March 22, 2004

• Making of a hero

   

  Last evening was the first difficult evening that we have had with the new baby.  My daughter has been a wonderful mother so far and baby Brady has done his part to perfection, that is; sleep when not eating, eating when not sleeping, and…well…you know, the other thing new-borns do.  The amount of crying, up until last night, was held to a minimum, a mere notification that some attention was required.  An unspoken pact was understood; you feed me or change me and the crying will stop.  I was starting to see in my daughter a bit of cockiness; this ain’t so hard kind of attitude.  This is understandable given the barrage of counseling that leads up to baby’s arrival.  You know, the little comments, winks, and raised eye brows all meant to prepare the new mother for the hardships of taking care of a baby.  Aunt J., “Oh honey, you try to sleep now, dear, ‘cause there won’t be any sleepin’ once the baby’s here”.  Grandma E., “Now dear that baby is going to cry a lot and you have to make yourself not rush to him every time you hear a little whimper”.  Uncle F, “ Hell, I can remember walking ‘ol baby boy all night long trying to get the little guy to quit crying and go to sleep”…yadda yadda yadda.

   

  Well, like I said, we’ve had it pretty easy so far.  Last evening however, Brady cried on and off for several hours.  About 11:30 pm I was hauling myself out of the butt-hugger, heading for bed (couldn’t hear the news, anyway, over Brady’s howling) when I looked over at daughter and Brady and noticed a concerned look on daughter’s face.  I had also noticed her making little comments that I read as being more a result of nervous concern than nurturing coos.  I reached for Brady and daughter readily handed him over with a note of pleading in her eye.  I had no idea what the problem could be. Maybe his parts might be in a bind, a condition that I can readily relate to and understand the need to cry.  I was assured that all that had been checked out and he should be good to go.  I started the walking and patting ritual.  There’s not much room for walking in our house these days, what with the daughter moving back in and the new baby stuff, given so generously by seemingly everybody in the tri-county area.  This caused me to walk the path leading to the kitchen where it was quiet and no one was around.  I paced for a couple minutes switching Brady between a half dozen positions, always patting on the back.  Then, there was a little burp, a couple gurgles, and another burp.  Silence set in.  I looked at him, he looked at me, and there was a mutual understanding that this little episode was over.  The fact that random timing was the only reason that I happened to be the one holding him when the little bubble worked its way up and out was not going to get in the way of the mystique surrounding my apparent prowess with all things baby.

   

  With his eyes already drooping I casually walked back into the livingroom, trying like hell to keep the smug grin off of my face.  I handed Brady back, kissed daughter goodnight, and walk off with the air of, “all in a days work”.  It may just be my take on it, but I’m sure the expression on daughter’s face had something to do with heroes.

  • 3:20 pm
  • 7 Comments