This is Ziggy in Profile.
And a foot.
Ziggy's face!
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Ruminations From A Man In Over His Head
Our midwife told Brigit she might not recognize Ziggy’s movement as anything other than one’s usual stomach rumblings (which might explain why Brigit thinks Ziggy likes tacos). Regardless, Brigit says she thinks she feels Ziggy moving and feels bad for me that this experience is, other than a moody wife, pretty nebulous. But, next week Brigit and I will go in for an ultrasound and see the little parasite for the first time which should make everything more concrete.
Anyway, as an observer in this little biological experiment I’ve been trying to imagine how life will change and how I should go about raising my child. I’ve plundered childhood memories of what I perceived to have been good and bad parenting examples from my parents. I now pay attention when news stories about children hit my radar (a simple explanation for SIDS on the 9 news at 9:00? I’m there!). I occasionally catch a look on the faces of my friends as they look at me. The look is like they’re hearing a particularly good joke for which the punch line is about to be delivered. I take solace in this demonstration of a sense of humor despite lack of sleep.
I really fear the lack of sleep.
The truth is I know nothing about kids.
I have a vague recollection of being in charge of my niece and nephew for a short time and realizing I knew no lullabies when trying to get one of them to sleep. I sang a slow song by U2 instead. Other than that I’ve had very little contact with babies or toddlers. I don’t think I’ve never changed a diaper. I don’t understand the point in talking to children (they have few opinions and the ones they do have are frightfully naïve).
When stuck interacting with a toddler I’m always at a loss. I have a stock joke where I ask them how they like school and, when they reply they’re not in school, I ask how their job is going. When they reply they do not work I make some comment about being a freeloader and a burden to their parents. That’s the beginning and the end of my material.
(In a truth-is-stranger-than-fiction moment, I just got off the phone with my friend Glenn who put his 2 ½ year old daughter on the phone to talk to me. The conversation stalled when I said ‘hello’ back. What do you ask a 2 ½ year old?)
Anyway, I’m told I’ll learn. And my friends have lots of opinions. And they’ve read books. And family is always willing to offer advice. Plus there’s Disney and Sponge Bob.
And next week all this talk and planning will coalesce into a digital blob nicknamed Ziggy.
And all that will matter is that Ziggy is healthy.
And that Ziggy hopefully doesn’t have a twin.
Anyway, as an observer in this little biological experiment I’ve been trying to imagine how life will change and how I should go about raising my child. I’ve plundered childhood memories of what I perceived to have been good and bad parenting examples from my parents. I now pay attention when news stories about children hit my radar (a simple explanation for SIDS on the 9 news at 9:00? I’m there!). I occasionally catch a look on the faces of my friends as they look at me. The look is like they’re hearing a particularly good joke for which the punch line is about to be delivered. I take solace in this demonstration of a sense of humor despite lack of sleep.
I really fear the lack of sleep.
The truth is I know nothing about kids.
I have a vague recollection of being in charge of my niece and nephew for a short time and realizing I knew no lullabies when trying to get one of them to sleep. I sang a slow song by U2 instead. Other than that I’ve had very little contact with babies or toddlers. I don’t think I’ve never changed a diaper. I don’t understand the point in talking to children (they have few opinions and the ones they do have are frightfully naïve).
When stuck interacting with a toddler I’m always at a loss. I have a stock joke where I ask them how they like school and, when they reply they’re not in school, I ask how their job is going. When they reply they do not work I make some comment about being a freeloader and a burden to their parents. That’s the beginning and the end of my material.
(In a truth-is-stranger-than-fiction moment, I just got off the phone with my friend Glenn who put his 2 ½ year old daughter on the phone to talk to me. The conversation stalled when I said ‘hello’ back. What do you ask a 2 ½ year old?)
Anyway, I’m told I’ll learn. And my friends have lots of opinions. And they’ve read books. And family is always willing to offer advice. Plus there’s Disney and Sponge Bob.
And next week all this talk and planning will coalesce into a digital blob nicknamed Ziggy.
And all that will matter is that Ziggy is healthy.
And that Ziggy hopefully doesn’t have a twin.
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