Barnabas Monkeypants

A couple of odds and ends today.

Our diaper of choice is Pampers. Actually, we haven’t tried any other brand, but we’re happy with them. In fact, I’m sure that all diapers are equally good, equally absorbent (amazingly absorbent, actually). Have you ever felt a diaper completely saturated with urine? As heavy as they get (and let me tell you, they can be heavy), Henry’s skin stays relatively dry. But as much as we’re happy with their product, I was a bit peeved at them this morning.

We recently signed up for a rewards program on the Pampers web site (where, I’m sure, with all the diapers we use, we’ll get a free week-long vacation to Aruba before you know it). Actually, I signed up. So why am I mentioning this? Well, this morning, I got the first e-mail from them, one which I hoped would be some coupons (but was actually just them asking for me to fill out some silly survey). The thing is, the e-mail began “Dear Mom.”

Uh, excuse me? Mom? That’s a bit presumptuos, isn’t it? I mean, if Kristen signs up for an e-mail with the local Little League, would she expect to have something addressed “Dear Dad”? No, of course not. Parenting is a lot different than it was 10 or 20 or 30 years ago. I mean, Kristen is obviously the #1 parent right now, and she’s doing an amazing job. But, darn it, I change plenty of diapers. PLENTY! I feed him and play with him and try to take on as much of the child rearing as I possibly can. When I go to the grocery store, I’m buying the diapers as much as Kristen. And I’m in now way the only father who does this much.

So what I’m saying is this: if you’re sending out a mass e-mail to all those caregivers who have signed up for your diaper-related communications, try and look at the big picture. The big, urine-filled, gender-neutral picture.

It’s been a little over a month and a half since Henry was born, and everything about him changes constantly. (I wrote about this before, and it’s still true today.) There is, however, one constant, something that actually started well before he was born.

Henry’s a hiccuper. When Kristen was in the beginning of her third trimester, Barnabas (he was still Barnabas then) would have a regular hiccup attack. Kristen said that, at first, they freaked her out (can you blame her?), but she soon got used to it. For all the kicking and pushing and shoving he did in there, hiccups were the least of her problems.

Since Kristen kindly asked him “you’re-late-already-would-you-please-get-out” and he obliged, he’s kept up with the hiccups. About two times every day, usually right after he’s had a particularly large meal, he’ll start in with the hiccups. One of us will be changing him, distracting him with funny faces and noises so he doesn’t get upset (Henry does not like being naked, I’ll tell you what), when all of a sudden… hic. hic. HIC! HIC!

So we’ll quickly finish up the diaper change, grab hold of him, and then start bouncing around the apartment like a big bunny, hoping that he’ll work a nice loud burp up. If it’s big enough and loud enough (like his mother’s), it’ll stop the hiccups in their tracks. If it’s just a minor, delicate burp (like mine), he’ll keep on hiccupping.

At first, I was worried. (Can you believe that? Me? Worried?) All I could think was that his constant hiccuping was because his diaphragm was underdeveloped and he’d never be an opera singer. But then I read my 10,000 books and web site and pamphlets, and they all reassured me that it was completely normal and I shouldn’t be worried.

Of course, those same books and web sites and pamphlets all said that he’d be down to one poop a day by now, and we all know how wrong that turned out to be!

This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 7th, 2008 at 4:06 pm and is filed under Barnabas, Health, Poop. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.