Y'all Are Dropping The Ball!!

     With this being the time of Thanksgiving, I have a simple question to ask of those that know me: What the heck?!

     I don't know if there is any any polite or socially acceptable way to discuss this, but, how come no one has thrown me a second baby shower? I mean, that is a thing, right? Y'all gave us presents when Wyatt was coming, so, what, is this new one not good enough for you?

This is Wyatt's rendition of a Christmas Tree. You can even see it has presents at the base. It is his first true piece of art, and, sadly, is a little better than anything I have ever made. Clearly, he has a baby-shower on his mind.

     Sure, yeah, Cara had a bunch of girls throw her a shower, but she got things like gift cards and diapers and clothes for New Wyatt (still the working name of the baby). When do I get stuff? This new baby needs a dad that has Smash Bros! Do you really expect me to raise a child without the support of the community?! Or without night vision goggles?

     Now, I think I've been pretty patient up to this point, but the baby is due to come any minute now. The doctor recently described Cara as "Holy crap!" and this was at least three weeks before the due date. So when little Bruce Wayne shows up (the new working name of the baby!), I sure hope he's coming into a world where his dad has every season of Animaniacs on DVD.

Wyatt and Lil' Sebastian

     Please don't think I am trying to be selfish here, because, as always, I only want what's best for my growing family. It just seems like none of you have remembered the age old tradition of the second-baby-shower-for-dad that our culture has held dear for ages. You know, we play those classic everybody-hates-them shower games like "Who can eat the most ribs" or "Halo," tell stories about how great I am, and then open presents while the second round of food is being delivered (Please, no pizza, we aren't in college).

     I get it. You just thought that other person was going to be in charge of setting it up, haven't you. I've been there. It's like when I thought Justin Timberlake wanted my phone number so we could be friends, but then I realized he was talking to that girl directly in front of him and he didn't even know I was there. I still gave it to him. You're embarrassed because you think it's too late to throw me a party. It's not!! And it's okay if the party takes place during the baby's birth, even, because it is more important that this little guy know that his dad loves him so much he had to miss the big event to acquire some necessities like a cute little onesie for the baby or a cute little onesie for the daddy. It's worth it.

While Cara was taking this picture, I put my hands on my head.
Wyatt did the same, and I think we have a new tradition.

     So go ahead, take the initiative, throw me a party. It's not too late. Let's not make this a missed opportunity that we'll all regret but most of all you will regret.

They guy who took this picture started getting very, very uncomfortable.

It... it was me,.. I took the picture.

My mood: depressed without any new toys.
Wyatt's mood: depressed without dad having any new toys.
Cara's feeling: unable to sleep and always sore and totally uncomfortable but really excited to make me breakfast.
Listening to: "5000 Candles In The Wind (Bye Bye Lil' Sebastian)"

Poop It Out, Little Man!!

This little guy loves leaves but bashes bathrooms. I am a good writer.

   Guys, here's the deal: Wyatt hates pooping. It is easily his least favorite thing about being a person. He hates it so much he'll postpone it as long has he can. I've talked about this a little, but let's really delve deep into the issues here.

   One of the best things about having a little kid is how freely and often you get to talk about these sorts of things. When you are in middle school or college and want to make fart jokes, there best not be an adult or mom around. But now?! Talking about a toddler?! It's all fair game again!!

This is the face Wyatt makes when we tell him he'll be happy if he just poops.
I love that I get to write the word "poop" so much.

   When Wyatt was a little baby, he had a couple of big hard poops. I had to help them out, actually, pinching through the diaper. This taught him that pooping is scary and painful and he has avoided it as much as he can. He holds it in. His record is 13 days. I am not kidding. It made local news as "Wyatt Watch 2014" and they had one of those graphic calendars that started counting on day 9. He spends days in constant motion, even just rocking side-to-side, because he knows once he stops moving he'll be in pain and need to poop. He doesn't like to poop.

   Which is crazy, right? If I were to ask you (which I would), I'd bet you'd list pooping as one of the best parts of your day, if you really stopped to think about it. Which you now are. Thinking about it. Gross. And little boys potty-train so easy. Wyatt LOVES going #1 outside. He rightly knows that is one of the best things about being a guy. We'll be 5 feet from the bathroom, he'll have to go pee, and scream "Wy go pee!" and run outside. One time at Costco he had to go, so we just dropped his shorts by some Arborvitae bushes that were for sale and let him go. Then we bought some other ones for our fence. Pee is no problems. Poo is the problem. (My lawyers are telling me that I should put in a disclaimer: That Costco story is not true. But one day, it will be.)

   We've given him laxatives and lots of juice, we've fed him the right foods and kept him moving. Nothing. So please don't call me with your advice for how to get a kid to poop. Call Cara. She loves that stuff.

Wyatt sleeping while watching George on the Kindle. He gets to play on Dad's iPad when he ... you know ... does that thing. When he doesn't he has to play on a Kindle like a sucker.

   Well, go back to September. Wyatt got a star-balloon for his birthday. It was a balloon in the shape of a star. He loved it and slept with it and took it everywhere and wouldn't let us help him hold it on walks. One day he and I were walking and it got caught on a light-pole and pulled out of his grasp. He yelled, I lunged for it, then scaled the light pole to the top, then jumped from the top to grab it. It was just beyond my reach. I fell softly to the ground with only a bird in my hand to show for my efforts. None of this is true except that he lost his balloon to a light-pole.

   He cried for days. And weeks later, he'd ask me to go driving around, looking for his star balloon. I mean, this was his first real loss, yknow?! Well, that and he's lost every time we've ever raced. But when he'd ask for a star-balloon, he knew in the back of his mind he could get a new one if he'd just go poop in the potty. (The whole "in the potty" part is quite critical, really.)

   I'd say "Wy, do you know how you can get a new star balloon?" He'd stop crying and pause, then sigh and say "Yeah, Wy poop in potty. Wy no want star balloon." His love of the balloon was outweighed by his fear of the poop. This was in the midst of his 13-day marathon.

   When he finally went, all tired and shaking and red and crying and scared, he sat on the potty traumatized. Then he stopped, got brief glimmer of hope in his eye, and weakly said "Star balloon?!"

   We've made a lot of progress since then. Now he goes about once every three or four days, no longer holds it in to the point he gets streaks in his underwear (wish he'd teach me this trick), and doesn't fight it and cry when the dirty deed is starting. We have hope that we can get this thing nailed down before New Wyatt comes in a month. That's the baby's name, we think. New Wyatt.

Wyatt and mom, both happy to have pooped. I mean... wait, what?

Wyatt's mood: bit of an earache *sadface*
My mood: can't wait for a 4-day weekend.
Cara's mood: "I was walking today and I thought the baby was just going to fall out."
Listening to: More Than Just A Dream like a million times.