TEETH IN THE GRASS

There are not enough bibs in the world to sop up the drool that exits my daughter's mouth. I swear she has to drink all of that formula just to replenish the fluids lost from her gob. The teeth are coming in! Right now she has the 2 front bottoms in, so Quinn resembles a drunken hillbilly who loves jumping and chewing on stuffed animals. Let this be a lesson to your little ones, when wishing to Santa for your two front teeth, be specific. The inverted beaver has decided that by no means will her saliva stay in her mouth and her parents cannot find the shutoff valve.

I suddenly picture her at several points in her life with this problem. Her trying to skip rope at twelve. The spit hitting the rope and spraying all over the place. I look out the window and see her wrapped in a cocoon of dribble and cord. A sweet sixteen party with her drooling all over the cake as everyone looks on in horror, while passing on the spittle covered dessert. A bib covered wedding dress. No head banging to metal. I do hope she retires this habit.

Heather believes that rice mix tastes delicious. I believe it tastes like cardboard. Heather believes that hint of vanilla is yummy. I believe that somebody wiped the cardboard with a dirty vanilla soaked rag. We have entered into the realm of solids. Well not really. We have entered into the realm of porridge like soft resemblances of solids. Soon, our little bundle of joy will be starting her journey down flavour alley. Oddly enough it seems that you have to get through the disgusting before you hit the divine. Why doesn't baby food come in BK Whopper w/ cheese? Keg steak and potato? No you have to wrap your lips around squash and peas. Blah! I say puree the bacon. Mash the hotcakes and sausage.

We have replaced a couple of things over the last couple of months. The screaming hungry has been switched with the always smiling belly laugh. The needy baby has been swapped with the independent jumperoo loving child. Little dinosaur roars have been substituted with full on blurts of excitement. We had a change of direction with sleeping. It went from never to most of the night. We have shifted to 9 month sleepers. We have traded up to size 3 diapers (more input, more output). Lots of changes. Lots of fun.

Merry christmas from the slurper, the burper, and the chirper.

WAKE ME WHEN SEPTEMBER ENDS

Here is a list of things I think are horseshit when it comes to babies.

1) SOCKS. Putting treads on the bottom of newborn socks. Who the fuck thought of that and where do you think she is going? She doesn't fucking walk jackass! They are just rubber points of contact glued on there so that I lose my shit while she is losing her shit while I can't get pants on my daughter. Have you ever tried dressing someone while they tap dance? Same thing.

2) MUSIC. I want to grab the inventor of the xylophone and grind his melon across the fucking keys. The only way you can tolerate this instrument is Rockabye Baby. A collection of popular music performed in a soothing lullaby manner with xylophones. Beach Boys, NIN, Tool, and Nirvana are just some of many. The other saving grace is that Quinn prefers to listen and dance to the Oldies Jukebox and not JoJo the Freakin Circus Pet. Who knows how long that will last.

3) FEEDING. My daughter goes from 0-100 in a second when it comes time to eat. She will give you about a half minute to clue into what she wants. Haven't figured it out yet Dad? How about I just........LOSE MY MIND! BOTTLE! FOOD! WHERE IS IT! I AM FUCKING STARVING! Holy shit child. We have never NOT given you a bottle. She acts like an starving child being held captive in front of a buffet. I swear one of these times, her head is just going to burst Scanners style or pop off like the dandelion song. "Quinn lost her shit and her head ...popped off".

4) DROOL. Where is the shutoff valve? It just keeps coming and coming and coming. I sat Quinn in her vibey chair and made a quick lunch. I swear it was 5 minutes. I walked back to a baby who looked like she was licked by a fucking cow. Where? When? Then you have to peel off the soaking sleeper. All the while, she is smiling. Having the time of her life.

Here are the things that are NOT horseshit.

1) SMILES. Nothing will melt your heart quicker than your baby smiling back at you just because you are there. An absolutely amazing feeling that will make you ignore her socks.

2) BABY TALK. She doesn't use words but she sure can tell a story. The facial expressions change. The arms flail around. It might be time to get her some sticks and a xylophone. NEVER and if anyone ever buys one for a gift, do not be surprised if it is embedded into your windshield when leaving the residence. It's the thought that counts.

3) SLEEPERS. Of the non-drool covered variety. Nothing cuter than a baby in a sleeper. SEARS and COSTCO have great cheap varieties. You can never have enough sleepers and onesies. You will also become an expert stain remover. This is just the apprentice level prepping you for the blood, juice, and grass stains that around the corner.

4) SLEEPING BABY. (cricket cricket)

CRYING OVER YOU

So now the baby has arrived. Now what?

Well now you get to play a little game. It's called, "I'm a baby, guess my cry". I believe I have it down to this system.
In order of importance.

Are you hungry? When it comes to crying and food, Quinn goes from 0-100 in a second. Like her mother. We started the breastfeeding fiasco at the hospital. Due to a breast reduction in her past, Heather was a prime candidate for problems before she even started. She gave it the old college try anyways. Through much anxiety, consultations, and some heavy emotional times, we decided to move on to pumping and formula. It was the right decision. Pumping continued to cause problems in the nipple area. To the point of blood in the milk. My rule of thumb for anything, once you get to blood. Stop! We are now solely on formula and Quinn is thriving. Three weeks in and she is pounding back 4oz. of Similac Omega 3 every 3 hours. Just remember to burp.

Do you need to burp still? We have all watched someone shake a pop can and wait for some unsuspecting innocent bystander to come and open it. This is what it is like if you do not burp your child. Like a fountain of formula. I like to give her a chance to belch after each ounce. That way there is less spit up at the end and she is continued to be stimulated during feeding. She has a tendency to snooze near the end. Right before she explodes in her pants.

Do you need to be changed? I love the look on Quinn's face when she vacates her bowels. It is contentment at it's finest. A soft glaze comes over her eyes. Her mouth instantly shapes into an O. Then the air escapes her bottom. Her peepers close and a small smile creeps across her face. She waits to pee after I have taken off the first diaper. I am wise to this little trick now. I am told that the smell doesn't start until solids are introduced. I am happy to feed her formula until she moves out then.

Are you too hot or too cold? Check behind the neck. It is usually one of the above, so this is a last resort for me. You know the temperature of the room. Don't put on the fuzzy sleeper during the heat wave.

Do you want to be held? The answer to this is YES. For us, Quinn would rather be held than not. She also shares time between her swing and her new play mat which she absolutely loves. She is a bright one.

There is a lot of anxiety and unknown when you start this journey. I can tell you that the things that you had anxiety about in the beginning will subside. Don't worry though. There are new ones lying right around the corner.

...AND SO IT BEGINS!

When I was in my mid twenties, I had a roommate. Josh. Josh became the black sheep of his family when a strict christian upbringing and a move away to college introduced him to beer. Josh would keep me up all night and party his face off. He lived a life of midnight burrito runs and 3am Kraft Dinner masterpieces. Occasionally I would even find Josh passed out. Smelly from bodily fluids which he had escaped him throughout the night. I now know that it was just training. Training for the baby.

My fiance Heather and I were excited. We were being admitted to the hospital on the Wednesday and we were going to be induced. For the record, before the baby was born, I was referring to everything that happened to Heather as WE or OUR. So WE quit smoking. OUR social life changed. WE had gestational diabetes. OUR uterus was looking great. I never thought I would ever write that last sentence. So we were being induced. Easier said than done. You can book when you want to be admitted to the hospital, but then have to play a waiting game. The hospital will phone you and let you know when. Which is torture. Heather, it turns out, not into torture. She jumps on the phone and has an EXPLOSION. I am dubbing these moments from here on out as EXPLOSIONS. You have to imagine that word being screamed by a soccer commentator. Got it? There you go.

The issue was this. The average pregnancy is 40 weeks. After 40 weeks they watch you very closely as the placenta (what gives your baby everything it needs inside) starts to slow down eventaully stopping. Not good. For someone with gestational diabetes, 40 weeks is really 38 weeks. Due to the placenta working harder during the pregnancy, it tends to crap out earlier. We were at 39 1/2 weeks. It was time. No phone call from the hospital, hence the EXPLOSION. Wednesday came and went. No call. Thurs morn was just about over when the phone rang. All smiles from Heather. We are off to the races.

Now let's talk about the hospital bag. It does not have to be huge. 1)I suggest bathing suits for both of you, in case you want to shower during active labour. 2)Diapers. The hospital only supplied 6 and gave me a lot of grief when asking for more. Bring atleast 20 newborn diapers. You may be there for awhile. 3)Wipes. Lots of wipes. Those first couple of poops are thicker than roof tar. Here is a trick, bring some olive oil for your baby's arse. When that meconium crap comes out, you want a lubed butt. 4)Clothes for you and baby. Grandma bought a fantastic "coming home" outfit but it ended up too big. 5)Treats. For mom and dad.

Now back to story. Grab the bag and get Preggo, my pet name for Heather for 9 months, to the hospital. We arrived expecting a fast and furious ordeal. That would be saved for a later date. They inserted the Cervidil (a vaginal insert to soften and prepare the cervix for birth). All of Thursday. Nothing. Friday rolls around. The nurses check. Nothing. They insert some more Cervidil. I tell Heather that I am going home for a nap because the doctor says it could take 10 days sometimes (WTF). My head hits the pillow at home and my phone vibrates beside me. I squint and see the text "get back here now". Oh shit! I rush back to the hospital to find Heather experiencing some very uncomfortable labour pains.

In the next three hours Heather bends over the bed, sits on the exercise ball, takes a shower in her gown and finally decides, it is drug time. Morphine and Gravol please. Before the drugs can take effect, they move us to labour and delivery. The nurse offers Heather some Nitrous. What would come next would be the opposite of an EXPLOSION. It would be the end of One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest. Stoned out of her tree, Heather would only put together moans for the next hour.

So the next part goes pretty quick. They checked her out and she was at 2cm. 15 min later, the doctor would come in to check. She is at 4cm. Doctor leaves to find the epidural dude. Water breaks. They check her and she is at 8cm. No time for love Dr. Jones, you are having a baby. Heather yells my full name at me. I might have pissed myself. Very scary. Heather yells for the nurse to clear off her, um, bottom. The nurse says 'that's not poop, that is a baby" (WTF). Doctor is not present. Nurse yells at me to grab a leg and help. I jump in. 9 pushes.

The next event is one of the greatest things you will ever experience in your life.
First kiss. First intercourse. First homerun. First promotion. Maybe put them all together. My daughter is the greatest accomplishment EVER. I cried. I took pictures. I cried some more. I took some more pictures. Greatest day. Nothing can really prepare you for it. It is an amazing event. Being adopted, I just met my only known blood relative.

Quinn Ellen Hayes Andrews was born 9:46pm PST on Friday June 18th, 2010 and this is her story.