Porter's Revenge

When Lillian went into labor, Porter had not dropped. Apparently, this is an important part of the delivery, and without dropping, most doctor's think, say, and then perform a C-section. However, my wife could give rocks and mules lessons on stubborn determination, and that just wasn't going to happen.

I'm fairly certain that when it came time to be born, Porter looked at the option and decided, "Naw, not for me." His thinking was fairly logical: he was warm, well-fed, didn't have to wear diapers, and had his own, personal punching/kicking bag.

But born he was, and he has not, let us forget how angry his is with our decision.

Porter doesn't cry.

Porter screams with length, breadth and duration that Banshees have sent us letters in protest. Angry doesn't begin to describe Porter's general state of being. He burns with a fiery intensity to rival a thousand suns going super-nova. My own personal ability to go from zero to leap-across-the-table-and-sink-my-canines-into-your-jugular-to-taste-the-salty-warmth-of-your-life-blood is but a mere shadow of the emotional outrage my son can summon at will.

Originally, I thought he was angry at being wet, dirty, hungry, cold, or America's continued dependence on foriegn oil.

Now, however, I'm certain the child has determined to punish his mother and father for ripping him from his original room of comfort and ease. I've asked him, and he's admitted, though not in a fashion admissable in court, that he sleeps during the day so as to be awake when I get home from a hard day's slaving at the marketing mills, and then summons his Kung Fu Fury to hurl at mother and father all through the night.

Though bleary-eyed and mostly zombie-brained, I have to admire his determination. You should too!

Things I've Learned

So, unfortunately and inevitably, I've learned a few things about being a parent.

You need to read that previous statement carefully, as it does not say I have learned anything about babies. I haven't. You want statements on babies, let me recommend Dr. Spocks Baby and Child Care. He's studies multiple babies over multiple years. That's why they put that "Dr." in front of his name.

Now, as to what I've learned. First, everyone will make jokes about sleep, or rather sleep deprevation. In some cases it's shared pain (from other parents) in other cases it's learned mocking (from those who don't have children yet). To everyone I make the same, confused face and simple respond: Sleep!?

It's quick, it's simple, it allows the "everyone" to laugh at the appropriate time and I can get back on with my life.

I've also learned that everyone thinks they're a baby expert. No, I'm not kidding here. People who have twelve babies, people who've had no babies, people who are still babies; everyone is an expert. Or at least they have some nugget of golden wisdom that they feel impelled to pass on to you, generally unsolicited. Consider the ladies at the football game Lil and I attended some time back who sniffed at Porter's lack of headwear, even though it was 85+ degrees out.

Yeah, I get it, he's little, but if the ambient temperature is closing in on triple digits, chances are being cold isn't my son's first concern.

Along that same line, the best advice has been solicited. My college buddy, Eric and his wife did copious amounts of research, reading and studying before becoming parents. They are, by no means experts, but their general outlook is one of sense and sensibility grounded with some down home wisdom. Also on the list of great advice givers when asked are my parents, Lil's parents, some members of our mutual families, and some friends.

Notice how I'm not naming and names here. I've also learned that accepting some advice over others, or flat rejecting it tends to be a lot like wearing copper armor during an electrical storm while standing on top of the highest hill and screaming, "All gods are bastards!"

I've learned that changing diapers isn't a big deal. I was honestly worried about this part. I'm not really into gross stuff on any level. I like things neat, tidy and above all clean. Yes, I'm one of those metrosexual boys who actually gets that the toilet seats works in two directions, and that dingy grey-brown is not the normal color for more tubs. Still, changing Porter, even though he baptized me on a dozen occassions, hasn't been an issue. It's been an issue when I'm tired and don't want to go through the motions, but hell, that's true of almost anything that I do . . . or rather don't do.

You know, like updating a blog.

I've learned that everyone loves Porter. I don't know if everyone loves babies, or if I'm just a proud papa, but everyone around us seems interested in our boy. Maybe it's just the wonder and awe that I could actually produce offspring, or the fascination-horror of what that offspring is/will be like. I dunno.

But my boy is currently not a ham. He prefers two states of being: sleeping and screaming.

Yes, I've learned that my boy's state of being awake is one of pure anger, angry at being wet, angry at being dirty, angry at being hungry, angry at being gassy, angry at America's ongoing dependence for foriegn oil. Angry.

But at the end of all that, I've learned unconditional love. Sure, there are times that leaving him, screaming, on a monestary's front door does have its momentary appeal, but that's all it is: momentary. The other 86,399 seconds of every day are spent in awe and love of this child.

Have a great weekend everyone!