Peaceful parents, peaceful baby?

We were in a shop a few weeks back, with Rodney carrying Xavier in the baby backpack. The shopkeeper commented, "What a calm and happy baby!" I said something like, "Yeah, we really got lucky." And she responded, "Well, you know, peaceful parents, peaceful baby."

I should start off by saying that I don't completely buy into that. A friend who is one of the most even-keeled, laid back people I know has a baby who apparently will not stop crying for hours on end. I suspect some babies are just wired to be cranky while others are wired to be easy.

But we have also seen some truth in the idea that nervous adults can make for nervous babies. Xavier has met a lot of new people in the past few months. A good number of them seem eager to look for signs that something is wrong. One actual comment from an office baby shower (delivered in the same tone used when something is on fire): "He's chewing on his sleeve! Shawn!! He's chewing on his sleeve!!!" Um. Okay. And that is a crisis because...?

We have also gotten our share of "You just wait..." comments when we tell people what a happy baby he is. As in, "You just wait until he starts teething/crawling/walking/talking/etc. You'll be sorry then!"

We might be going through an easy phase and about to hit some tougher ones. Xavier will be who he will be, and I know some days/months/years will be harder than others.

But for now, we are thankful to have such a peaceful, happy baby. And we are doing our best to remain peaceful, happy parents and to enjoy this phase for as long as it lasts.

Men as fathers

We get a lot of comments from well-meaning people who seem quite surprised that Xavier has survived as long as he has with two men as parents. As if men are fundamentally incapable of figuring out how to raise a baby.

Xavier is probably just a little bit on the chubby side. Or at least definitely not thin. Yet we were out on a walking tour last weekend, ending with lunch at a neighborhood restaurant, and one of the women on the tour turned around from her table to say, "My friends and I were just wondering--are you going to feed him at some point?"

He was not fussing or squirming, or giving any indication that he was hungry, so I have no idea where the question came from. We politely explained that had stopped to feed him during the walking tour, and he was fine. And we restrained the impolite part that wanted to say, "What the hell do you think? Of course we feed him."

But this has not been an isolated experience. Random people (ok, random women) have no reservations about telling us, at a glance, that our baby looks hungry / cold / hot / tired / cramped / uncomfortable / etc. / etc. Even when he looks perfectly happy and healthy.

Maybe some of these things happen to mothers as well. But I suspect a big part of it is that people don't automatically see men as capable of being caregivers. Even when evidence to the contrary is right in front of them.

The things parents do

July 29, 2012. My first night at home with Xavier. He seems a little congested, which I have read is common for newborns, and I've bought saline drops for his nose, as the baby bible suggested.

As the night goes on, he gets more and more congested, snorting and crying and getting more and more worked up. The saline drops don't seem to be doing anything. I am starting to feeling panicked, since he appears to be struggling to breathe.

Ellen is still staying at our house. It's late, maybe 2am, but I reluctantly walk over to her room, knock on the door, and admit that I have no idea what to do. She takes him, puts her lips to each of his nostrils, and sucks the mucus out. (Sorry, I don't know how to describe that any more pleasantly.) For a second he is even angrier, but then suddenly he is fine.

I take him back to my room and we settle back into bed, but before too much longer he is snorting and crying again. So almost without thinking, I put my lips to his nostrils and take care of it. And that is our routine every hour or so for the rest of that night and the following night.(At which point the congestion thankfully subsides on its own.)

Anyone who knows me knows that I am generally squeamish about slimy substances. I guess parenthood, for everyone, immediately challenges and changes things like that. I never, ever would have imagined myself sucking mucus out of a baby's nose, and if he hadn't been mine, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have. (Other person's kid, you're on your own...)

Not saying there is anything noble or virtuous about it--it was an unthinking reaction more than a considered decision. But it was also my first experience of feeling like a father and feeling changed by fatherhood. And that part was pretty good.

Day One

5:30am, July 29, 2012. Sleeping soundly when I am awakened by knocking on the bedroom door. It's Ellen. All she says, or needs to say, is "Shawn. It's time."

We quickly gather our things, throw them into the car, and head to the hospital. At the moment I have no idea how extremely close we are to the baby being delivered in the car. Ellen tells me later that she was squeezing her legs together as tightly as possible, trying to keep him where he was.

About 6:00, we pull into the hospital, I lift Ellen from the car into a wheelchair (thankfully she is about 5 feet tall and less than 100 pounds), and we rush her up to the labor ward. The nurses get her onto a bed, and then hand me some paperwork that they say must be completed before anything else can happen. I run back down to the front desk, complete everything as quickly as I can, and run back up.

It must be just after 6:15 at this point. I walk back into the delivery room and there is Xavier, on a table, still being cleaned up. For a second I can't figure out what I'm seeing. How is he already here? Then my eyes well up and the tears begin to flow. All I can say is, "My son." 

The nurses stare at me with a mix of confusion, concern and amusement. I don't care at all. I am too busy admiring my son. 

Later I will realize that he still looked a little half-baked that day and needed some time to unfold. But in the moment, he is just perfect.