird/fish. Freeman then informs us that they hobble for 70 miles to get to the mating place. I won't provide a running commentary for the entire film but it is when the eggs are laid that the film turned into a maternal hellish nightmare. The helpless creatures watch with horror as the egg rolls out of protection only to slowly freeze. They even grace us with a stop motion shot of the shell cracking open from the expanding frozen yolk. I was distracted by Charla had started to gently but committedly rub her eight month swollen belly. I looked up at her face and there were tears streaming down her cheeks. The action continued on the screen as follows:

-Momma penquin heads all the way back to feed while poppa sits on the egg- result- we see a sea lion devour two of the feeding females leaving the newborn to slowly starve to death at the feet of the male who had been standing there for two months...
-More frozen dead peguin babies who had hatched by then had strayed from their father's feet...
-Peguin babies trampled to death by their own mothers who were trying to protect their young from the heartbroken, lonely, crazed mothers who had lost their own... King, Ellis and Hitchcock couldn't have even thought up such disturbing tragedy.

By this time Charla had her head buried in my shoulder which was wet from the tears. Finally, the little toddler peguins were free to walk around and they looked really cute. Charla had just caught her breath and up flies the hungry osprey looking for some toddler penguin meat- we had to leave the theatre.

Perhaps it was that it was a documentary and with real animals- I don't know. Hollywood couldn't create such a horrific maternal decent into the Inferno. It was quite an experience.