I Am Human

These are easy days. I enjoy the comforts of my home, my wife, my child. We stay in bed until we're rested and we eat when we're hungry. We are taking our cues from Lula who follows her needs like a compass.

But I feel limited in my abilities and aptitudes in this sphere. I can't feed my daughter but indirectly through Felice. I can clean, I can change diapers, but I know this isn't my core competency, to use a cliché phrase. I am best on a edge of a building, preparing to descend it's face, cleaning the windows in a meditative flow. I am best out in the world making children laugh, adults face beauty in spite of themselves. I am best listening to middle school students try to express themselves through poetry and movement. Until Tallulah is old enough to interact, I fear I'll feel inadequate and useless. My solution is to work, work, work. And sleep, sleep, sleep.

This is a common complaint among new fathers, I think. Feeling out of the loop, relegated to observation, hand waiting, feeling cooped. True to our nature we feel left out, without a role. But this is not about us, needy and wanting. This is about giving life and freedom to those who mean more to us than anything.

We have had our fun. Our running around, carefree. This is a new season. We do the furrowing, and the sowing, not just the reaping. I come of age as my girl comes into life.

I created a movie montage of photos from the pertinent points in Tallulah's and our lives. It begins in Spain, as did Lu. It follows the snowiest day of the year, and also the shortest. It documents birth, family, and joy.

I also wrote a song for my daughter, First Splash. It accompanies the video. Please enjoy.

All the Best from Five Happiness,

Bradley, Felicity, Tallulah, Marvin & Iggy

Further Evidence of Divinity

Richie told me about the "Pregnancy Points Game" he and his wife developed while waiting for their boy Oz to arrive. It goes like this: Each act of kindness he bestowed upon her, rubbing her feet, cooking dinner, cleaning the loo, was worth points. Five, ten, maybe twenty for an excellent seven course Italian dinner. The most points wins.

Delivering a baby is worth One Hundred Fifty Thousand points. Richie is still trying to win. He's at two-twenty.

I am also trying to win. However, a natural childbirth is worth Half a Million points. Attending and aiding the birth gave me as much as Richie has after nine months of his travails. I'm still only at six hundred and two. Eat that Costleigh! (No, I mean, that. Chicken Parmesan.)

But the little kindnesses I manage to orchestrate give deeper satisfaction than winning affords. As do those of our friends. Wes and Laura came by last night with their eight month old, Quentin. Laura made us a beef stew. We sat around watching Q play with Lu's toys, admiring both of their newness. What a treat! I realized how closed in we've been for the last week and a half, snow notwithstanding.

I am forcing myself to go out and do something completely unrelated to child rearing for a few hours to better appreciate these moments. They'll never come again. The moments, that is...not Wes & Laura. I hope.

Tallulah's Family

Grandma Mansanarez, Brother Kirk, Felicity...

Brother-Man

Mother/Grandmother

Auntie Lacey

Grandma

And our extended family, the officers of Black Rock City Animal Control...




(clockwise from left: Stefan, Marshall, Winda & Oz (Lula's first suitor,) Gary (our driver), Heather (co-pilot), Sven, (keeper of the ceremonial tequilla), and Destiny, (Mother-in-Training)

Laura Loves Lula

Wesley Loves Lula

8-Way + F9 + 5 Happiness = Super Love

Without you we would be much poorer in spirit, (and spirits.)
We love you all. Thank you for all your support, friendship, laughter, and tenacity!

"Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be
shaken away. "

-Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Tallulah Speaks

[Peering over edge of crib. Looking left, right, ensuring parents are fast asleep before delivering monologue]

Tallulah: Well, hello there. We have to be quiet. My folks are still sleeping, and they have bat-like radar for sensing if I even breathe funny. Which, I must admit, I do quite often. I like to snort, several times in a row as though I were one of those funny ladies being interviewed by Jessica on Murder She Wrote. "No, of course I didn't murder them in their sleep. (snort, snort snort,) I'm just a baby!"

This has been an unusual entrance for me. I was expecting the ticker tape parade the troops get after conquering some huge obstacle or foe. Well, that birth canal was HELL, let me tell you. And Mom didn't even let me pack a bag. It was just hanging out upside down sucking my thumb...or was that my toe? And then my waterbed just went "Floooey" and I ended up spelunking through her pelvis like Bear Grills in some bloody survival show. Luckily my rope held my weight and I made it through unscathed, though I was a shoe in for the youngest member of the Coneheads movie. Thank God for Doctors Without Cold Hands! I am prepared to give my college fund to these forward thinking physicians.

Dr. O'Neal caught me with Johnny Bench's catcher's mitt and tossed me on mom's belly before I had time to put my helmet on. Luckily she crowned me with a nifty knitted number, though the pink was a bit presumptuous. I prefer a mauve, thank you. My auntie Ali Bosie knows what I'm spittin'. Word to my Treestump.

But everyone was crying. Dad, (big wimp,) the doula, (just misty eyed,) Mom, (actually she was just in shock from my quick evac. I think she expected me to ask before leaving the house.) So all I could do was sit there looking around, waiting for the champagne and confetti. WTF people? It's been nine months. As if you didn't have time to prepare! Whatever. I'm so over it. Give me a tit.

So, here we are: I'm doing my best to get what's coming to me. That colostrum crap took way too much work to get. I had to claw my way through the nipple to get to the top shelf. But Mom's giving it up in a big way. I can eat whenever I want. All I gotta do is open my mouth, stick my tongue out a bit, and SLAM, I'm on the nipple. Areola firmly planted in the kisser. Mom makes some funny faces when I do, and I haven't learned the vocabulary she uses to express her joy at my buffet. Something about "Turrett's Syndrome... " I dunno.


Ooooohhh, I think I'll poop. This'll be a gas! Then, when Dad comes to swaddle and change that paper towel he calls a diaper, I'll pull a Chuck Norris and kick him in the chin, or grab Mom's glasses and toss them behind the changing table! Yeeeeaaah! This is livin!

Oh no. I think they're about to wake up. Oh, wait. No, they're just snuggling. Puh-leeze. I guess it's time to demand some attention. Let's watch Heroes, or better yet, that DVD of Akira Dad just ripped. That scene with the melting teddy bears is boss! I love the crotch rockets! I hope Mom doesn't sell her SV 650. I think that should be the start of my inheritance.

[Yawn] Hmmmm. I really can't seem to keep my eyes open. I might just... [Falls asleep standing up. Dad cracks open one eye.]

The Land of Sleep...Nice Place to Visit. Too Bad You Can't Stay.

After a week of one to two hour bursts of sleep, peppered by Fussy Baby (tm) we seem to have fathomed subtle signs of the few significant issues concerning our daughter: Wet Butt, Starvation, Borborygmus Belly, and the vague but important What, You Don't Love Me?

We now achieve eight to ten hours of sleep per twenty-four hour period, which I'm told is an accomplishment. Hooray. I'm going back to bed.

But that is just how we do it. We wake, change a diaper, suckle, swaddle, and dip back into the sleepy pool for a few hours. Repeat until rested. Mornings start around 1 or 2 pm. But we end the day at 10 ready for bed but not exhausted. I can then accomplish some minor tasks such as writing this journal instead of cleaning the office or making money.

Actually, I'm on paid leave right now, as is Felicity. She's home for a while, but I go back to work in a couple weeks. This new life really fuels my labors with new vigor. No matter what I'm doing, I'm doing it as though Tallulah was watching, at my best for the first time since I met my wife. What a motivator, this little bug we made. She doesn't even know the power she wields. Probably for the best. I'm sure she'll figure it out just in time to graduate driver's ed and request the keys to the Saab.

Before Lula was born, I was terrified at the prospect of raising a girl. What do I know about girls? Dresses, berets, stupid girl games, blah blah blah. Now, I just see my child. Thank god. I was beginning to feel like a real ass. I mean, I still feel like an ass, just one not concerned with the label "Girl." I'm more preoccupied with the label "Father." That, I can handle.

I find myself dreaming of future moments. Rock climbing with her, teaching her to make things from scratch, like waffles or a house, or friends. When I took physics in high school, the concept of potential energy excited me. A bowling ball on the edge of a roof was filled with possibilities. But the abstraction from future event made it even more mysterious and alchemical. I feel the same way about my girl. She's a bowling ball of potential.

Let's go knock down some pins.