The Nicknames

Parenthood has brought with it many surprises, some big and some small. But occasionally one of those surprises is a bit stranger than the others. Namely…names.

Nicknames to be exact.

I’ve never really considered myself to be a nickname guy. Yes, I will sometimes call somebody “Chuckles” if they happen to be laughing at my expense, but most of the time I’m pretty much a call-you-by-your-preferred-name kind of person. My brain has enough difficulty just remembering names, let alone inventing new ones for people. But the strange surprise for me is that I make an exception when it comes to my daughter Reese. It’s been non-stop nicknames for her since she arrived. Here’s a small sample of ones I’ve used along with some explanations and circumstances that brought them about.

Fussybear – I probably use this one most often, or at least as often as Reese is fussy. It stems mostly from my love of Fozzy Bear the muppet. He had his share of tough crowds a fussy Reese is one of the toughest crowds I’ve yet encountered. But like Fozzy, I handle it like a pro. I tell bad jokes with bad puns and try to make her smile.

Fusspot - A variant of the previous Fussybear. I use this one when she’s fussy, obviously, but I will usually add a “Princess” to the nickname. Now she’s not merely a simple fusspot, she is Princess Fusspot, heir to the throne of fussiness. And when her fussiness reaches princess caliber, you know she means business. I first heard the term fusspot in the movie Coraline, one of my favorite creepy kids movies. I can’t wait to show it to Reese when she’s old enough.

Kickyfeet/Grabbyhands – I pull this one out usually when we’re in the middle of a diaper change and Reese doesn’t feel like sitting still. She may start kicking or trying to reach up and grab my face. To which I respond with statements like, “Whoa there, Kickyfeet, we need to put this new diaper on ya!” Or “Ow! That’s my nose, Grabbyhands, I need that!” Sadly, this doesn’t usually elicit sympathy from her…mostly just giggles along with more kicks and grabs.

Dancypants – Whenever I carry Reese, she likes to face outward so she can look around at the world. If she’s feeling energetic she’ll sort of run in place in my arms. If you use your imagination, it kinda looks like she’s dancing. And so was born the name of Dancypants. Sometimes preceded by a “Lil’ Miss,” in honor of the Mr. Men and Little Miss books, so you end up with “Lil’ Miss Dancypants.” She seems to like this one and hopefully she’ll have better dancing skills than her dad as she gets older…seriously… it won’t take much for her to be better.

Stuffynose, Boogersnots, Sneezyface – This season has been rough on Reese’s nasal cavity. Some of it has been the weather changes, but she’s also had a cold. Meaning lots and lots of snot. And because baby drinks all her meals, she needs to be able to breathe through her nose. And that’s where dad and his impressive nose clearing skills come in. Unfortunately, Reese doesn’t seem to appreciate how good I’ve become at using the Nose Frida (If you aren’t familiar, I caution against a google image search) and bulb syringe. In fact, she downright hates it when I clear her nose.  So, while she screams at me while I work on her nose, I attempt to calm her down and entertain myself by calling her things like Princess Stuffynose, Madame Boogersnots, and Lady Sneezyface. Does this myriad of impressive titles help her mood? Still too early to tell but I’m leaning towards no.

Tinytoots – Another surprise as a parent: The level of gassiness in infants is astounding! Sure, I knew going into this that babies make tons and tons of poopy diapers. But somehow I never heard from any parents or any parenting class just how gassy babies are. Drinking a bottle…tooting. Swinging in the swing…tooting. Playing on her mat…tooting. With this level of consistency a nickname was bound to happen. So one night during a bedtime story, punctuated by a couple of her signature tiny but stinky outbursts, the name of “Tinytoots” was born. However, it should be noted that “Tinytoots” shouldn’t be confused with
“Stinkycheeks.” Stinkycheeks isn’t a nickname, it’s more of the name for the condition of having a really full diaper. As in, “Whoa, I think somebody might be coming down with a bad case of the stinkycheeks!” Or “This is the worst case of stinkycheeks that I’ve seen in all my years of medicine! Call in Specialist Mom to change this diaper! What? She’s unavailable? *sigh* I see. Get me some wipes….A lot of them.”

So that’s what I’ve been able to come up with for the first eight months of her life. It’s been a fun creative outlet. But it does leave me with a few questions. Will any of these nicknames have staying power? Will new ones emerge as new behaviors and skills appear? Will she be embarrassed years later when she reads this?
A dad can hope.

More days to come.

One of many “In-Betweens”

Reese can’t crawl…yet. Despite being new to the stay-at-home-parent gig, I can definitely see the value of Reese staying in the spot that I put her. I don’t have to worry about her trying to get into a cabinet or cupboard, my electronics are currently all safe, and there’s not any danger just yet of her seriously hurting herself on one of the many tools I have in the garage. All things that I’m sure I will worry about quite a bit as her mobility increases.

However, even though Reese isn’t old enough to crawl, she is old enough to become bored with being stuck in one spot. When the boredom starts to overcome her, she can roll around to shift positions a bit, but that usually just gets her off of the blanket or mat and away from her toys…making life even more boring.

Mobility versus immobility.

Two very specific stages and Reese is smack dab in between them. The days of being content with lying on her back staring up at the pretty stuffed giraffe on the string are gone. But the days of being able to move from one side of the room to the other aren’t quite here yet either. The result: frustration.

I can relate.

I too am in between. One job has ended but the next one hasn’t begun yet. But unlike Reese, I have the benefit of experience. I’ve been through my share of these types of in betweens. And even though they don’t get easier, accepting them as a vital part of life does get easier.  I know that there are some parts of the process that I can control, but many that I cannot. For those parts, I have to remind myself daily to trust in God knowing that He is bigger than me, smarter than me, and has better for me than I could ever create on my own.  And that’s the lesson that I look forward to teaching Reese as she continues to grow.

In the meantime, Reese, I’ll help you along through this specific in between. Sometimes you’ll need to stay in the spot I put you while I work on something. Sometimes you’ll need to struggle and roll around to make yourself stronger.

But other times, when you’re angry and frustrated, I’ll come over and pick you up. I’ll carry you around for a bit, showing you different things, teaching you about the world around you, and I’ll take you to someplace new. You’ll know that I’m here and that I’m looking out for you.

And that’ll be true even after you learn how to crawl.

More days to come.

The Walks

There really is only so much time you can spend indoors.

No matter how many rides I give around the living room on my shoulders…

No matter how many colorful and/or educational toys there are within reach…

No matter how many stories I read, funny faces I make, or goofy dances I do to entertain…

There’s still a definite threshold of time that Reese can handle being stuck inside the house before calm turns into restlessness turns into fussiness turns into crankiness. For me too, of course. That's when it's time for a walk. So I load Reese into the carrier, the carrier into the stroller, the extra handkerchief into the pocket, and out the front door we go.  There’s no real destination in mind for the walk as we live in an averagely nice suburb where each street of houses opens onto another street of equally, averagely nice houses. I push Reese along and she keeps track of all the things there are to look at from her angle…mostly the trees and tops of houses…I’m guessing, but I think she prefers the trees to the houses.

I’ve gone on quite a few of these walks lately, but I never get too many steps out the door when the same thought hits me: Do I look suspicious right now?

Obviously there’s nothing wrong with a father taking his daughter for a walk, in fact it’s great for a father to take his daughter for a walk. But traditionally the mental image I think most people have is of moms, or grandmas, or even nannies pushing a stroller around a neighborhood.  Apart from me, I can’t think of a single time I’ve seen a man pushing a stroller around this neighborhood.  As I keep walking with Reese, I think on this some more. Then I start to play out weird scenarios where a concerned passerby or two thinks I may have kidnapped this child. And they confront me.

Concerned Citizen 1: Is this your child?

Me: Yes. Of course she is.

Concerned Citizen 2: Where’s her mom?

Me: She’s at work right now. Why do you ask?

Concerned Citizen 1: Hey, you seem kinda nervous.

Me: Please, I’m just trying to take my daughter for a walk.

As I try to leave, a police cruiser pulls up and an officer steps out. It escalates quickly at this point. The concerned citizens explain that they think I’m some sort of deranged kidnapper and they believe the child’s mother has been knocked unconscious or worse. I protest, trying to convince everyone that this really is my daughter and we’re just out for a walk. The officer lets his hand rest on his weapon and asks if I can prove this is my daughter. I think on this and realize the best I can do is show the officer and concerned citizens (a crowd of which is beginning to form) a few pictures and a couple of short videos of Reese that I have on my phone. But when I try to offer that as proof, someone in the crowd shouts that I probably stole the phone too. The crowd’s anger swells, Reese is taken by a nearby social worker, and I’m placed into the back of the police cruiser. A news van is now on the scene and the professional looking reporter is taking statements from witnesses about the kidnapping attempt that was foiled by the brave and diligent citizens of my neighborhood. And the officer drives me away, I’m left wondering how I’m going to explain to Erica, with my one phone call from jail, why our daughter is now with social services.

As I’m playing this nightmare scenario out in my head, I realize that I probably have a really intense look on my face as I’m pushing the stroller. An intense look that could be misconstrued as malice, villainy, or otherwise up-to-no-goodedness. Now I really am acting suspiciously!  But eventually I stop imagining and I notice Reese looking up at me with a smile. I never would have thought to describe an infant’s smile as reassuring, but in those moments it truly is. Reese is doing okay. She’s not suspicious. She doesn’t think there is anything the least bit strange about me pushing her stroller. And since she’s the reason I’m out on this walk, right now hers is the opinion that really matters.

Then I smile back. So take that, suspicious neighbors and concerned citizens. She’s smiling at me and we’re both enjoying this walk!

But seriously, she really is my daughter, I didn’t steal this phone, and you don’t need to call the police.

More days to come.

Sticking to the Schedule

From the beginning of my time at home with our daughter, my wife Erica has stressed to me the importance of keeping Reese on her daily schedule. Now I've always prided myself as the type of person that can give a schedule or other timetable a once-over and then I'm set. Keeping Reese on a simple schedule of feeding, napping, and playing should be...well...simple.

Foolish Sam...

Foolish, foolish Sam.

What I failed to consider was that in between those times of feeding, napping, and playing, I was going to try and get some things accomplished too. You know, little things like searching for a job and providing for my family. Between updating and sending out resume, my LinkedIn profile, and some contract writing, keeping Reese on the schedule has been a challenge to say the least. It's incredible how fast a chunk of time between feedings can just disappear. But there is something else behind that schedule, something important that I didn't realize I was going to need as much as I have.

Meeting the basic day-to-day, hour-to-hour needs of my daughter forces me to disconnect from the job search. It gives me small little islands of time where I get to remind myself who I'm doing this for. To become absorbed into something and someone besides myself and my own problems. To unplug. To sit in a glider, rocking back and forth as Reese takes her time with the bottle. I get to look at her, and tell her I love her, and watch her smile up at me. I get to make her laugh with my fake sneezes and rides around the living room on my shoulders. I get to sit on the floor next to her and cheer for her as she slowly learns how to keep her balance.

The schedule. What started as an additional stressor has become an anchor. A source of calm. There's no telling what kind of panicked basketcase Erica would find when she got home in the evenings if it weren't for those little breaks that Reese gives me.

All that to say that I truly...truly...

Wait...it sounds like she's waking up from her nap. Yep, schedule says it's time for another bottle. And that diaper probably needs changing too. Gotta go.

More days to come.