The Slothful Papa

So, I’ve been neglecting my Daddy-blogging, but it’s been a busy couple weeks in Peterland.

The biggest thing is that his mom went back to work this past Monday after spending 99.99% of Peter’s life in his presence. To say it is a difficult transition for her is a vast understatement. To make matters worse, a couple weeks ago Peter started rejecting being bottle-fed. He’s been almost exclusively breast-fed his whole life, which was fine with him. But we did have him take a bottle on occasion during his first 8 weeks of life, and there was no problem. But now he wants Mommy only. I can get him to feed a little using a medicine dropper, squirting milk into his open mouth, but it’s not a very efficient feeding method. We’re working on him, though, and while we know he’ll eventually figure out that bottles are ok we get frazzled when he gets hungry but doesn’t eat what’s right in front of him.

Other than that all seems fine. Peter’s getting pretty big and heavy. In fact, most of his socks now do not fit him. Well, they still cover his feet, but the heel parts are in the middle of his feet instead at the back. And he also has narrow feet like his old man, so at least the too-small socks aren’t too tight on his widdle footsies.

[The following paragraph contains excretory references, so skip over if you don’t care for that kind of stuff.] I was changing Peter the other morning, and Peter managed to pee on me not once, not twice, but three times in the span of 3 or 4 minutes. But I got off easy. A day later I overhear Peter’s Mom let out a surprised cry of alarm. Being the concerned husband and father that I am, I run over to her and ask what’s wrong. But I didn’t need to ask, as it was evident that Peter wasn’t quite ready for that diaper change just yet. Out went a load of infant poo, shooting out past the changing mat and onto the top of his drawers, covering, well, lots of things. After he and the area were cleaned up I ran his soiled laundry down to the basement and tossed them in the washer and set it to “sanitary.” But I tell you, when you’re changing a baby’s diaper, it’s like juggling a hand grenade with the pin pulled out. [The nasty stuff is now over.]

We took Peter to the zoo last Saturday where my work was having its annual summer event. Peter was bored at the picnic part and voiced his opinion that we were taking too long in socializing. When we finally got him out to see the koalas and monkeys he took a nap. Then again, so did most of the animals. So I took pictures of a sleeping Peter and the sleeping animals. I suppose it could have been worse, like they were all hysterical. That would have been a short trip.

Oh, and now that I think about it, Peter has graduated to his big-boy stroller, which lists 6 months as the earliest age for use. But when we put him in it he was bigger than the smallest setting for the straps (and not just a little). When we took him out in it the first time his eyes got pretty big because the view is a lot less obscured that the frame that snaps to his car seat. And the inflatable wheels make the ride a lot smoother for him and whoever is pushing him along.