Tag Archives: footnote

Juno23

mike

0

Two Months: Dad’s Footnote

Dad’s Footnote
Hey Cece-
I have a confession. You’re going to find out sooner or later so you might as well hear it from me. Your father is a bit of a geek. There I said it. Some would say more than just a bit. I’ve been known to indulge in comic books now and again. Sometimes even on the train which embarasses your Mother. Personally I prefer the more gentrified term, graphic novels, but she doesn’t see the difference. Anyway, all this month someting had been bugging me. As I watched you go from a lump of cuteness last month to a slightly more animated, but still relatively stationary, lump of cuteness this month, I kept feeling this nagging sense of deja vu. A prodding fingertip of familiarity. What was it? Where had I come across this before?
It didn’t hit me until that Wednesday night in mid-June when we were sitting on the couch together at one a.m. (your choice, not mine) and we flipped past Superman on TNT. Not the earlier, more superiour Richard Donner version, but the more recent souless Bryan Singer one. That was it. That was what was bugging me. I was witnessing an origin story. That stock staple of comic, er, graphic novels everywhere. You were Peter Parker just after the spider bite. Bruce Banner after the gamma bomb. Kal-El landing in that Kansas field, though until your hair fills in you resemble Lex Luthor more than Clark Kent.
This second month we’ve witnessed you becoming more aware of your emerging powers. You’ve started honing your extra sensory perception of exactly when your parents put their heads down on the pillow. It’s really an uncanny ability. When you’re sure that we are drifting off to asleep, you unleash a sound wave with such power and displacement that we’re afraid the paint will start peeling from the walls. We try to hold out, but we’re defenseless. Once we hear the rivets start popping out of the furniture, we’ll tentatively edge into your room and witness your little fists of fury pounding grapefruit size dents into the mattress. Your little legs will be pumping like a miniature wild mustang. It’s an awesome sight to behold when you flip all your switches to 11 and become one vibrating mass of infant energy. The Cecilia Files. Greatest comic book ever.
- Dad

Hey Cece-

I have a confession. You’re going to find out sooner or later so you might as well hear it from me. Your father is a bit of a geek. There I said it. Some would say more than just a bit. I’ve been known to indulge in comic books now and again. Sometimes even on the train which embarasses your Mother. Personally I prefer the more gentrified term, graphic novels, but she doesn’t see the difference. Anyway, all this month someting had been bugging me. As I watched you go from a lump of cuteness last month to a slightly more animated, but still relatively stationary, lump of cuteness this month, I kept feeling this nagging sense of deja vu. A prodding fingertip of familiarity. What was it? Where had I come across this before?

It didn’t hit me until that Wednesday night in mid-June when we were sitting on the couch together at one a.m. (your choice, not mine) and we flipped past Superman on TNT. Not the earlier, more superiour Richard Donner version, but the more recent souless Bryan Singer one. That was it. That was what was bugging me. I was witnessing an origin story. That stock staple of comic, er, graphic novels everywhere. You were Peter Parker just after the spider bite. Bruce Banner after the gamma bomb. Kal-El landing in that Kansas field, though until your hair fills in you resemble Lex Luthor more than Clark Kent.

This second month we’ve witnessed you becoming more aware of your emerging powers. You’ve started honing your extra sensory perception of exactly when your parents put their heads down on the pillow. It’s really an uncanny ability. When you’re sure that we are drifting off to asleep, you unleash a sound wave with such power and displacement that we’re afraid the paint will start peeling from the walls. We try to hold out, but we’re defenseless. Once we hear the rivets start popping out of the furniture, we’ll tentatively edge into your room and witness your little fists of fury pounding grapefruit size dents into the mattress. Your little legs will be pumping like a miniature wild mustang. It’s an awesome sight to behold when you flip all your switches to 11 and become one vibrating mass of infant energy. The Cecilia Files. Greatest comic book ever.

- Dad

Mayo18

mike

0

One Month: Dad’s Footnote

Hey Cece-

It’s your Dad. Right now you might know me better as “the taller one” or “the one with the really cold hands” or “the one with the removable nipples.” Who knows what goes on in a baby’s mind. That last one is called a bottle by the way. We just started giving it to you last week because your Mother was exhausted from sleepwalking to your crib every night and she just couldn’t take being one of the six people in America actually watching Caron Daly’s late night show.

This first month you’ve been cute as a button. Of course, you’ve also been about as active as a button. Sleep, cry, eat, poop. Lather, rinse, repeat. Which makes you a very normal baby and makes your Dad very thankful and a lot less prone to identify symptoms and traits portrayed in some of the more extreme stories they put in these baby books. 

Now, did you catch that line in your Mom’s last post? The one about how our lives haven’t changed that much since your arrival? Yeah, that’s called evolution or Mom-nesia. It’s how the human race continues to prosper and procreate because trust me, our lives have changed. Let’s look at just a few of the ways:

One, there is now an obstacle course of swings, pack-n-plays, jungle themed mats and pink, puffy things in the living room. Two, time leaps and bends in odd ways. We wake up in the dark and hold you, blink and it’s light outside. Blink again and it’s sunset. It’s weird. Third, like I mentioned above, we’re watching Carson Daly and we’re always inordinately happy that the Sham-wow commercial is not on again. Fourth, I never noticed just how much our house creaks and settles than when I’m trying to escape the nursery after putting you down. Fifth, I now routinely cut your Mom’s food on her plate so she can eat one handed. I guess this is good practice, but not something we normally did before your arrival. Finally, even if we’re just going up the road for ice cream, I feel like a sherpa leading an expeditionary force to the North Pole with the amount of stuff I load into the car. It appears to be inverserly proportional to your weight. I’m sure it’s in the appendix of one of those baby books.

I could go on, but let’s just say our lives have changed. A lot. I think what Mom meant to say is that after one month it feels like you’ve always been around. That you were always meant to be with us. I couldn’t agree more on that score.

- Dad