Will will turn 7 weeks this Saturday, which amazes me that nearly 2 months has blown by already! As a matter of fact, I would go so far as to say that these past 7 weeks have been a sort of blur. A bleary-eyed, stumbling blur focused at varying intervals by a smile, a gurgle, or a stinky poo (let me tell you – nothing clears the cobwebs from the melon like a stinky poo). And then there’s the sleep. Ahhhh, the sleep.

This whole “having a baby thing” wasn’t so bad the first two weeks, which coincidentally were two weeks that I didn’t work and wasn’t bound by time. My time was defined by a cry or a grunt (and that was just from me!), not by a mandate that I had to actually be someplace. Then that all ended and I suddenly felt like a squishy ball in a pinball machine, getting bounced from bumper to bumper as I rolled my way through the day…. only to finally drop out of the bottom at the end, get a little rest, and then sent back out again.

Don’t misunderstand – I love being a dad and a husband and it really isn’t that bad, it is just a change in routine from that which I was used to. And each weekday has its bright spots that often send the pinball machine into TILT – seeing Jess and Will at lunch; bathing Will each night and snuggling a bit afterward; lying next to Jess, reading, and talking about our days. Those are the everydays that make just a handful of hours of sleep tolerable, a tense moment not so tense, and bleary vision crystal clear.

After Jess surprised me with an Easter basket in bed (new boxers, dried mango, and other great stuff) and I sat in Will’s room, giving him his bottle and watching his beautiful little face, I realized: this was the best Easter I’ve ever had. And I have so many more to look forward to!

Happy Easter!

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Ima P. Freak, though I am affectionately known in my household as Paranoid Freak. I wasn’t born with this name. No, there was a time when I was Normal Joe Guy… even the Bunger to some. But those days are gone, replaced instead by the new me. The me that prefers to go out of the way to a store so my wife doesn’t have to take our 5-week old child into the nasty world of germs and infectious diseases. The me that washes my hands so many times they are dry and brittle. The me that worries whether Will just spewed forth a Mt. Vesuvius-sized spit-up when he gurgles a bit from his crib, often rushing in to make sure his cute little face hasn’t been Pompeii`ed. The me that worries Will’s hands are too cold, Will’s face is too warm, Will’s bottom is too red, and Will’s outfit is too ugly.

So this is what I have become. Nevermind that Will’s immune system is probably stronger than mine; that his gurgles are usually just the let-off valve for gas that is building and preparing to depart the south exit; that his hands, face, and bottom are fine… but sometimes the outfit I pick out is a bit on the wrong side of cute. Luckily for me (and my state of mind, which is oftentimes highly suspect) I have Jess, who can often quell my tremblings with a look or a word… or collection of words that often include ridiculous, stupid, paranoid, and freak. If it weren’t for Jess, I might be tempted to construct a bubble around our house to prevent any undesirables from entering – though realistically, I would spend 6 months thinking about it, 2 months planning it, 1 day starting it, and then give up because it is too hard – not all of the old me is gone. As a matter of fact, most of the old me is still around… he just sometimes gets stepped on by Mr. Ima P. Freak. But that’s okay because I also have another nickname: Dad. I could go on for awhile about that other nickname, but I have to go… my hands need washing and I think Will just either spontaneously combusted or fired off a tremendous fart. Sure hope it’s not the spontaneous combustion… I hear that is going around this time of year…

Will Update: my Mom and brother came up from Indiana for the weekend and finally got to meet their grandson/nephew. Will was quite smitten by both of them and I think the feelings were mutual! Oh yeah… and Jess tried out the Baby Bjorn thingy…

Bear with me on this one… it will come together in the end….

So about 8 weeks ago I was watching a Today Show segment on shaving. Corey Greenberg, a Weekend Today contributor, was presenting the old school alternatives to today’s 3-blade, gel-enhanced, wallet-busting techniques. He quickly demonstrated the lathering of the face with a good shaving brush and soap, and though he didn’t actually shave on the show, I could almost feel the smooth effects that a sturdy, double-edge safety razor had to offer. I was hooked. Now granted, I get sucked into these types of things pretty easily – you just need to flash some fancy gadget in front of me and I’m onboard, but this was different. These were the tools that our fathers, grandfathers, and great grandfathers used to use with ease (before that, I imagine they used straight razors… but I’m not ready to enter their league of shaving)! So I jumped online and began my search for these treasured items. And what a bounty I found. Just read one of the descriptions: the Finest Quality Bristles all Hand Weighed and Knotted, Lathe Turned and Hand Polished Handles, and an Unwavering Final Inspection that insures conformance to their Legendary Standards of Quality! Do I even need to say anymore? So I ordered ‘em up.

About a week ago my shaving items arrived and I neatly arranged the brush, soap, and razor on the bathroom counter. I admired those hand weighed and knotted bristles, the lathe turned handle, and thanked them for having such legendary standards. And then I shaved. It was not the romantic dance of craftsmanship and functionality I had envisioned. Actually, I cut myself up pretty badly. And the razor burn. OH, the razor burn! But in between the blood and bumps, I had indeed received the closest shave in a long time. So I forged ahead each night with my new shaving ritual. And each night I proceeded to chop and mar my face in a way only Wes Craven could appreciate. As bad as it sounds, I was actually getting a little better at it… each night requiring a little less toilet paper to cover the deep cuts. I am down to about 1 piece now and tonight I didn’t need any!

And then there is the “no-burn” after shave lotion that I bought to offset some of the sting. The bottle literally states that it will not burn. Well, I think whoever tested that stuff must not have had nerve endings anywhere on the their face, because it definately burns. OH, how it burns!

But there are some good things to be said for my new shaving ritual. I have never consistently had as close of shaves as I have this past week. And that is a nice feeling. There is also a sort of inner comfort (in a Marlboro Man kinda way) in knowing that I am shaving in a manner that my dad and grandfather used to shave (cuts notwithstanding). Burns and cuts aside, it is a very gratifying endeavor on multiple levels.

So tonight, as I was trying like hell not to cut myself to shreds, I realized how similar my shaving experience was to that of being a new dad. Though I know I can be a dad, I have been worrying quite a bit about being a good dad because I honestly think that is something you have to work hard at doing. And I realized that I am already doing what it takes to be a good dad. Just like cutting myself every night shaving but continuing to do it, being a good dad requires the same dedication. And I will definately cut myself in the process of being a good dad. But that’s the key. That’s how you learn to do it right. You cut yourself, you put on some lotion, and you try a little harder the next time. Because unlike shaving, being a good dad is the most rewarding, closest thing I will experience.

On a side note, Will weighed in at 8lbs 7oz at Monday’s doctor appointment! It definately doesn’t look like inadequate weight gain is on the issues board anymore!

So my brother-in-law (Brandon, father of 3 children, ages 4, 2, and 4 months) sends me an email yesterday talking about the joys and trials of being a dad – they had had one of those days where very little went right. He basically said that “life gives you everything, it is how you deal with it that matters. The harder you fight it the harder it fights back… So Just pass it on and laugh about the hard times and go on.”

I was thinking about some things last night… about Will’s weight scare last weekend and the types of scares that will face us in the future… about how I had just bought an old school shaving brush, shaving soap, and double-edge safety razor and more or less (mostly more) slaughtered my face… worrying a bit about Jess and whether she is getting enough rest… wondering why in tarnations (where is tarnations, anyway?) Desperate Housewives hasn’t been on in a few weeks…

And then I was thinking how right Brandon is… that most things aren’t as bad as they seem if you can just take a deep breath, laugh a little, and then let it go.

[INSERT DEEP BREATH HERE] [INSERT LITTLE LAUGH HERE] [INSERT POIGNANT HEAD TURN HERE] [INSERT CAMERA FADE AS IT IS LET GO]

Will stopped by the doctor (he took Jess along to drive) this morning for a quick weigh-in and he’s put on 12 ounces since Monday – now up to 7lbs 14.5oz; though laughing a little did open a few clotted cuts, my shave was quite close and nice; and Desperate Housewives returns on March 20.

[INSERT GRANDFATHERLY-LIKE FIGURE NODDING HIS HEAD AND SMILING HERE]

So I guess the moral of the story is not to get too bogged down in the little stuff and enjoy it while you can. Because I mean really, March 20 isn’t that far away…