These booties are made for walkin'

Three months of fatherhood have done much to redirect some of C-Rock's ill-informed ideas about parenting. Teaching our son to walk earlier than humanly possible, however, is not one of them. He enlists Chip in a strict regiment of "walking training". Fueling C-Rock's fire is the "evidence" that the daily exertion is "working". Indeed, when C-Rock supports Chip under the arms and holds him over a hard surface, the little milk monster begins to march.

 

The stepping reflex is an inborn tendency for infants to alternate stretching out one leg and then the other when held up-right over almost any surface. It is one of a set of primitive reflexes that has allowed human newborns to survive since our dawn.  Sure, there is no seeming survival advantage the ability to mimic walking only when fully supported, but the stepping reflex is actually meant to allow a newborn to sort of shimmy up mama in order to get to the good stuff. While it is very cute to watch, it is nothing unique to our son.

Have I imparted this knowledge on C-Rock? Of course. Many times. Has it caused him a moment's hesitation in his mission? No sir!!

Write something nice...

At this point, perhaps you won't find it surprising to learn that C-Rock didn't fawn all over me during my pregnancy. For instance, I spent many evenings stink-eyeing him from across the sofa as I reeeached over my belly in order to rub my own feet. Or the countless times he didn't notice me struggling to waddle fast enough to keep up with his mammoth stride. And don't get me started about the time I -at 8.5 months pregnant mind you- stayed up until the wee hours of the morning building our son's crib solo. While I'd rather attribute his seeming indifference to general dude naivety and NOT to a lack of gratitude for the harrowing sacrifice my body and I were making to bring his only son into the world... the overall neglect led me to drop more than a few hints that I was really REALLY hoping for a nice "push present".

"A push present" you ask? Why, it is a lovely gift given to a new mother by her baby daddy to say, 'Hey! Thanks for this magnificent feat which you have accomplished!" Now, we all know I LOVE a good present, but this one was especially important given my hormonally fueled longing to feel appreciated.

And ultimately, he pulled through! Well, except...

He had the foresight to ask for advice on one of his message boards where he got the idea to purchase a designer diaper bag. He did find it on clearance on their website, but he EVEN paid extra for the gift wrapping (a first)! So, when we came home from the hospital, there was a gorgeously wrapped package waiting for me. Once we had settled in a bit, he brought the package over to me and eagerly watched as I opened the attached envelope. I read the card... looked over the card at him... looked back at the card... looked back at him. "What does it say?" he asked me. A few more glances back and forth, then I ask, "Is this a joke? Are you messing with me?!" With a look of concern he says, "No! Why? What does it say?"

Write something nice. Her name is Julia.

I read it aloud to C-Rock and he exclaims, "No way! Let me see that!" I hand it over so he can read it himself. Then he bellows, "Those IDIOTS."

Well C-Rock... there's at least one idiot involved here, but they ain't at Kate Spade.

Chip off the Ol' C-Rock

Chip is judging you...

Our baby boy has arrived! He showed up inconveniently early, makes lots of grumpy old man faces, and hates having his picture taken... so, Chip pretty much takes after his Pops.

 




During our brief hospital stay, C-Rock managed to get himself banned from the cafeteria and was accused of conspiring to kidnap a baby. I wasn't present for the first offense, but it did result in my getting more Starbucks and Chic-Fil-A instead of hospital food - so I'm not complaining. The second incident arose from the combination of several misunderstandings: 1) hospital accomadations are not meant to be comfortable for anyone other than the patient, 2) the nurses really are allowed to burst through the door at any moment 24 hours a day, 3) checking out of a hospital is not like checking out of a hotel, and 4) someone who has recently given birth to your child is not considered a "wimp" because she requires a wheelchair to exit the hospital.

Misunderstandings 1 and 2 led C-Rock to demand we be discharged immediately once we had met the minimum stay requirement of 24 hours. He called the nurses' station to notify them that we were ready to leave. Forty-five minutes later, the nurse arrived with a mountain of paperwork. As she and I began to go through the stack, C-Rock became increasingly agitated. The nurse noticed we had accumulated a lot of stuff in our recovery room, so she suggested C-Rock take a load down and bring the car around to the front entrance. She said by the time he did that and came back up to the room, Chip and I should be ready to roll out. Then he could grab the last of our stuff, she would assist me and the baby in our wheelchair, and we could all head down to the car together. Well, that might have worked except in the time it took C-Rock to return, we had barely finished the paperwork and the nurse had just disappeared after promising to order us a wheelchair. After a half hour of fuming and pacing around the room, C-Rock insisted that the elevator was extremely close to our room and surely I would be fine to carry the baby out while he carried the rest of our stuff.

So, following C-Rock's lead, I began to shuffle down the hallway holding our precious bundle. When we were about to pass the nurses' station, they saw us and flipped out yelling, "WHAT do you think you are doing?!" I explained that my husband was getting very impatient and did not wish to wait for the wheelchair any longer. They then explained that it was a requirement that I be wheeled out - not a luxury that we could 'opt out' of. Further, if we did try to walk out of the hospital with a baby, the 'baby kidnapper' alarms would sound. Parents of the year award - here we come!!

Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?

Once again a member of the O'Doyle household narrowly escaped being hauled off to the slammer, and once again C-Rock's silver tongue was the only thing that saved the day. The major difference was that this time, I was the one in the clutches of the Atlanta P.D.!!

Three guesses what the incident involved... That's right! The glorified crossing guards that regularly shut-down the traffic light systems at major downtown intersections in order to direct the traffic flow "more efficiently." C-Rock and I were coming home from a football game and I was in severe pain from an overly full bladder that my in utero son had decided to start bouncing on. I was D.D. because C-Rock had thoroughly enjoyed the pre-game festivities. Most of the cars on our "secret back-route" home from campus turn left at this particular intersection to get to the interstate. Because we were instead going straight, we were the only car in the right lane and had just passed a few dozen cars waiting in the left lane to make the turn. So, here we are sitting for several minutes watching this traffic cop's back as he directs an endless stream of cars to come through the intersection in the opposite direction of me. Either I'm supposed to be going or he has forgotten that someone in my direction MIGHT be going straight instead of turning left.

I ask C-Rock, "Am I supposed to be going here?" To which he replies with irritation, "Yes! GO!" I tentatively pull forward and get half-way through the intersection when the cop notices me and he is PISSED. He jumps in front of my car, approaches my window, and aggressively directs me to back-up. I hadn't been trying to pull one over on him, the situation was legitimately unclear. At this point, I am embarrassed and uncomfortable. Driving in reverse is never my favorite and now I'm driving in reverse in the dark in an intersection with a raging officer in my face. Then, the SECOND I get all the way back to my starting point, he immediately motions me forward. (Now I'm angry because I understand that there is no reason he has had me back-up except to exert his authority and teach me a lesson for "disobeying" him). As I begin to pull forward, I say to myself, "Really?! You have GOT to be kidding me!" Which apparently, he decided was me mouthing off so he jumps BACK in front of me a second time and directs me to back up AGAIN.

So, my next obvious action was to instead floor the gas pedal, zoom around him, and blow through the intersection to enter the empty road and wide open freedom I've been staring at for the last 5 minutes. Listen, clearly this was a poor life decision and I don't know what to say for myself. I know when he had me slam on the brakes a second time it sent pain shooting through me from the bladder out. I know his overly aggressive actions were causing me to panic. Still, I haven't been so much as pulled over in more than a decade so this is obviously not my typical behavior.

Immediately this guy abandons his intersection, hops on his motorcycle (where did THAT come from anyway?!), and catches up to us about two blocks down the road. He asks for my license and registration, which is in the trunk. He gives me permission to go get it and in the meantime C-Rock asks if the officer would also like to see his license. While I'm hysterically rifling through the trunk looking for my wallet among our tailgating accoutrement, C-Rock has been directed to get out of the vehicle and the two of them are speaking out of my earshot. I find my wallet and begin to approach them when the officer whips around and tells me to "STAY WHERE YOU ARE". (WTH, you just asked me to get my license and show it to you). So I wait by the trunk focusing my energy on keeping all bodily fluids in. The guy sends C-Rock back to the car and calls me over so he can scream at me for several minutes while I'm not permitted to speak. I tell him, "Yes sir, I MUST be out of my mind sir, I apologize sir!" All of which is only pissing him off more. I tell him I don't know what came over me. I am 8 months pregnant, in physical pain, and am about to pee down my leg. He tells me he was about to pee down his leg when I "almost ran him over" and I should be going to jail for trying to run down an officer!

In the end, he did not take me to jail. He did not even give me a ticket. Why? I have no clue. He was not moved by anything I had to say for myself, so the only explanation left is whatever magical powers of persuasion C-Rock used. I remain baffled, but awed by my mysterious husband.

"Not the Hamper"

My husband is an extremely prompt man. You'll never catch him running late for meetings, work, recreational athletic events, or even casual social gatherings. I recently learned that he was born at 12 noon on his due date (though he was Millie's first born).

He's also not one to lose track of things. While I'm endlessly searching for my phone/shoes/keys, he always knows right where his belonging are. Both at work and at school, he's extremely organized and turns in his deliverables on-time every time. I mention all of this only to point out the extreme contradiction between the way C-Rock handles most aspects of his life with the way he handles his dirty laundry. 

This is an endless battle that I fear I may never win. On your behalf, I was inspired to photo-document all of the places I found C-Rock's clothes over the course of one week. Below is a montage I've entitled, "Not the Hamper"...

C-Rock is so thoughtful to plan out such a fun scavenger hunt every laundry day!

Birthday Blowout

Birthdays are a bit of a touchy subject in the O'Doyle household. While C-Rock firmly asserts that "not dying for another year" is not a celebration-worthy accomplishment at our age, birthdays were just short of a national holiday growing up in my family. What's wrong with having one day a year when your loved ones make you feel incredibly special? I suppose if you're a man who prefers to go about your business unnoticed, the idea is not appealing. Due to the misalignment in our respective views, birthdays are a source of bi-annual disappointment in our home.

C-Rock is not one to give me any clues as to what to get him. More than anything, he just doesn't know what he would want. I find this particularly challenging because one of my favorite things is spending a ton of time and effort into putting together the perfect gift. Without any guidance, my painstaking choices for him have been hit or miss over the years. One time I  picked out a random globe among a few other things. After unwrapping it, he could not have ripped open the packaging and started to assemble the thing any more enthusiastically. It has proudly sat next to his desk ever since. However, another year when I planned a surprise road-trip to a bonsai nursery and gave him all the books and tools he would need to get started, it was a big fat fail. The poor box elder tree grows wildly on our back porch amidst the various containers that comprise C-Rock's 'urban garden'.

The importance I place on gift giving also leads to problems on my own birthday. Despite my attempts to explain, C-Rock simply can't understand that a thoughtless gift is just as hurtful as if he'd forgotten my birthday altogether. He believes that as long as he's "spent enough money", his sacrificial offering should be enough to appease the angry wife gods. The biggest meltdown to date occurred on my birthday the first year we were married. As always, I had a list of things I'd had my eye on - and as always - I had spent hours pouring over customer reviews and item specifications to add just the right items to my list. Perhaps, like my husband, you find the idea of a grown woman having a 'wish list' to be absurd. But, I maintain that if someone feels compelled to give me something, why not give them an idea of what I could use or would want? After all, they are *wishes*, not demands, and we do have a very small home.

Anyway, this year C-Rock disappeared for a bit on the morning of my birthday. He comes home about an hour later with a plastic Wal-mart bag in hand. He started to walk up to me and hand me the bag, but after seeing the look on my face, he quickly pivoted and went into the other room. A few minutes later he comes back with the contents placed in a giant, reused Christmas gift bag (sans tissue paper). Despite myself, I became hopeful when I noticed he *did* include a card, which was an improvement from years past. My hopes quickly fell when I pulled the card out of its sleeve and realized it was a "sweaty man" card. This is a tradition between C-Rock and his brothers where they give each other lewd cards with scantly clad man on the front reading things like, "This is chad. He's here to give you your birthday spankings." I then reach in and pull out the small box from the bottom of the over-sized bag. It's a point-and-shoot camera. Nothing close to the one from my list, simply the "whatever's cheapest" option from our local Wal-mart. I put on a brave face for about 30 seconds before I had to run to the bathroom to cry, leaving a baffled C-Rock behind.

Since then, he's decided to stick to my list and at least plan further in advance than the day of. He also steers clear of sweaty man cards and tries to remember to write at least a little something inside. I try to remember he cares even if his gifts don't always show it. It's not a perfect system, but I hold out hope it will go smoother as we grow older together... one stinkin birthday at a time.

Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder?

Though we were both raised in the same faith, I am the practicing of the two of us. More often than not, I don't bother dragging C-Rock to church with me and instead go it alone. Whereas I thrive on the tradition, the words, the community... he just doesn't feel he gets anything out of the weekly hour of pew aerobics. The arrangement usually works for us because part of my personal beliefs is that no one has a right to say anything about another's journey with his or her maker. However, there have been the occasional exceptions to general balance we have found in our relationship with the church.

One such instance was when we were engaged and going through our pre-cana (a premarital series required in order to get married in our faith). As part of the required series, we had an option between a one-day workshop or a weekend retreat with other engaged couples. You might imagine that a quiet, private man who is not eager to attend weekly service wasn't so keen on the idea of devoting an entire weekend with strangers while we explored our faith and our feelings for one another. We battled it out over the course of several months, but in the end C-Rock screwed up with something big and "decided" to attend the retreat as penance.

Probably C-Rock's biggest gripe over the whole ordeal was having to share a small room with another man. (Apparently, he was under the mistaken impression that the church would have the unmarried couples room together.) The retreat was led by two older married couples and one priest. The whole weekend was planned to the minute and though we were exhausted by the end, the experience did force us to have many deep, one-on-one conversations with each other about topics that C-Rock wouldn't normally be  in a mindset to discuss openly. By the time we had reached the final evening, I was feeling very comfortable and open. So, when we were given the chance to submit anonymous questions to the retreat leaders, I seized the opportunity to ask some real, though taboo questions. I gave it some serious thought and then submitted my anonymous slips of paper.

When the retreat leaders fetched the first question out of the hat, my heart quickly plunged into my stomach. It read, "My fiance and I are having a difficult time selecting which reading would be most appropriate for our ceremony. Do you have any suggestions?" The next several sickeningly innocent questions did nothing to alleviate my mounting mortification. But, I knew as long as I could remain calm when they got to my racy questions, my anonymity would be my refuge. The woman reading my first question appeared slightly startled, but thankfully remained composed as she read, "My fiance and I disagree regarding whether we ought to engage in a period of complete abstinence before our wedding. Do you think this would give us time to reflect on the non-physical aspects of our relationship or that the distance might become a wedge between us in the months leading up to our marriage?" A few brave individuals actually voiced opinions and the leaders responded with some helpful feedback. I was beyond relieved that no one could see how deeply I was blushing in the darkened room!

Unfortunately, before I'd had a chance to fully recover, the woman immediately draws out my second question. She reads, "My fiance and I disagree on whether pornography is acceptable in our household once we are married. Is it unreasonable that it makes me uncomfortable?" This time the leaders do not hold for audience input and instead launch into a lecture on the Catechism and how pornography is NEVER acceptable and... When C-Rock cuts her off by loudly exclaiming, "Then WHAT the HECK am I supposed to do during this (he raises his hands to gesture air quotes) "period of abstinence"?! Cover blown. I wanted to die.