The Old Man and the Eliza

As I wrote in my last blog post (yeah, yeah, I know, that was a full two weeks ago), my mom is an incredible person. Watching her, you’d be surprised to know that I’m her first child, because she does a fantastic job taking care of me. I guess that’s what working in college at a daycare and as a nanny will do for you.

But my dad? That’s another story. Even though I know he really loves me, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s still scared of me. Sure, the two of us have a good working relationship – I poop, he cleans it up – but I can tell he’s still learning on the fly. Until I came along, he’d only held a few small babies in his life, and certainly never changed a diaper or given a baby a bath or a bottle. The two of us haven’t been alone together for more than an hour or so at a time, and even then, Mom’s been in the other room napping, ready to spring into action if Dad does something stupid.

Would you want this guy to take care of your child?

That’s what made last night's events so historic. Last night, for the first time in my life, I spent an entire evening with just my dad to look after me. You see, Mom is a fan of a certain book and film series known as “Twilight” (boy, is she going to be happy when she sees that I wrote this for all the world to see), and she and a bunch of friends met up to go to dinner and then see the latest two-hour frontal lobotomy served up on the big screen.

That meant that Dad and I got to spend the evening together, unsupervised, trying not to break each other (physically or emotionally). And because I’m a little lazy (hence the two weeks between blog posts), I’m going to rely on the laziest of blog practices and provide a running diary of the night that was. Here we go…

6:30 p.m. Dad picks me up at the restaurant where Mom and her friends are having dinner. I lose sight of her after about 20 steps. It’s just Dad and me. Folks, we are now working without a safety net. Dad looks worried. That makes two of us.

6:45 p.m. We get to the car. This is going to be an interesting ride. Who still listens to Motley Crue?

7 p.m. We made it home! Dad looks strangely relieved. Before doing anything else, he flips on the TV and turns it to Monday Night Football, mumbling, “I just want to see what the score is.” I'm not sure who he's trying to convince. It's not like I could change the channel even if I wanted to. No matter. I don’t mind watching football. And I just noticed that this Tom Brady fellow has the same chin as me. I’ll have to ask Mom about that when I get a little older.

7:10 p.m. I’m hungry. Think I’ll let Dad know. And, on a related note, my lungs are developing nicely, because I think the neighbors just heard me.

7:12 p.m. Since he always changes me before I get fed, I’ve decided to leave him a little present.

7:22 p.m. Dinner time! For me? A bottle of breast milk. Again. For Dad? A Brooklyn Bridge pizza from Pagliacci. Sometimes being a baby kind of stinks.

Guess which one of us is happy about their dinner?

7:27 p.m. Just finished the bottle, and Dad’s burping me. I drool down his back, just to remind him who’s in charge.

7:31 p.m. I’m full of milk, I’m bundled in a blanket, and Dad’s rocking me to sleep. Does he really think this is going to put me to sleep? Well, I am getting a little drowsy.  Actually, very drows….ZZZZZZ.

8:28 p.m. And I’m back! Not a bad nap. I feel rested. Dad says he's excited I only slept for an hour, because it means I might sleep more during the night with Mom.

8:34 p.m. Since I'm alert and awake, Dad pops me on his lap and starts waving a rattle in my face. Apparently this is supposed to help improve my eyesight and tracking abilities. That may be so, but all it's doing right now is making me want to punch him.

8:45 p.m. Dad does some dishes and plunks me into my swing chair. Mmmm… swing chair. This is like Disneyland for a newborn.

8:55 p.m. I could use another snack.

8:57 p.m. And another diaper change, it turns out.

9:05 p.m. Dad uncorks another bottle. It's a 2011 Cabernet Sauvigmom from Meadows Vineyards. Very good year.

9:10 p.m. More burping. Dad seems a little too proud when I let loose a big one.

9:30 p.m. Mom’s home! Once again, Dad looks strangely relieved. I guess I am too, but mostly because I missed her. I've gotta admit, Dad did a decent job. I'm still alive and in one piece. Sure, it was only three hours, but this was a big step for the two of us.

So what did we learn last night? Well, for starters, Dad's not as incompetent as he looks. Also, Mom loves crappy movies. But if it gets her out of the house periodically and keeps her sane, then I'm all for it. I could use the extra Daddy-Daughter Time.

By the way, I just noticed on the calendar that today, Nov. 22, I'm officially one month old. Just 191 months to go before I get my driver's license. I'm sure Dad's going to start crying the moment he reads that. He's already getting emotional over the fact that I've outgrown some of my newborn clothes.

Have a great Thanksgiving, everybody! I'll try to check in afterwards to let you know how my first Turkey Day goes. Till next time...