Fletcher Pictures

Here are some of my recent favorite pictures of Fletcher.

Here is Sleepy Preppy Fletch...

Followed by Gleeful Fletch...

And we finish with A-Goo! Fletch...

Lots of this at home

Cooper and Fletcher doing some mending...

Cooper Vet Visit Results

Many have sent some well wishes Cooper's way. Cooper had his big day yesterday at the vet. Essentially, we know what we are NOT dealing with now. We are not dealing with bone cancer. We are not dealing with ostechondritis dessicans (The Real OC...D), which was the lead candidate before the x-rays. The x-rays came back clean. This is all good news.

We still do not know exactly what the problem is, however. Coop has been referred to an osteo surgical specialist, and the appointment is slated for next Wednesday. The thinking now is that either the shoulder's bursa is either inflammed or burst. If inflammed, we hope drugs and rest will do the trick.

Oh, and Coop now has a minty fresh smile. Since he was sedated for the x-ray, I decided to have his teeth cleaned.

Coop is doing real nicely today, especially since we have 86'd the morphine and now use vicodan / hydrocodone for pain instead. Maybe it is because Cooper is now more coherent, but he sure does seem to be improving. He still limps, but it SEEMS slightly improved. Oh, and he hates the doctor's orders: a) strict rest and b) leash walk only to relieve himself. Perhaps the worst is c) "no jumping on the bed."

Fletcher's 2 mo. Doc Visit

Today, Fletcher-Bean (shout out, Amy) visited his doctor for his regularly scheduled 2 month visit. He did so well, gigglin', jibberin', and cooin' all the way. All the way, that is, until time for the vaccinations.

In walks the nurse with four, count 'em, FOUR needles. Fletcher, meanwhile, is blissfully ignorant, continuing to jabber in baby language to whomever will listen. And, sure, this new woman who just walked in the room will do just fine to talk to. So, I held Fletcher, who was looking at me now like, "Dad, what's the matter with YOU?" In goes the first needle. Fletcher's eyes widen. "What the hell was THAT?" Yes, I heard Fletcher say hell. His first cuss word. Cussin' gave way to shriekin' as soon as the plunger was depressed. I watched Fletcher's face turn from Welsh-Irish white to Blood Orange Red in about 1 millisecond. I also took the opportunity to count his tonsils (yup, he has 2), and I am pretty sure I could see his lungs. Man, does that boy have a set of lungs!

Immunized against all sorts of bugaboos, I turned Fletch over to his Mommy, because if my ear drum was gonna be pierced, so was hers, by golly.

Fletcher is what you would call "big and tall." At 12 lbs, 13 oz, he is, ummmm, well fed. 90th percentile. Measuring at 24.5 inches, again 90th percentile. His brain continues to grow, and he is pushin' 80th percentile on the head circumference.

Shrieking aside, this was a good doctor visit.

Cooper & Fletcher

Many have inquired about Cooper. Well, he's doing...OK. I called the vet this morning and moved up his diagnosis one day to TODAY. I dropped him off there this morning, and he will be getting sedated for a shoulder x-ray. His condition seemed to get better at times and to worsen at times over the weekend. Clearly, his shoulder hurts him terribly. With the x-rays today, we will know what we are dealing with. The vet mentioned a couple of things that he will be looking for: osteochondritis dessicans, and bicepital tenosynovitis. We will know more soon.

Not to go into a "poor me" tirade, but it sure is difficult when you are giving your beloved family pet narcotics. It was up to me to decide WHEN and HOW MUCH morphine to administer. That's a horrible burden, since I don't want the dog to hurt, but I don't want a morphine addict either.

In any event, today, from Cooper's perspective, the worst of it is probably: a) my "abandoning him" at the scary vet, and b) not being fed this morning.

Fletcher got his first babysitter on Sunday! The circumstances were unusual, however. Jen had some rapid onset, acute upper abdominal pain which caused us to go to the hospital. Thinking fast, I called up a friend (a mother of 3), who came over to watch The Boy and Cooper. By the time we got to the hospital, Jen's pain was gone. Finito. So, we came home and Fletcher's babysit time was cut short. Jen's internet search according to her symptoms suggested gall bladder issues. I am hounding The Lovely and Talented Mrs. Dr. Bosworth to make an appointment.

So, that was my Memorial Day Weekend!

Mailbag 05.28.07

So, this blog has been active for all of about 1 week. Maybe a little more. And what a week it has been! Let's examine the mailbag and comments...

E- says that I am hot, and that she totally has a crush on me. Thanks, E-, whoever you are. I'm flattered. I am also married. But I love the attention. Unless it gets creepy. Which it has not yet.

Aunt Jen's Favorite Nephew Jamie comments that I should keep all discussion of "slathering of butt paste" to myself. He may have a point. But as I said in an blog post, I just like saying "butt paste." And slathering? Well, some words speak for themselves.

K- says that she laughs out loud while reading this blog. Thanks, K-, I'm glad you enjoy my nonsensical ravings.

And various family members have called, emailed, and spoken to me at gatherings to tell me they enjoy the blog and seeing the pictures of Fletcher. I will try to post more pictures.

Happy Memorial Day

Happy Memorial Day, everyone. Regardless of your opinion of the US involvement in current conflicts, please take a moment to remember those US servicemen and women who have lost their lives serving their country.

Canine Trouble

It is remarkably difficult to stay on point (on being a dad) when your dog, who has been an important part of the family for over 6 years, is suddenly lame. Our yellow Labrador Retriever Cooper had a difficult time yesterday, coming up lame on his left shoulder. Right ahead of the Memorial Day weekend, when all the vets go on a long weekend. Perfect timing. Until Wednesday, when he is slated for x-rays, the treatment plan is to address his pain and keep him comfortable. As I write this, he is sleeping and, apparently, judging from the grumbling, blinking, and snarling, is in the midst of a dream. I like to think he is dreaming of chasing rabbits or squirrels. It is so disheartening to watch him limp around the house on 3 legs, I like to think he can at least DREAM of doing what he loves. He's a field dog, after all.

Anyway, he is taking the prescription anti-inflammatory drug Rimadyl, as well as some narcotics as needed for pain. I hate doing it, but it is so hard to watch him in such pain (with the quivering, panting, and whining that I saw yesterday). At least now he is able to rest.

Switching gears back to my human baby, Fletcher is now developing a nice pattern of sleeping through the night. He does so fairly regularly now, sleeping from 9pm to 6-7am. The last several days, the challenge has been to get him to nap. But even as I read the book, Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, he is beginning to settle in to a 10am nap. To help encourage this development, we swaddle and rock him, to help him get to sleep. And, as the book points out, "sleep begets sleep."

Boudreaux's Butt Paste

If your baby has a diaper rash, then this is the stuff for you. Boudreaux’s Butt Paste.

Brilliant name, brilliant product. I tried it on a recommendation from a friend, to treat Fletcher’s diaper rash. Cleared it up inside of 24 hours. Plus, who doesn’t like to say it? Butt Paste. Probably why my friend recommended it in the first place. Butt Paste.

Here is their web site. (www.buttpaste.com) Check out the testimonials, which are somewhat amusing.

Just a Little Nappy

The Boy has not been taking a daytime nap-nap-nap-a-roo all week. Not surprisingly, come about 6pm he is pretty much angry at the world. Yes, I know. Fletcher is parentally challenged. Today, however, in a fit of desp...errr...I mean, commitment, I drove the rascal around the grand city of Austin, TX, for the better part of 2.5 hours. Price of gasoline be damned! This sweet child o’ mine was gonna get a nappy, dammit.

And nap he did.

It is 7pm. And Fletcher has a very pleasant disposition.

I Soiled my Armor

This morning, around 6am, Fletch reminded me of what he thinks of me, exactly. You see, there we were, in the midst of an otherwise nondescript diaper change when The Boy thinks to himself, "You know, I think Daddy is being a bit cavalier about our relationship. I think I need to demonstrate who is boss here." And so he poos on me.

Of course, he poos all over himself too, but that right there goes to my point. So deep is his committment to asserting his dominance over his pop that Fletch is willing to soil himself, because, after all, he knows that I will clean it up. One has to admire that level of dedication. "Clean it up, b*tch." And who would have thought that The Boy has already added "b*tch" to his vocabulary? Where does he get such language? It certainly is not from either me or his mommy, and I can certainly assure you, the reader, that no expletive ever escaped my lips in front of him. Even when covered in seedy green poo-poo.

Oh, you think that saying "seedy green poo-poo" was offside? Pshaw. Trying being covered in it.

PS: If you did not catch the Monty Python allusion in the title, check out the following YouTube snippet from Monty Python's Holy Grail.

Tummy Time

"I'm laying on my tummy.
Tummy, my tummy.
I'm laying on my tummy
Hey yo. I don't think so."

OK, OK, enough of that. But it sets the stage for the following story.

The pediatrician says that it is important for the kid to get some good q-time in on his tummy each day, to prevent what he affectionately refers to as "helmet head." I should point out that I have it from reputable sources that my pediatrician used to play football at UT, so I imagine he would know helmet head when he sees it. Whatever helmet head is, the doc says it with such disdain that I'm pretty sure I do not want Fletch to have it. And so, tummy time it is.

Until today.

You see, yesterday, The Boy learned to roll over. And today he learned to apply his newfound skill. Jen placed the tyke on his tummy. All was well for a time, until Young Master Fletcher grew tired of this exercise, expressing his displeasure with his other skill: crying and shreaking. I should point out that this skill is sharpened to a razor's edge, honed during weeks of colic. Then, Fletcher "manned up" and rolled over.

Ta-da. Crying immediately stopped.

OT[video]: Will Ferrell has landlord troubles

Will Ferrell is having a little trouble making the rent. Click on the following URL to view a VERY FUNNY 2 minute video skit. Caution: PG-13 material for language. But that shouldn't be a problem: you are at home when you read this. AREN'T YOU? :-)

http://www.yikers.com/video_will_ferrell_short_skit_-_the_landlord.html

Now, that's comedy.

So you think you can dance?

Yesterday, Fletcher busted some moves on his parents. His dancing did thus prove a long-held hypothesis of mine: to Cabbage Patch, especially at inopportune or socially awkward moments, is deeply ingrained within the family DNA sequence.

Harvard here we come

The last 24 hours were filled with firsts. Fletcher’s first laughter, first recognition of the 92 lb. yellow Labrador patrolling the house, and of course, his first whole night of sleep! That last one had me vexed at 4:45am, when I awoke to the sound of nothing. (Nothing other than track 3 of the aforementioned Happiest Baby on the Block CD, that is.)

Through the haze of emergent consciousness, I struggled to remember if I had previously changed a diaper that evening. I looked over at Jen, sound asleep, of course. Yeah, right, not a chance she did it. In case you are wondering, diaper changin’ is “man’s work” once the sun is set. So, I burst out of bed, ran (OK, so I did not run, I ambled) out of the bedroom to check on The Boy. Is it little chest rising and falling? How did he get so big? He was so small when he brought him home, what was that, just 7 short weeks ago. Time flies. Before too long, he is going to be talking back, and not long thereafter begging for the keys to the car. Shape up, young man. I will be taking notes during the Terrible Twos: earn enough demerits and you will get the key to the Hyundai, not the Audi.

But I digress. Yes, Fletcher was breathing just fine. I debated changing his diaper and feeding him (and, by feeding him, I mean, waking up The Mommy Unit), but decided he was likely to awake on his own soon, and if not, it could not hurt to see if he could sleep the whole night. Just to see. So I let him sleep more. I began to toss and turn around 6am, racking myself with worry about how my otherwise seemingly insignificant decision, taken in the wee hours of this day, might someday play itself out in his not making 1^st string varsity, or mean the difference between Stanford and Harvard, because let’s face it, no son of mine is going to go to some Left Coast Wannabe Ivy School. At 7am, I decided enough was enough. His Harvard application in jeopardy, I picked The Boy up and took him for a diaper change.

As he worked through the cobwebs of emergent consciousness, Fletcher grabbed his bearings and, upon realizing who it was exactly slathering butt paste on his bottom, let out the biggest grin and squealed at his pappa. Not a bad way to start a day. Not bad at all.

Happiest Baby on the Block

No, this is not the name of some new boy band. This is the name of an absolutely BRILLIANT compact disc. The CD entitled, The Happiest Baby on the Block, has 5 tracks: the first 3 sound to me like the ultrasounds which I attended with my wife, the 4th is a hair-dryer, and the 5th is rain falling.

Why is this so gosh-darn brilliant, you ask? Well, my child has colic. Fuss, fuss, and fuss some more. With this CD, especially track 1, we are able to soothe the child. And, put on a repeat loop, it certainly helps with the duration of nighttime sleep.

The first night we received the CD in the mail from Amazon, Fletcher slept from 9pm to 3:30am straight-through. That was a record, and the longest nighttime stretch prior was 3 hours. Now, he routinely sleeps 5.5 to 6 hrs straight.

This CD rocks the house, big time.

Daddy's #1 Job: Weeks 1-4

Daddy's #1 job, from birth through week 4, is to make sure Mommy is comfortable. Of course, a Daddy's duties do not magically end after the child's 4th week, but during these first 4 weeks, Mommy *especially* needs your support. This role translates into numerous examples of tactical action:

• Bring Mommy plenty of cool water to drink. Staying hydrated is key to her recovery. Remember, she just pushed a very large (relatively speaking) mini-person out of a space, although designed for the purpose, you would not believe possible. Rule of thumb: every time she breastfeeds, bring a full glass.
  
• Keep a clean house. Do the laundry, of which there will be plenty. Do the dishes.
• Manage delivery of food to the house. Friends are good for this. If you don't have local friends, then consult a food service. You will not have time or energy to cook. Make sure everyone in the house, not just the baby, eats.
  
• Learn to change a diaper.
• Change Baby's diaper. Change it often. Far too much is made of this. Trust me, changing an infant's diaper is not that difficult, and God has not really yet put the stank in poop. I am told that that comes once the young one takes on solid food. Ah, I cannot wait. Anyway, Mommy has plenty enough to worry about: changing diapers is an easy way for Daddy to take a load off (no pun intended) of Mommy's mind....and Baby's bottom (sorry, couldn't resist. Thought I could.)

Love Mommy. Love Baby. Your wife will notice and appreciate all of your effort. And, if that is not enough, just remember you can bank all of this goodwill for the next time you come late after a boy's night out.

The Dread Colic

I've seen stats that say anywhere between 1-in-4 to 1-in-5 babies will suffer from colic. Suffer being the operative word.

Colic is derived from the Latin word collicium, which means "we have no clue."

Many people have offered various forms of advice in dealing with colic. If the wife is breastfeeding, try stopping dairy. (aside: The Wife is unwilling to go this route, and I cannot say that I blame her, such is the siren song of the bovine elixer). Now, the Japanese swear that they have run a study that says it is OK to eat sushi, but I am relatively sure (from personal experience) that the wasabi is a bad idea. Apparently, anything Mommy eats eventually finds its way into the breastmilk. Who knew? I mean, none of my cow's milk has ever even remotely tasted like hay or cud.

The best advice I can offer:
be loving
be patient

And know that there are others parents dealing with this, and that this will pass.

Eventually.

Product Recommendation -- Pampers Swaddlers

The Way of The Dad is wrought with worry. Is my baby eating too much? Not enough? Is his cry normal and to be expected, or indicative of something more sinister? And, my favorite: will I be awakened at 3:30am for a diaper change to find that the diaper leaked poo-poo all over God's creation?

Fear not, walkers finding your Way. Pampers Swaddlers are the best diaper out there. And by "best" I mean I have tried no other diaper and have no intention to do so. I have no need. The Swaddler is super-absorbent, does not leak, and stretches for a comfy fit. PLUS, it has the cute picture of the Sesame Street characters on it, so...

As with all my product recommendations, Dad will disclose any conflicts of interest. In this case, I have none. Love the Swaddler. Best dang diaper out there.

I never in my wildest dreams ever thought I would have such a pronounced opinion on diapers.

The Most Precious Commodity

All that glitters is most definitely not gold. No, sleep is the most precious commodity. If it could be sold on an exchange, the price on sleep futures would skyrocket, driven up by a bidding war between fathers of infant children and of course, expectant fathers.

But hope springs eternal. This past week, at the ripe old age of 5 weeks, The Boy finally slept for about 5 hours. Straight. At nighttime. Now, the doctors say oh you should wake up the child every 3 hours for feeding. My response?

• An infant child does not need waking because it will most assuredly WAKE you.
• Such doctors must not suffered the pains of sleep deprivation

But, back to my story. We put The Boy to bed around 10pm, after his feeding. Around 3am, I startled awake and ran to his crib. No sounds, mind you. I just feared that SOMETHING must have happened. Who absconded with my baby boy? Why had he not cryed? Nope. My baby is just fine, laying there.

Well, I'm awake now. And, it has been 5 hours since his last meal. And you know what the doctors say about that, so...wake up, son. Time to eat.

Wisdom of The Wife

Wife: Dear? My epidural cost $2,500!
Rick: Worth every penny.
Wife: Oh yeah.