Smile

It's a good thing babies don't know what embarrassing means. Or maybe they do but they can only express it by moving their right hand back and forth really fast, as in the picture above.

Julie and I decided to forgo all Christmas presents for Lyla this year. Lyla doesn't care, and she has plenty of relatives to buy her stuff that will soon be her heart's desires.

We did set up Lyla's college fund, however, so that's her Christmas present from us. It's a 529 plan, and you can get them through any state. Since Minnesota doesn't provide any specific tax benefits to residents, Julie did some research and decided to go with Iowa instead because they've historically had pretty good returns and a low management fee.


Lyla seems to approve. Is that a smile? Her first smile? I happened to take this yesterday, and I'd like to say it's her first smile, but that would be dishonest. It was a random face-muscle arrangement. Less than one second later it changed to this:


She'll be smiling soon enough. For now I'm happy we were given a preview, if only for an instant. And when she's ready for college and sees the fruits of our investments, then she'll smile for a week.

Up

I'm writing this at about 7:00 in the morning, having slept in until an impressive 6:30. After changing Lyla's diaper at 6:00 in anticipation of a feeding, I slugged back into bed. After some moments came a shout from the nursery: "Will you stop sighing? Sheesh!"

I inquired as to what on earth she was talking about.

"Oh poor Dan, back in bed. Sigh. SIGH."

A man has two options in a situation like this: be sensitive or be snarky. As I rose from the bed and padded across the hall, I naturally opted for the latter.

"I believe I have just been on the receiving end of the legendary 'breathe quieter' request. This places me in a new category of husband-martyr, and you in a new category of shrew."

"You're in a new category of tool." Then an epiphany lit up her face. "Are you awake because you're getting presents today?"

"No. I mean...no!" This has been so built up over the years. We're doing Christmas with Julie's family today, and every year I get teased by Julie and her sister Jen because once like 8 years ago I told them I had trouble sleeping on Christmas Eve.

"Go back to bed like a big boy."

"Shut it."

Then she got all sing-songy. "Is Danny going to get a present today? The big one under the tree looks like a firetruck."

I'll get my revenge. When Lyla begins to gain awareness of Christmas, I'll coach her that when she gets too excited to sleep, she should wake up Mom.

Hair

Lyla has gained 12 ounces in the past week. That's like the equivalent of a beer, isn't it?

I'm pretty sure that Daisy and Tulip think of Lyla as a tiny hairless puppy. Daisy still likes to lick her, as if welcoming her to the pack. Tulip tolerates her, and as long as Lyla never tries to eat her food, they'll be cordial acquaintances.

Neither of our dogs sheds much, but they do shed. On a pacifier left on the livingroom table, we'll find little black dog hairs and wash them off. Still, we wonder how much dog hair Lyla has accidentally ingested. One hair? Two? More?

We have joked that if we ever find a dog hair in Lyla's poop, then shortly thereafter we'll shave those dogs bald. And if you've ever seen either of our dogs after an aggressive groomer gets through with them, you know that any family of rodents would welcome them to a reunion picnic.

I do look forward to the day when Lyla decides to be master of the dogs. The ear and tail pulling, the poking, and the unpredictable movements will be good for our dogs to get used to. Perhaps they'll truly form a pack of three and plan insurrection against Julie and me. With Lyla's keen intellect, Tulip's blind ambition, and Daisy's recklessness, they could be a force to reckon with.

Let's just hope that Lyla doesn't become allergic to the dogs, or the dogs to her.

Envy

Freud wrote about penis envy, but he ignored lactating breast envy, which I happen to suffer from. As a non-lactating man, I find that a large percentage of my existence involves overcompensating. I'm considering purchasing a large pair of sunglasses, for instance, just because of the shape.

Today Lyla demanded milk every two hours, as opposed to her normal three. We think it's a growth spurt; by Christmas she won't even be able to fit in her stocking. So I got home, and Julie hadn't even had time to shower. What do I do to compete with that? The answer is whatever Julie tells me to do.

Normally I'm rather petulant when I'm asked to do a chore. With lawn mowing, for example, I feel that since I am the lone mower, then I get to dictate when the mowing occurs. Demand a mow, and I might wait a week longer out of principle. Immature principle, but principle nonetheless.

But add breastfeeding to the mix, and I find myself honoring requests ten times as unreasonable as "Mow the lawn today." Take this evening, when Julie declared that she hated the location of our Christmas tree. Sucker that I am, I moved the entire tree across the livingroom, decorations and all. Tomorrow if she recants her previous objection, I'll move the thing back, all because I can't breastfeed.

Smell

In case you're wondering how big Lyla is on the eve of her four-week birthday, she has now eclipsed the Cabbage Patch Preemie, but just in length.

Winter babies can have vitamin-D deficiencies due to relative lack of sunshine, so they often get supplements. The supplements come in a little liquid syringe that you sneak into her mouth during a feeding.

The two possible supplements are Tri-Vi-Sol and Poly-Vi-Sol, meaning a three-vitamin solution or a many-vitamin solution. Lyla's doctor said she could take either one.

Tri-Vi-Sol has a pleasant medicinal smell reminiscent of childhood sniffles and reading Highlights Magazine under a pile of blankets.

When our tiny bottle of Tri-Vi-Sol ran out and Target didn't have more in stock, we opted for Poly-Vi-Sol and later discovered that it smells like sweaty donkey scrotum.

Sorry to spring such a phrase on you. Had I just said "It smells gross," you wouldn't have gotten the full effect. The smell is so vile that you can't help but react viscerally. It's a smell that might cause a tree to suck itself back into the ground. Julie was so convinced that we had gotten a contaminated bottle that we bought another, but alas it was the same.

So we have refused to feed Lyla even a drop of Poly-Vi-Sol. Luckily Babies R Us had Tri-Vi-Sol, so now Lyla will get her vitamin-D without enduring the fetid, putrescent, eye-watering nastiness of whatever the hell is in that other stuff.

Song

During Lyla's nightly fussy time, she squirms, gurgles, and complains about everything. She struggles to find a comfortable position, but once she does, you're a fool if you move her.


Even if she looks ridiculous.

Lyla likes it when Julie sings to her, but Julie's repertoire is rather small.

"I know one verse of Silent Night, most of Jingle Bells, the ABCs, and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but even that one I have to hmm-hmm-hmm my way through part of it."

"Good God."

"Yeah, right? And I realized today that I don't know Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."

"You know that's the first line of the song, don't you?"

"Yes, so I'm like [singing] Twinkle twinkle little star...how I wonder how you are...up above us hmm-hmm-hmm...like a hmm-hmm everywhere. It's pathetic."

"Do you know Mary Had a Little Lamb?"

"Ooh! [Singing] Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb. Mary had a little lamb..."

"The next part's tricky."

"[Singing] Whose friends--"

"Fleece."

"[Singing] Fleece was white as snow."

"Good! What's next?"

"Well...[Singing] So then they ate the little lamb, little lamb--"

"Holy shit, they didn't eat the lamb! He followed her to school one day!"

"That's dumb."

"So you didn't sing nursery rhymes or listen to Raffi tapes when you were little?"

"What's a rafty?"

Carry

I came home to find Lyla resting in a papoose. I was able to hand Julie her Starbucks without baby interference.

The papoose sling thing came in the mail today. Julie likes it better than the Baby Bjorn because it's simpler and Lyla's more comfortable. I think it looks comfortable too.

"So you ordered it when again?"

"A while ago. Don't you love the color?"

"Yeah, I'm glad it's not too girly so I can wear it at the gun range or whatever."

"You can't wear it."

I paused for a moment to consider how we would ever manage to teach our daughter how to take turns.

"I never knew you were territorial about papooses."

"No, it's called a Hot Sling, and it's not your size. I ordered it based on bra size."

So apparently there's a baby papoose called a Hot Sling, and you can't wear one unless you also wear bras. This upsets me greatly as a man who is not well-endowed in the chest region. Now I have to wear the inferior Bjorn, which makes me feel like I'm hauling Lyla up a mountainside.

"Hello? Are you paying attention? You don't have to wear a bra. Men can order with their height and weight. This one will be too small for you because you're a big galoot ogre."

"Oh. Well then."


If I ever get tired of carrying Lyla this way, maybe I'll buy my own papoose with a fire design or cobras or something. Then this summer we can go to the zoo and I'll be the envy of all the moms.