Eves

If you would've told me a year ago that this is where I was headed, then I would've written you off as a crazy sadist.

Two years ago on this day, we were in Amsterdam.


We don't have any pictures from New Year's Eve in Dam Square, but it was a little nuts. It was pouring rain, thank goodness, because otherwise we wouldn't have had that umbrella to shield us from the shrapnel from fireworks that went off constantly in the crowd of 10,000 people.

Our plan was for Amsterdam to be a last hurrah of sorts; we'd come home and try to have kids, pull the goalie if you will. But we decided in Amsterdam that this girl was not yet ready to be a mom.


And this guy was definitely not ready to be a dad.


So one year ago on this day, we were in Barcelona for a second last hurrah. New Year's Eve was also nuts, but significantly less nuts than Amsterdam, believe it or not.


The last hurrah in Barcelona did the trick. These two were as ready for kids as they were going to get.


So we got home, pulled the goalie, and everything fell into place.


Happy New Year, everyone. It's mind-boggling what can happen in a year.

Ludicrous

A lot of American moms go back to work about now, the six week mark. This is the point where Julie stops getting paid to be on maternity leave. She negotiated a longer leave, but for the next ten weeks, she won't see a paycheck. It's not her employer's fault; it's standard in the United States.

Or is it? I thought six weeks paid leave was required until I did a little research. According to an organization called Moms Rising, we're one of four countries that do not ensure a paid maternity leave. We're in the proud company of Swaziland, Papua New Guinea, and Lesotho.

Are you a little bit horrified? In the United States of America, working women are not entitled to paid maternity leave. We are tied with three third-world countries for the worst maternity leave in the world.

In Pakistan, you would get 12 weeks paid. In Afghanistan, 90 days. Same in Ethiopia. You would get 18 weeks paid in Cuba, 14 in Panama, and 12 in Guatemala, Colombia, Mexico, and the Dominican Republic. In Norway, a mother gets 18 weeks paid, and then 26 additional paid weeks to be divided between the mother and father. Now, I'm not saying we should suddenly become Norway, but couldn't we at least rise to the level of Bangladesh? Care to compare other nations with ours? Click here.

The Family Medical Leave Act does guarantee a person 12 weeks of unpaid leave to care for an infant. That's wonderful if you have a savings account; Julie and I are lucky to be able to take unpaid leaves. I cannot imagine putting our six-week-old in daycare, but I have nothing but respect for mothers who don't have a choice.

Card

I chilled with Lyla in a mall Starbucks while Julie ran around and bought stuff. We sat by the window and I read Time magazine, so I didn't pay attention to the throngs of humanity surging past us, slowing down to stare and admire. Those of you truly keeping track will note that Lyla wore these pants yesterday too. See, we're just regular people.

This evening the three of us dined at Chevy's, an exclusive Mexican restaurant masquerading as a garish, repugnant chain. The question for you to consider is this: is a Chevy's waitress more or less likely to card a young couple if they have a baby? This question ran through my mind as we pulled into the parking lot, as Julie had just fed Lyla and announced to me that she deserved a margarita.


So here we are, just so you can get an idea of the level of class and sophistication. Does bringing a baby here make us seem older, or younger?

Now, a word on pumping and dumping, the unlikely phrase that means draining all your milk and throwing it away. This was a concept that I misunderstood until about three days ago. I thought drinking alcohol poisoned all your milk, which meant you had to drain yourself completely and start again fresh. In fact, breast milk does not store alcohol. Rather, the alcohol, as you know, affects your blood, and anything in your blood can transfer to your milk. Once the alcohol leaves your blood, it doesn't remain in your milk.

There are a couple schools of thought about alcohol and breastfeeding. The extremists say don't drink at all until the kid is totally weaned. But most experts agree that a drink now and then is okay as long as you wait two or three hours before breastfeeding. Well duh. If you're not buzzed, your kid won't be either.

That said, everything is out the window if you're a total booze hound. Heavy drinkers or frequent drinkers shouldn't drink while breastfeeding. Again, well duh.

So the pumping and dumping isn't necessary due to alcoholic milk; it's necessary to deal with engorgement caused by waiting to feed. Fascinating stuff, people. It's great to be a man.

Back to the question. If you saw Julie and me at Chevy's, would the baby increase your estimate of our age? Or would you think, "Stupid young couple bringing their beautiful accident baby to Chevy's, tut tut." Well, the waitress didn't card us, and we always get carded, so I guess Lyla makes us look older. Yippee.

Amazonian

Lyla went to her first wedding today. New baby + new camera = me not paying attention. Here the music is lulling Lyla. I have no idea why her eyes are brown in this picture. They are decidedly blue in real life.


And she's out, sleeping in church just like Homer Simpson, and with the same hairstyle.

The reception was in the lower part of the church, a fantastic venue actually, unlike most church basements. We were seated in the back, conveniently close to the nursery. They also stored the extra beverages and ice in the nursery, so when I changed Lyla's diaper in there, I found an empty ice bag and stuffed it with the diaper and wipes, and then tossed the thing in the trash under some child's discarded drawings. Is that wrong? Are we supposed to be like hard-core backpackers and take our waste home with us?

They had a rocker in the nursery, too, so you'd think it would make the perfect breastfeeding location. But Julie, with a fervor reminiscent of 1960s bra burners, decided she preferred to feed Lyla right at the table, damn it. Dinner was over, no one was watching, and she had a blanket, a lovely assistant, and a hungry baby.

"But the nursery?" I said.

"Shh. Hold the blanket."

At this point the newlyweds said on the microphone that they would be announcing who was at each table, just highlights to acknowledge the different people in their life.

Nobody paid any attention to us as the newlyweds spoke about each table. We were table 14 anyway, so certainly Julie would be done by then. But when they got to table 12, Julie moved to switch Lyla to the other side.

"Um, holy shit," I whispered. "They're almost to our table."

"So?"

"You could do the other side when they're done."

"Nobody's going to know."

Who was this Amazonian turbo-mom? Certainly not the same woman who just days earlier wondered if she would ever breastfeed in public.

I pictured the worst possible scenario: Lyla dislodging and Julie's breast shooting a milk arc across the room and into the bride's mouth. But they got to table 14 and it was over just like that. Nobody even noticed. The people at our own table had no idea what was going on even though to me Lyla's gulping sounded like the tell-tale heart.

Later in the car, I asked Julie what had inspired her to risk public lewdness at a wedding reception.

"Lyla was hungry, and I didn't want to miss anything. Besides, I just shove her under the blanket and she latches on. What's your problem?"

Hmm. Julie has gotten better at it. Lyla has gotten better at it. I guess it's time that I get better at it too.

Zoo

Mother's Day is way better than Father's Day. Mother's Day involves the husband waking up early and cleaning the house while simultaneously tending to the child. This must be done silently to prevent the mother from waking. Then the husband and child make the mother's favorite breakfast, again silently, and the child serves the breakfast bedside at the mother's preferred waking time.

Then the husband and child leave the house for the day. The mother deserves time alone, and that is what Mother's Day is all about. Perhaps the husband and child return later to take the mother out to dinner, but if the mother prefers it, the husband and child stay in a hotel that night, returning home the next day.

But then a month or so later on Father's Day, the father prepares his favorite breakfast for everyone. Then everyone goes to the zoo, unless the wife wants to stay home. On Father's Day, the wife's participation is optional because it's really a day for fathers and kids to hang out. That evening there is usually a barbecue hosted by the father.

Later the father gets an ugly tie.

I'm calling shenanigans on that whole deal. For Father's Day I'm gonna sit in a bubble-bath and play video games all day.

Of course that's a lie. I'm taking everyone to the zoo.

Bank

We've had 20 or so people offer to babysit Lyla. The problem is I don't think we'd ever get her back.

No, really the problem is breast milk. I always thought that during a feeding, a baby might drink two or three pints of breast milk, much like a young lad at a pub in the afternoon. And when a mother would pump, she might get four or five gallons at a time, necessitating a second freezer in the garage.

Actually, like the baby's weight, ounces are what matter. Lyla will eat three or four ounces during a feeding, and Julie will pump one or two at a time in addition. At night, when Lyla becomes Lylazilla, thirsty beast from the depths, she will often ransack the fridge and claim whatever ounces Julie has stockpiled that day. So we do not manage to save much.

This reminds me of when I was 22 and trying to save money. I had hoards of money coming in, or at least it seemed that way with my bachelor's degree and low-five-figure teaching salary. I should've been able to save several hundred dollars a month, right? No, with all my expenses, including my wannabe-rockstar lifestyle, I felt I needed a loan.

Even though at 22 I thought a loan was the solution to my problems, I know better now. And it occurs to me that a loan from the bank is like baby formula: you might want to avoid it if you can. I know not all women have a choice and that it's a personal decision, but our perspective at this point is that formula is not as good as breast milk, much like money from a loan is not as good as money you've saved.

So Julie's saving a little milk at a time, and we hear that eventually it does accumulate. (Hey, if you ask me, those breasts deserve a pay raise.) And so once we have more in the bank, we might allow some of you to babysit.

Just don't expect us to pay you.

Gift

My family has a tradition on Christmas where the kids have to go upstairs before gift opening. There they wait until they hear the beginning of the Nutcracker Suite, and then they can run downstairs to the flashing of cameras and their presents.

We haven't had an actual kid at Christmas in several years. But we did today.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Hopefully you also got everything you wanted.