The First 'No, Belle!'

We encourage Annabelle. A lot. In fact, that's what we've spent most of our time doing in the last month.

• "Grab that ring, Belle. You've got it! Good girl!"
• "Smile for the camera, cutie."
• "Fall asleep, baby. You can do it!"

And then, this week, all of a sudden, it happened. The unthinkable. The unimaginable. The first "No!"

It was a pretty surreal moment, almost like slow motion. I think I actually saw the two letters rolling off my tongue. And as soon as I said it, I regretted it.

What possibly could have forced me to say such an awful thing to a perfect, angelic four-month-old baby? 

I was giving Annabelle a tour of our apartment, which happens to be one of our favorite activities. We check out the blinds on the windows, the shiny refrigerator, the snow-covered backyard, and the pictures of Mom and Dad when they were young and care-free. We've probably taken the tour, oh, 739 times since she was born.

The tour, which can last up to 15 minutes, depending on the quality of the guide, typically ends in Belle's room. We look at her white noise machine, some of her stuffed animals, and pay homage to the magic sleep suit. And we always end up in front of her full-length mirror for a spirited game of "Who's the Baby in the Mirror?" (Hint: It's always Annabelle.) She looks at herself and smiles. She looks at me and makes a funny face. Then she hides into my shoulder. It cracks us both up every time.

But on this occasion, on Wednesday night, as I looked away to move something from her crib, her little hand reached out to grab the mirror. Then her hand darted toward the side of the mirror and she tried to grab it ... "No, Belle!" I grabbed her hand and pulled it back toward us.

Now, the chance of her hurting herself was somewhere around 1 in 8,000. The side of the mirror isn't exactly sharp, but it does have a corner that made me envision a cut finger, a bloody mess, a wailing baby, and an inconsolable Dad. Fortunately, none of that happened. Annabelle didn't seem bothered by my negative words and was asleep in her crib five minutes later.

I left her room with my head down and told Bridget what happened, about the first time I discouraged our daughter from doing something. She smiled and put it in perspective for me: "That 'no,' sweetie, is the first of many."

As usual, she's right. The word "no" is going to become a favorite in the next several months. Annabelle's going to start putting Oscar's fur in her mouth and banging her head against everything she can find. She's going to start crawling and pulling things off tables. Then, of course, she'll start dating asinine teenage boys who won't wear their baseball caps the right way. Keep your hands to yourself, punk!

(Relax, Mike, relax ...)

Okay, so I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Still, she's my little girl and she's perfect. If you ever read this, Annabelle, just know how traumatic it was for me to say "No" to you for the first time. Now, shut off the TV and go do your homework ...

Belle's Magic Suit

It costs $39.95. It weighs 15 ounces. Its dimensions are 11 x 10 x 3 inches.

But that’s not really how you measure the appropriately named Baby Merlin’s Magic Sleepsuit. The only measurement that really matters is this: Hundreds of hours of sleep.

Now, I’ve been a Dad for only four months. I still don’t know much about milestones, daycare, and development stages. But I know that Baby Merlin’s Magic Sleepsuit is the greatest thing that anyone has ever invented in the history of the world. Ever. In the history of the damn world! EVER!

In fact, you should buy one now. Seriously, here’s the link. If you find your way back to the blog post, cool. If not, I really don’t mind.

But, Mike, my partner and I aren’t planning to have any children. Doesn’t matter. Buy one anyway. Okay, maybe that’s a bit too far, but this thing, man, this thing!

(Now is a good time to note that I'm not a paid advertiser for Baby Merlin's Magic Sleepsuit. Honestly, who would pay me to advertise something?)

Baby Merlin's Magic Sleepsuit is, without question, the one thing I would tell every new parent to buy. Sure, you need diapers and bottles and bibs. You need clothes and pacifiers and a crib. You need blankets and wipes and a stroller. But you need Baby Merlin’s Magic Sleepsuit.

At first glance, of course, it was just another piece of clutter. It drew my typical doubting, raised-eyebrow glance and patented four questions:

• “Do we really need that?” 
• “How much did it cost?” 
• “Where are we going to put it after it doesn’t work?” 
• “Really?” 

In fact, when Bridget brought it home from a store or ordered it from Amazon (it’s hard to know anymore), I actually thought it was a scam: “A suit to help babies sleep? Did it come with magic beans? If I look out the window, will I see a giant stalk?” (I continued with this hilarious line of questioning for a while until I realized Bridget was in a different room and had stopped listening after the word “suit.”)

It took only one night before I realized the power of Merlin’s magic. Belle, knock on wood, has been a pretty darn good sleeper so far. Even in the first couple weeks, she was going down for four or five hours at a time. Bridget and I were tired new parents, but it wasn’t unbearable. Then the suit happened and, bam, she slept from 10 PM – 6 AM. We’ve been using it for about two months, and those four or five hours have consistently become 10 hours.

How does the suit work? Well, it’s magic, so how the hell would I know? The website says this: “The Magic Sleepsuit is designed to be introduced at approximately three months of age when most babies are growing out of swaddling, transitioning into larger more spacious cribs from smaller sleep environments … it provides babies with the comfort they need by helping to muffle their twitches and startle-type movements that can wake them prematurely, and by keeping them cozy and secure making it easier to go to sleep on their own or fall back asleep if woken.” 

Like I said, magic. If you don’t believe me, check out the testimonials on the Sleepsuit site. So many testimonials, right? (If you didn’t click the link, basically, it’s people using lots of exclamation points.)

Does it make Belle look like the kid from A Christmas Story? Sure, but who cares? That movie is a classic. She and I will watch it together someday and I’ll tell Belle about her magic suit.

I really hope she’s still sleeping through the night then.

Memories of the Gym

I went to the gym last Sunday. Big deal, right?

You worked out? You lifted some weights? Whoop dee doo, Mike. Congratulations. 

First off, thanks. I sense your sarcasm, but thanks. Secondly, the thing is, going to the gym IS a big deal nowadays. Last Sunday’s visit marked the third time in the last month. A whole month! That’s terrible!

It’s obvious (and well documented because of this blog) that life before Belle (LBB) was different for me and Bridget. Nowhere, though, is that as obvious as the gym.

I used to go to the gym at least 4-5 times a week. Sometimes I’d go six days a week, sometimes seven. There’s just something invigorating and cathartic about throwing iron around for 45 minutes. The thumping tunes in your ears. The feel of your muscles expanding and contracting. The knowledge that you’re making your body leaner, stronger, and faster. It’s like a drug.

But now, it’s a drug for someone else. It’s for LBB.

I used to run a lot, too. I ran a half marathon last year and spent many afternoons sprinting up the bleachers at Harvard Stadium. One of my favorite moments each week was a Saturday morning 7-miler along the Charles River. I used to love the feel of my shoes softly bouncing off the pavement while I fought off the glare of the morning sun. A cool breeze off the water when the day started to heat up. A friendly wave from a fellow early-morning jogger. A satisfying gulp of Gatorade after I’d finished the final sprint down my street.

But now, the Gatorade is for someone else. It's for LBB.

Staying in shape has always been really important to me. I’ve run since high school and lifted since college. I’ve always made sure I could run a mile in six minutes and bench press my weight. Someday soon, though, those milestones will fall into that scary three-letter category. You guessed it: LBB.

But as I sat at the gym last Sunday (yes, sat; I was tired, so leave me alone), I stopped getting mad at myself for missing 28 other gym days that month. Instead, I focused on the three days I was there. And I felt good about myself for doing at least something every day. Because I can’t go to the gym, I’ve adopted short daily exercises, including:

• The 7-minute iPhone workout 
• The deck of cards workout 
• Good, old fashioned free weights in my living room 

Do I miss the gym? Yes. Do I miss running? You bet. But if daily trips to the gym and half marathons on cool fall days means I’d have to trade places with the LBB guy, I'm really not interested. Frankly, Gatorade is overrated anyway.

Why I'm Choosing a Word Instead of Making a Resolution

Oscar and I haven't always been buddies. In fact, when we first met, relations were downright icy. I didn't really like dogs and he didn't really like some dude getting lots of Bridget's attention.

But in April of 2011, we became best friends. That spring, after about a year of dating, Bridget went to Australia and Fiji for two weeks, which meant I was responsible for Oscar. I had to walk him, feed him, and pick up his poop. I called it my Oscar immersion.

Fast forward 2.5 years and I just had the same experience with Annabelle. Sure, I'd changed diapers, fed her, and generally learned how to be a Dad from September 4 - December 23, but when Bridget went back to work that Monday morning, all baby eyes were on me. For the last two weeks, from 9-5, I had to do it all myself. (Well, mostly myself; I had help with milk production.) My sole purpose in life was making Annabelle smile more than she cried.

Now, Annabelle is officially turning into a daddy's girl. These two weeks changed everything. I know I can take care of my daughter on my own. I've successfully completed my Annabelle immersion.

As I thought about these two experiences, that one word stuck in my head: immersion. It's going to guide me in 2014.

Back in April of 2011, I had some fears about the whole Oscar experience. I'd never cared for a dog on my own and had this image in my mind of Oscar ripping off a small child's leg at Fresh Pond while I watched in horror. Dog catchers. Paramedics. Lawsuits. Blood everywhere. That, of course, didn't happen. (In fact, Oscar's most aggressive move is barking at the doorbell.)

A couple weeks ago, going into the Annabelle experience, I had the same fears -- not of her ripping off a child's leg, but of me doing something horribly wrong. Broken bones. Hours of crying. Poop on the ceiling. And all of that, again, of course, didn't happen. (She did pee on me several times, but that's cool.)

I realize, in hindsight, that the fears were unfounded. But it took really dedicating myself to something to know for sure. The Oscar and Annabelle immersions both gave me a newfound confidence that changed the way I interacted with both of them.

So why not get immersed in more things in 2014? Instead of making a resolution that I'll undoubtedly ignore in a month, I'm going to try to change my mindset. Think about it: Will I really stop eating ice cream at night? (Not likely.) Will I really go running four times a week? (Doubt it.) Will I really learn how to play the guitar? (No.)

That doesn't mean I won't have goals or strive for success; it just means I'm going to try to take a deep dive into what I'm doing and be more present. Right now, I'm one of those people who is always thinking about my next step. If I'm at the gym, I'm thinking about the groceries I need. If I'm walking to work, I'm thinking about that project I need to finish. If I'm reading a book, I'm thinking about the next one on my list. Instead, I should be thinking about my body's response to the exercise, my foot against the pavement, and the words on the page.

I hope to apply this idea of immersion to everything this year -- new skills, new books, and new ideas. Will it be challenging? Yes. But it seems like a great place to put my energy for the next 12 months. Plus, there's no way I'm giving up ice cream.