Never have I had a more patience-demanding vocation.
The more little Sierra becomes not-so-little, the harder and more mentally taxing being a stay-at-home dad becomes. The last two days have been very exhausting, especially with Chrissy working long hours at the hospital. Not to mention, Sierra is still adjusting to the West Coast time zone after spending four days in Boston. Instead of waking up at her normal nine o'clock hour, Sierra has been waking up around 6 a.m., making my job about three hours longer.
Each morning I get up with Chrissy at about 5 a.m. to make her breakfast while she prepares for her day. This time is sacred. This is the only time I spend awake with my wife without the baby crawling here or there or putting something in her mouth or going to the bathroom right through her new cute little onesie. This is my time where I can be a husband and not a father. Someday, I'd love to be able to balance the two to perfection, but I can honestly say my juggling skills leave much to be desired after eight months of parenthood.
When Chrissy leaves for work around 6:30 a.m., I stay up and do some reading, do some of my own personal writing, or simply listen to music while straightening up the best I can. Like the time alone with my wife from 5-6:30 a.m., this time is also sacred. I need it to refresh myself. I need it to satisfy my own to-do list that never seems to dwindle. Lately, I haven't had this time. Just as I am about to open up a good book with my cup of coffee and a soft folk band playing quietly on my speakers, I hear it. Anyone who has had a child before knows what it is. It is that feint first sound of a baby beginning to wake up. It is that tiny whine that leads you to beg God for just another half hour. It is what turns to a cry before you can finish praying. It is what shifts the day from peace to chaos.
The living room is cluttered with broken-down baby barriers, rattles, squeaky dolls, and pieces of sucked on ribbon. Laundry from the day before is folded, but still piled (now toppled piles) on the futon mattress waiting to be put away. One look at the room and strangers will understand that the baby is crawling now. The living room has turned into a fortress lacking only a moat. A four-sectioned exercise mat blocks off Chrissy's desk, keeping the baby away from plugs, wires, and corners. A beanbag chair is stuffed against the television set and VCR. A baby swimming pool overflowing with toys blocks Sierra from going into the back rooms. A giant blue husband pillow prevents Sierra from hitting her head on the coffee table. It's like a little arena in here and Sierra still always seems to find a way over, through, or around my barrier.
Yesterday was a busy one. Sierra was on the move. Her ability to find everything in the house that could potentially hurt her is amazing. Every three minutes, I was picking her up and moving her to a safer location. As the day went on, Sierra got more agitated every time I would move her. I would say, "No," to her and by the end of the afternoon, she would stop at every utterance of the word "no" and cry. I would then pick her up and hold her, rubbing her back to make her feel better. Once she was back in the fortress, she would find her way out once again. That was my day.
When Chrissy got home from work, the house was a mess. I always hate leaving the house a mess, but I just couldn't keep up with Sierra yesterday. If I were Chrissy, I would have been deflated coming home from a long day of work to a house that looked like it did yesterday. To Chrissy's credit, she didn't show her frustration ... until later. That was when, tired and frustrated, I tried to take apart a large baby bouncer toy from Target and get it back in its tiny box to return it to the store because Sierra rarely plays with it. I got the contraption apart rather easily, but trying to place all the pieces into the box was a nightmare. No way was that going to fit. I stuffed and crammed and slammed the box in frustration. "Why don't you go to Ralph's, you know, just to get out of the house," Chrissy kindly suggested. I wasn't about to leave. I took everything out of the box and tried again. Sierra was now crying for food, or a diaper, or because she was tired, or because she was teething, or because "she might be sick" according to Chrissy. Bottom line was, we had no clue why she was crying. Dinner plates were still sitting out, pasta still needed to be put away, napkins with tomato sauce were on the floor after Sierra somehow got to them. Meanwhile, sweat beginning to dampen my forehead, I am stuffing that box like a Thanksgiving turkey. I'm pounding on things, patience about to completely fizzle. "Why don't you just go to Ralphs," Chrissy said more animated than before and rightfully so. I needed a break from the house. Chrissy could see it. I could see it, but was too damned determined to get that toy into that box. I was going to accomplish this task even if it took me all night. With Chrissy's help, we almost got the toy to fit. The box now sits in her car for return, even with the top bursting open with rain forest animals and plastic tubing.
After a short walk with Chrissy and Sierra late last night, we decided to head to bed. Somehow Sierra didn't get that message. She was up crying, squirming, twisting, and shouting even though she was clearly sleepy. She couldn't sleep. We fed her. We changed her diaper. We rocked her. We rubbed her back. We took her into our bed and held her. We put her back in the crib and rubbed her. Finally, Chrissy was able to get her to cry herself to sleep in the crib. Chrissy and I were exhausted. We almost laughed in bed about what had just happened. How do single moms or dads deal with kids? How do parents deal with twins or triplets? How can one eight-month-old child wear down to adults in the prime of their lives? Before any answers came, we were asleep.
If for only a couple hours. It was heard again around 2 a.m. and didn't stop for nearly an hour. We had to change Sierra again, feed her a little more, and bring her into our bed for comfort. Finally she fell asleep, leaving Chrissy only two more hours before that alarm would scream Thursday awake.
Raising a young child is the most beautiful job a person can have. To see Sierra smile and to hear her laugh makes up for an entire day of stress and chaos. It's a lot like golfing. I can hit slices and hooks all day. I can four-putt from 10 feet out. I can run over my 5-iron with a golf cart. But all it takes is one beautiful, soaring drive or an approach shot that sticks the green just a few feet short of the pin to make it all somehow worthwhile.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
My how she's grown ...
It's been more than a month since I last wrote, but Sierra seems to have changed by twice that. In early August, Sierra playfully rolled from her back to her front, and even learned to go from her front to her back. Now, Sierra is motoring across the floor, making b-lines to everything she shouldn't have. From nail clippers to computer wires to eye glasses. She's gone from sitting up on her own, to military crawling, and now, she's using her parents as props to help her go from a seated position to standing up. In just 40 days, she has developed so much. It's wonderful. Tiring, but wonderful.
Teething
A few weeks ago, Sierra went through the not-so-pleasant milestone of growing her first tooth. She drooled, she cried, she couldn't eat. It was rough. I had to give her a dose of baby Tylenol just to get her to handle eating. This went on for a few days as the tooth cut through the gums. But once the little blade of a tooth began to show, the pain seemingly has gone away. Now when she smiles or cries for whatever reason, I smile at the sight of this tiny little tooth. I smile when I think about five or six years from now when I get to put that little tooth under her pillow one night so that the tooth fairy can swap the tooth for a buck like when I was a kid. But I wonder what the rate for a tooth goes these days, though.
Blah, Blah, Blah ...
One afternoon after returning from my father-in-law's office, Sierra began talking in her very own special way. "Blah, blah, blah, blah," she would say then and still says constantly. It's such a funny little sound, but one that makes her feel like she's one of the group. She loves to mimic others in conversation. Everyone jokes, now, that when anyone asks my father-in-law what goes on at his office, he may as well just answer, "Blah, blah, blah."
Things she's eaten ...
Here is a list of items little Sierra has eaten or tried to eat (other than food) in the last month.
1. Dirty diapers
2. Clean diapers
3. Baby wipes
4. SELF Magazine
5. Feathers from a pillow
6. Rolling Stone Magazine
7. Gift-wrap ribbons
8. Paper towels
9. Shoe laces
10. Pens and highlighters
11. Cell phones
12. Tiny stones
13. Leather brief case straps
14. VCR tape boxes
15. Cleveland Browns jersey
And, I might say, this is all with me watching her like a hawk. She moves a lot faster than you might think a 7-month-old child could. A blink of an eye and she's no longer in her daddy-made pen -- complete with a mountain of pillows, a beanbag chair, and a giant Brutus the Buckeye stuffed doll. She escapes like Andy Dufresne in "The Shawshank Redemption," tunneling through stuffed objects on her way to freedom. The only things I see are her legs flailing as she heads under the kitchen table, or the coffee table, or by the front door as if she knows that freedom lies on the other side. I can't read a paragraph of a book without her breaking free. It's funny and exhausting. I just cringe, though, when I think of what it will be like when this little girl learns to run.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Baby's first illness
I knew that eventually it would happen. I would have to see my little girl get sick. I just didn't know that it would happen so soon.
Just a few days after arriving in Ohio, little Sierra started to look and act differently. I wasn't alarmed at first, but when I noticed that her personality -- upbeat, smiling, and cooing -- was lacking, I began to worry. She looked tired and agitated. She cried a lot and started feeling warm. That's when we decided to get a thermometer. She was at 101 degrees.
I know kids get sick, get fevers, but it was really hard to see that she was sick. What do I do? Do I call the pediatrician? Do I get her some baby Motrin? Should I call Chrissy, who was at work at the time? Maybe I should let Sierra nap and she'll wake up fine. It was hard to see Sierra this way.
She got worse. She was very warm; she was sweating. She looked like she was in extreme discomfort. It's very hard when Sierra can't verbally communicate what's wrong. By the time Chrissy got home from work, Sierra's temperature had risen to 102.5. We called the doctor, who told us that if the fever rises above 103, we need to take her in to a hospital. Other than that, simply alternate between doses of baby Motrin and baby Tylenol.
For three days, we watched Sierra vomit. We watched her cry while trying to sleep through a fever. But at the same time, we watched Sierra fight. You could tell that she wanted to be better. It was great to see this little girl fight through this stomach illness and come out just fine.
Now, Sierra is back to her old self again. She's full of energy. She's rolling across the floor. She's fine again, which means that I'm fine again. At least until she gets sick again.
Just a few days after arriving in Ohio, little Sierra started to look and act differently. I wasn't alarmed at first, but when I noticed that her personality -- upbeat, smiling, and cooing -- was lacking, I began to worry. She looked tired and agitated. She cried a lot and started feeling warm. That's when we decided to get a thermometer. She was at 101 degrees.
I know kids get sick, get fevers, but it was really hard to see that she was sick. What do I do? Do I call the pediatrician? Do I get her some baby Motrin? Should I call Chrissy, who was at work at the time? Maybe I should let Sierra nap and she'll wake up fine. It was hard to see Sierra this way.
She got worse. She was very warm; she was sweating. She looked like she was in extreme discomfort. It's very hard when Sierra can't verbally communicate what's wrong. By the time Chrissy got home from work, Sierra's temperature had risen to 102.5. We called the doctor, who told us that if the fever rises above 103, we need to take her in to a hospital. Other than that, simply alternate between doses of baby Motrin and baby Tylenol.
For three days, we watched Sierra vomit. We watched her cry while trying to sleep through a fever. But at the same time, we watched Sierra fight. You could tell that she wanted to be better. It was great to see this little girl fight through this stomach illness and come out just fine.
Now, Sierra is back to her old self again. She's full of energy. She's rolling across the floor. She's fine again, which means that I'm fine again. At least until she gets sick again.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Ohio Bound
After almost six months, I've realized that nothing will ever be the same again. This notion was especially true during our trip from Long Beach to the Los Angeles Airport to Columbus, Ohio ... Sierra's first airplane trip.
Instead of taking a couple hours, packing took the better part of a day. I filled one giant suitcase for our five-week stay in Ohio, Chrissy filled another bag and a smaller carry-on. Sierra also had a giant suitcase to her name. It was filled with clothes, diaper cloths, absorbing pads, stuffed animals, and blankets. We had her car seat. We had her stroller, and diaper bag, and bottles, and pump. I've never had to pack a pump before.
Originally, we were going to drive ourselves to the airport and park in a long-term lot. However, Chrissy decided it would be cheaper and less stressful to get a shuttle to the airport. This particular shuttle picks up several passengers and takes them to LAX for a relatively small fee. At about 7:30 p.m., the big blue van from LAX crept over the hill and stopped at our house to pick us up. While I was helping the driver load our enormous collection of luggage, Chrissy buckled Sierra and the car seat into the first of three back-seat rows. Sitting quietly in the row behind us was a middle-aged nervous-looking Korean man with a small bag securely stowed on his lap. After getting into the van myself, the Korean man leaned forward.
"You know we have to go to Compton?" he said nervously. Compton isn't exactly the nicest of places in the Los Angeles area, known for its gang activity and high levels of crime. This man obviously knew that.
The driver smiled and told us the man behind us was a little scared of going to Compton. Chrissy and I started talking to the man about his upcoming trip. He was headed to Korea for his nephew's wedding. His nephew's parents had both passed away and the nervous man in the middle of the van was going to serve in their place.
"It's quite an honor," the man said. "But expensive," he added smiling.
As we pulled off of the road in Lakewood to pick up our next guest, the Korean man thought it was his duty to tell the woman what our next stop would be.
"You know we have to make a stop in Compton?" he said to the woman, now sitting in the front passenger seat.
"We have to go to Compton?" the woman asked somewhat worriedly.
The driver laughed, as did Chrissy and I as the Korean man gave us a "see-I'm-not-paranoid" look from the seat behind us. It was at this point where the man realized that the only available seat for the Compton resident was in the last row.
"Great, I don't know who's going to be sitting right behind me," he said. We couldn't help but laugh and tell him it would be all right.
Once we turned onto Compton Boulevard, you could feel the tension rising behind us. I think, by now, we were all curious as to who would be walking onto our van. The driver pulled up to a curb and waited. The Korean man tried not to make eye contact with anyone outside of the van, especially the shirtless white guy walking around in the yard with a cigarette -- in need of an ash -- dangling from his mustache-covered lips. Just then, two women carried their bags from a small house and walked toward our van.
"Where are you headed," Chrissy asked as they piled into the back seat.
"Aruba," one of them said smiling.
I don't know if the Korean man was slightly embarrassed for his paranoia, but he remained quiet the rest of the trip to the airport.
-----
I've always been a bit high-strung at airports. Something about the always extremely long lines, needing to keep track of all luggage, kiosks that sometimes don't work, having my ID out, my boarding pass out, getting into another long line, removing my belt, my shoes, items from my pockets, taking out my laptop, holding my breath as I go through a metal detector, redressing and repacking, then rushing to the gate only to wait an hour before they start boarding, gets to me.
Now, we had to add the baby factor to this plan. I had promised Chrissy the night prior that I would try with all that I had in me to stay cool and not get frustrated. I knew it would be difficult to keep that promise. But I tried.
Everything went smoothly when we arrived at the airport. Our driver pulled up to the curb, got out and ran toward a luggage cart up in baggage claim and sprinted back to us so that we wouldn't have to pay the $3 fee to get our own. That was impressive. He loaded our bags onto the cart and wished us a happy flight. We were off to a good start.
The initial lines went relatively quickly. We had no problems getting our boarding passes from the kiosk and, surprisingly, our luggage all met the 50 pound weight limit (although one weighed in at 52 pounds). Once our checked baggage was handed off, I felt a lot better. Now we just had to worry about one carry-on bag, the diaper bag, and the stroller and baby Sierra.
We were about to get in a long line to get to the security level of LAX when Chrissy wandered over to where she saw an elevator.
"Chris," I called. "Where are you going. We need to be in this line." I looked down at Sierra and she smiled. My blood pressure began to go back down.
"I think we can take this elevator," Chrissy said.
Every time I had visited LAX, I've gone through the same routines. I knew this was the right line to be in because I had been in this line many times before. I didn't want to stray from this routine.
"Let's just stay in the line," I pleaded with Chrissy. "I can hold up the stroller on the escalator." I realized how ridiculous I was beginning to sound. The thought of me trying to carry the stroller and the carry-on up a moving flight of stairs didn't exactly sound sane. I gave in and decided to go to the elevator with Chrissy.
Sure enough, this was the best way to go. We bypassed the long line and got to go directly through to the security station. With my shoes off and laptop in the bin along with all of my other items, we approached the metal detector and the seemingly teen-aged security guard. As Chrissy tried to roll the stroller through, he held up his arms.
"You're going to have to carry the baby through," he said.
Chrissy did that and left me with the stroller.
"You have to take off the car seat," he said. And I did.
"Put it through upside down," he added. And I did.
I collapsed the stroller and got ready to put it through.
"You have to put it in wheels up, sir," he said. Taking a deep breath, I did as he asked. I tried not to look behind me at the line starting to grow, both in length and in frustration.
Once we got the stroller through, Chrissy put it back together and got Sierra tucked nicely back in her chair. While she was doing this, I could see a concerned look on the person looking through the X-ray machine. He called her supervisor over to look. It was our carry-on bag. His supervisor looked through, cocked her head and lifted her eye brow while looking over at me.
"This your bag?" she asked loudly.
"Um, yeah, that's ours," I said.
"You're gonna have to come over here, please."
At this moment, Chrissy intervened.
"It's a breast pump," she said quietly while pointing to our daughter.
"It's a what?" the security guard asked loudly.
"It's a breast pump ... for milk ... for the baby," I said apparently unconvincingly.
The woman opened the bag and found the pump. She opened the pump, pulled out long plastic tubing, spun the dials and looked at the buttons. I was wiping sweat from my forehead. Why was I nervous? I knew it wasn't a bomb. It sure looked like one, though. I could see the headlines now.
MAN ARRESTED AT LAX WITH SUSPICIOUS LUGGAGE
MAN APPARENTLY HAD A BREAST PUMP
BREAST PUMP LINKED TO AL QUEDA OPERATIVES
After the thorough examination of the pump, we were freed to go to our gate. We stopped for some nourishment before heading to the gate.
-----
The one good thing about having a baby at the airport is that we get to board first. It was great. We walked down the walkway, I left the stroller with a tag for it to be stowed below. I didn't have to fight anyone for the overhead bins. We were seated, the three of us, ready to go. After about five minutes, there was an announcement on the loudspeaker of the plane.
"Would the passenger that left the stroller come up and collapse it for checking?"
I looked at Chrissy and then at the long line of passengers boarding the plane.
"I'll get it," I said.
Then I started my walk of shame against traffic, certainly annoying the masses fighting their way onto the plane. I got to the stroller and took the car seat out and then collapsed the stroller. I waited there for someone to come take it away. Just then a woman dressed in a bright orange reflector jacket came in to get the stroller.
"This is our stroller and this is the car seat that goes with it," I said.
"We're not supposed to do car seats," she said. "You'll have to take it on the plane with you."
I was not going to do that. The bins were filling up and wasn't going to try and stuff that under the seats. There was absolutely no room for that.
"Miss, please, could you just take that down with the stroller? We don't have any room in there for this seat."
"We're not supposed to do that," she said.
Finally, she grabbed the car seat and turned toward the door.
"Fine," she said without looking at me.
"Thank you for all of your help," I said sarcastically as another passenger laughed as she boarded the plane.
Once back in my seat, I looked over at Chrissy and at Sierra who was wiggling all over the place.
"We may never see that car seat again," I said to Chrissy.
We were finally all buckled into our seats. The safety instructions were read and we were heading toward the runway. Chrissy was ready for takeoff, armed with a bottle ready to plunge into Sierra's mouth as soon as we were air born. We were told this would relieve the ear pressure.
We lifted into the smoggy Los Angeles air and coasted over the beautiful coastline at 11 p.m. California time. It was a stunning glimpse of the Santa Monica Pier and all of the dimly lit coastal cities gearing up for Friday evening. Just beautiful.
Sierra was just great. If anything, she was too excited. For the first half-hour of the flight, she was kicking and smiling, making loud happy sounds, and wanting to play. I tried again not to look at the passengers who had put eye-covers on in the hopes of sleeping during the entirety of this red-eye flight to Columbus. Oh well, I thought, they can deal with it.
Once we were just east of Big Bear Lake, Sierra fell asleep with a full tummy. She would not awaken until we would land in Ohio. I, on the other hand, couldn't fall asleep. I tried, but it is impossible to sleep in the amount of space I was given by Delta. For four hours, I tracked our flight on the small map and paid attention to the in-flight movie without sound. I managed to dose off for about 45 minutes at the end of the flight, certainly less than I would have liked.
At roughly 6:15 a.m. Ohio time, we landed in Columbus. We had made it. Somehow we had survived a van ride through Compton. We had survived a breast pump security scare. We had survived a stroller incident (we did get the car seat back, by the way). And we had survived a plane ride without waking up or annoying a packed plane of red-eye passengers. I would say I lived up to 80 percent of my promise to Chrissy.
Maybe I'll reach 100 percent on our trip back to California on September 2. I'm ready for anything, now.
Instead of taking a couple hours, packing took the better part of a day. I filled one giant suitcase for our five-week stay in Ohio, Chrissy filled another bag and a smaller carry-on. Sierra also had a giant suitcase to her name. It was filled with clothes, diaper cloths, absorbing pads, stuffed animals, and blankets. We had her car seat. We had her stroller, and diaper bag, and bottles, and pump. I've never had to pack a pump before.
Originally, we were going to drive ourselves to the airport and park in a long-term lot. However, Chrissy decided it would be cheaper and less stressful to get a shuttle to the airport. This particular shuttle picks up several passengers and takes them to LAX for a relatively small fee. At about 7:30 p.m., the big blue van from LAX crept over the hill and stopped at our house to pick us up. While I was helping the driver load our enormous collection of luggage, Chrissy buckled Sierra and the car seat into the first of three back-seat rows. Sitting quietly in the row behind us was a middle-aged nervous-looking Korean man with a small bag securely stowed on his lap. After getting into the van myself, the Korean man leaned forward.
"You know we have to go to Compton?" he said nervously. Compton isn't exactly the nicest of places in the Los Angeles area, known for its gang activity and high levels of crime. This man obviously knew that.
The driver smiled and told us the man behind us was a little scared of going to Compton. Chrissy and I started talking to the man about his upcoming trip. He was headed to Korea for his nephew's wedding. His nephew's parents had both passed away and the nervous man in the middle of the van was going to serve in their place.
"It's quite an honor," the man said. "But expensive," he added smiling.
As we pulled off of the road in Lakewood to pick up our next guest, the Korean man thought it was his duty to tell the woman what our next stop would be.
"You know we have to make a stop in Compton?" he said to the woman, now sitting in the front passenger seat.
"We have to go to Compton?" the woman asked somewhat worriedly.
The driver laughed, as did Chrissy and I as the Korean man gave us a "see-I'm-not-paranoid" look from the seat behind us. It was at this point where the man realized that the only available seat for the Compton resident was in the last row.
"Great, I don't know who's going to be sitting right behind me," he said. We couldn't help but laugh and tell him it would be all right.
Once we turned onto Compton Boulevard, you could feel the tension rising behind us. I think, by now, we were all curious as to who would be walking onto our van. The driver pulled up to a curb and waited. The Korean man tried not to make eye contact with anyone outside of the van, especially the shirtless white guy walking around in the yard with a cigarette -- in need of an ash -- dangling from his mustache-covered lips. Just then, two women carried their bags from a small house and walked toward our van.
"Where are you headed," Chrissy asked as they piled into the back seat.
"Aruba," one of them said smiling.
I don't know if the Korean man was slightly embarrassed for his paranoia, but he remained quiet the rest of the trip to the airport.
-----
I've always been a bit high-strung at airports. Something about the always extremely long lines, needing to keep track of all luggage, kiosks that sometimes don't work, having my ID out, my boarding pass out, getting into another long line, removing my belt, my shoes, items from my pockets, taking out my laptop, holding my breath as I go through a metal detector, redressing and repacking, then rushing to the gate only to wait an hour before they start boarding, gets to me.
Now, we had to add the baby factor to this plan. I had promised Chrissy the night prior that I would try with all that I had in me to stay cool and not get frustrated. I knew it would be difficult to keep that promise. But I tried.
Everything went smoothly when we arrived at the airport. Our driver pulled up to the curb, got out and ran toward a luggage cart up in baggage claim and sprinted back to us so that we wouldn't have to pay the $3 fee to get our own. That was impressive. He loaded our bags onto the cart and wished us a happy flight. We were off to a good start.
The initial lines went relatively quickly. We had no problems getting our boarding passes from the kiosk and, surprisingly, our luggage all met the 50 pound weight limit (although one weighed in at 52 pounds). Once our checked baggage was handed off, I felt a lot better. Now we just had to worry about one carry-on bag, the diaper bag, and the stroller and baby Sierra.
We were about to get in a long line to get to the security level of LAX when Chrissy wandered over to where she saw an elevator.
"Chris," I called. "Where are you going. We need to be in this line." I looked down at Sierra and she smiled. My blood pressure began to go back down.
"I think we can take this elevator," Chrissy said.
Every time I had visited LAX, I've gone through the same routines. I knew this was the right line to be in because I had been in this line many times before. I didn't want to stray from this routine.
"Let's just stay in the line," I pleaded with Chrissy. "I can hold up the stroller on the escalator." I realized how ridiculous I was beginning to sound. The thought of me trying to carry the stroller and the carry-on up a moving flight of stairs didn't exactly sound sane. I gave in and decided to go to the elevator with Chrissy.
Sure enough, this was the best way to go. We bypassed the long line and got to go directly through to the security station. With my shoes off and laptop in the bin along with all of my other items, we approached the metal detector and the seemingly teen-aged security guard. As Chrissy tried to roll the stroller through, he held up his arms.
"You're going to have to carry the baby through," he said.
Chrissy did that and left me with the stroller.
"You have to take off the car seat," he said. And I did.
"Put it through upside down," he added. And I did.
I collapsed the stroller and got ready to put it through.
"You have to put it in wheels up, sir," he said. Taking a deep breath, I did as he asked. I tried not to look behind me at the line starting to grow, both in length and in frustration.
Once we got the stroller through, Chrissy put it back together and got Sierra tucked nicely back in her chair. While she was doing this, I could see a concerned look on the person looking through the X-ray machine. He called her supervisor over to look. It was our carry-on bag. His supervisor looked through, cocked her head and lifted her eye brow while looking over at me.
"This your bag?" she asked loudly.
"Um, yeah, that's ours," I said.
"You're gonna have to come over here, please."
At this moment, Chrissy intervened.
"It's a breast pump," she said quietly while pointing to our daughter.
"It's a what?" the security guard asked loudly.
"It's a breast pump ... for milk ... for the baby," I said apparently unconvincingly.
The woman opened the bag and found the pump. She opened the pump, pulled out long plastic tubing, spun the dials and looked at the buttons. I was wiping sweat from my forehead. Why was I nervous? I knew it wasn't a bomb. It sure looked like one, though. I could see the headlines now.
MAN ARRESTED AT LAX WITH SUSPICIOUS LUGGAGE
MAN APPARENTLY HAD A BREAST PUMP
BREAST PUMP LINKED TO AL QUEDA OPERATIVES
After the thorough examination of the pump, we were freed to go to our gate. We stopped for some nourishment before heading to the gate.
-----
The one good thing about having a baby at the airport is that we get to board first. It was great. We walked down the walkway, I left the stroller with a tag for it to be stowed below. I didn't have to fight anyone for the overhead bins. We were seated, the three of us, ready to go. After about five minutes, there was an announcement on the loudspeaker of the plane.
"Would the passenger that left the stroller come up and collapse it for checking?"
I looked at Chrissy and then at the long line of passengers boarding the plane.
"I'll get it," I said.
Then I started my walk of shame against traffic, certainly annoying the masses fighting their way onto the plane. I got to the stroller and took the car seat out and then collapsed the stroller. I waited there for someone to come take it away. Just then a woman dressed in a bright orange reflector jacket came in to get the stroller.
"This is our stroller and this is the car seat that goes with it," I said.
"We're not supposed to do car seats," she said. "You'll have to take it on the plane with you."
I was not going to do that. The bins were filling up and wasn't going to try and stuff that under the seats. There was absolutely no room for that.
"Miss, please, could you just take that down with the stroller? We don't have any room in there for this seat."
"We're not supposed to do that," she said.
Finally, she grabbed the car seat and turned toward the door.
"Fine," she said without looking at me.
"Thank you for all of your help," I said sarcastically as another passenger laughed as she boarded the plane.
Once back in my seat, I looked over at Chrissy and at Sierra who was wiggling all over the place.
"We may never see that car seat again," I said to Chrissy.
We were finally all buckled into our seats. The safety instructions were read and we were heading toward the runway. Chrissy was ready for takeoff, armed with a bottle ready to plunge into Sierra's mouth as soon as we were air born. We were told this would relieve the ear pressure.
We lifted into the smoggy Los Angeles air and coasted over the beautiful coastline at 11 p.m. California time. It was a stunning glimpse of the Santa Monica Pier and all of the dimly lit coastal cities gearing up for Friday evening. Just beautiful.
Sierra was just great. If anything, she was too excited. For the first half-hour of the flight, she was kicking and smiling, making loud happy sounds, and wanting to play. I tried again not to look at the passengers who had put eye-covers on in the hopes of sleeping during the entirety of this red-eye flight to Columbus. Oh well, I thought, they can deal with it.
Once we were just east of Big Bear Lake, Sierra fell asleep with a full tummy. She would not awaken until we would land in Ohio. I, on the other hand, couldn't fall asleep. I tried, but it is impossible to sleep in the amount of space I was given by Delta. For four hours, I tracked our flight on the small map and paid attention to the in-flight movie without sound. I managed to dose off for about 45 minutes at the end of the flight, certainly less than I would have liked.
At roughly 6:15 a.m. Ohio time, we landed in Columbus. We had made it. Somehow we had survived a van ride through Compton. We had survived a breast pump security scare. We had survived a stroller incident (we did get the car seat back, by the way). And we had survived a plane ride without waking up or annoying a packed plane of red-eye passengers. I would say I lived up to 80 percent of my promise to Chrissy.
Maybe I'll reach 100 percent on our trip back to California on September 2. I'm ready for anything, now.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Sierra's Walk (With Accompanying Soundtrack)
I am blessed to live in a place like Signal Hill: a location full of amazing plant life, rolling hills, and extraordinary views of downtown Long Beach, the city of Los Angeles, and the massive Pacific Ocean and accompanying coastline. Each day -- sometimes twice a day -- Sierra and I embark on a walk down, up, and around Signal Hill. It is often the most special and enjoyable time of the day for me. It is a time to reflect on life, to admire the beauty that surrounds me, and get in shape ... those hills are steep!
Sierra has just eaten her third meal of the day, her diaper has been changed, yet she's still a little cranky. She just needs to go for a walk. I pick up her flopping little body and place her in the car seat that fits into her stroller. She knows where we are about to go and she immediately settles down. I strap on my iPod and head out the door. It's a bright, sunny day, much like every other day for the past 4 months here in Southern California. The first song begins to play. It's Vega 4's "Life is Beautiful." I begin pushing the stroller and look down at my beautiful daughter. I smile.
Life is beautiful, but it's complicated,
we barely make it.
We don't need to understand,
There are miracles, miracles.
Stand where you are.
We let all these moments pass us by.
It's amazing where I'm standing,
There's a lot that we can give.
Sierra and I begin our trek on 20th Street. She is so alert now, looking up at the birds and planes that pass overhead, the palm trees swaying in the afternoon breeze, and the bright red flowers blooming. She absolutely loves the outdoors. To our right are the same construction guys we passed yesterday and the day before ... and earlier this morning. The younger guy shakes his head and smiles. "You walk more than anyone I've ever seen," he says. With a daughter like mine, there is no other option. We cross Temple Street and then turn right as we continue on 20th.
We are now in a small neighborhood with beautiful homes. Large, southwestern style homes with stunning facades speckle the street. I can hear my brothers now, laughing at me for even thinking the phrase "stunning facades." Oh well, we continue on. Chrissy and I always talk about what our home is going to look like in Cincinnati. We both agree that we like stone on the front and a lot of green plants. We'll bring a little piece of California back home to Ohio. Just as I begin thinking about moving home next year, Simon and Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound" begins playing in my headphones. The scenery here in California is wonderful, but nothing compares to the Midwest, to Ohio.
Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thoughts escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.
At the end of 20th, we take a left onto Obispo. Nothing much to see right in front of us, but off in the distance is a beautiful mountain range. It's hard to look away from it because I haven't been able to see it in weeks due to the midsummer haze that blankets our region. The snow still caps these mountains despite the hot weather we've been having lately.
We continue down Obispo, past the dusty vacant lot, past the horse head oil machines, and down past the flowering rosemary buzzing with dancing honeybees. Sierra dozes off to sleep and then shakes awake with every crack in the sidewalk. Her pacifier hangs out of the corner of her mouth, her eyelids lazily blinking closed.
Up ahead lies Hill Street. This street is extremely steep, so much so that I won't take my 1995 Ford Clubwagon up this hill for fear of the engine dying and the van hurtling backwards like an urban bobsled. I get to the bottom of this hill and stop. I've got to pick the right song to inspire and motivate me up this behemoth of a hill. I spin the dial on my iPod, coming to my Ultimate Rocky Soundtrack. I flip the wheel to Survivor's "No Easy way Out" from Rocky IV. I take a deep breath, and begin trudging up Hill Street.
Some things are worth fighting for,
some feelings never die.
I'm not asking for another chance,
I just wanna know why.
There's no easy way out,
There's no shortcut home.
There's no easy way out,
givin in, givin in, can't be wrong.
Instead of giving in to this hill, I watch a mother pushing twins pass me on this hill. Ouch. I think to myself, "do I feign injury?" or "do I return back down the hill and go elsewhere for fear of ever seeing this woman again?" The unthinkable passes my mind. It's the choice I have to make. It's the only option to save face here. It's also the most painful option. I pause and turn my iPod to the instrumental from Rocky IV, "War." Because this is most definitely war now.
I take a deep breath and begin running. I can hear my calves screaming. My lungs are now pulsating to the beat of the inspiring music. I look ahead and see my target in the distance, motoring up this hill. Sierra now begins to giggle, most likely at the wheezing sound of my deep breaths. Somehow this is all amusing to her. But I tread on. I pick up speed. I am picturing the fight between Rocky and Ivan Drago. I am the Italian Stallion and this mother of two ahead of me is the giant Russian I must chop down. I am now putting all physical anguish on the back burner at the risk of suffering mental anguish later. I am closing in on this woman, huffing and puffing all the way. The top is coming closer. This is it. I have to make my move. She and her double stroller are on the far left side of the sidewalk. I can do it. I head to my right and fly past the Russian, not even looking at her. I just keep running in agony until I get to the top of the hill. I want to weep and cry out, "Yo Adrian, I did it!" Instead, I take a right onto Temple and try to hold off the dry heaves as I retreat to a slow, walking pace.
We are now up on the sidewalk, overlooking Signal Hill Park. I watch as a pair of young boys battle each other at one-on-one on the basketball court. Two others are playing catch with a baseball in the field and several others are playing soccer with makeshift nets serving as the goals. It's nice to see kids out playing sports rather than inside playing sports on a new, top-of-the-line video game system. It reminds me of when I was a kid, playing two-on-two with my brothers and my dad. It reminds me of when I would pitch a simulated game to my dad, who acted as a catcher and umpire. I yearn for those days, but at the same time, I look forward to taking my young daughter to the park for a game of catch or for a game of H-O-R-S-E. How blessed I am to have such fond memories and to have a future with my wife and child to look forward to.
Gathering my strength back, I begin to pick up the pace. Up Temple Avenue and then up to Skyline Drive. The jets come in for an eye-level landing at the Long Beach airport. The busy 405 freeway is humming with cars at the onset of rush hour. I see the big blue pyramid of California State University, Long Beach, and the white VA Hospital nestled between smoke stacks where Chrissy works ... although today, she is in Irvine. I miss Chrissy during these daytime walks. I think about her a lot. I think about how I never would be out here in California, enjoying these beautiful sights, enjoying this wonderful walk with my beautiful daughter. Just as I think this, Norah Jones's song "Come Away With Me" starts playing. This was the song Chrissy and I danced to at our wedding.
I want to walk with you
On a cloudy day
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high
So won't you try to come
Come away with me and we'll kiss
On a mountaintop
Come away with me
And I'll never stop loving you.
We get to the top of the street and head into a gated area atop the hill. This part of the walk is named Panorama Promenade. It's a stunning elevated walkway looking down on the city below and mountains off in the distance. It wraps around the hill and leads up to aptly named Hilltop Park.
Up here at the park, I can glance to my left and gaze upon Long Beach, the port, the Catalina Islands and, on clear days, the coast that outlines the border of the country, fading at about Newport Beach. To my right, I can see the mountains looming, the highways leading to and from our city, and the city of Los Angeles itself, nestled in the Hollywood hills. When up here, I think about my college days, listening to the Counting Crows ... a California band. I often wonder what lead singer Adam Duritz's inspiration was. But sitting here, looking down upon Los Angeles, I get a small taste.
I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass
And it's one more day up in the canyon
And it's one more night in Hollywood
It's been so long since I've seen the ocean...I guess I should."
From the top of the hill, we begin our decent back home. Sierra is long asleep by now, pacifier now resting on her blanket-covered legs. Her eyes flutter, she sometimes squeaks. Who knows what she's dreaming about? What an angel she is, sleeping there so innocent, so sweet. I only hope I can give her a life full of the memories that enrich my life now. We walk down Skyline, pausing for a moment to look out over Signal Hill Park again. The kids are still playing, bringing a smile to my face.
Down Temple we go, past the beautiful houses, past other mothers and fathers walking their children, past palm trees and lush plants. What a wonderful walk. Someday, before we move back to Ohio, maybe little Sierra can walk this walk with me, hand in hand.
Wouldn't change the course of fate, but cuttin' the grass just had to wait
'Cause I've got more important things like pushin' my kid on the backyard swing
I won't break my back for a million bucks I can't take to my grave
So why put off for tomorrow what I could get done today
Like go for a walk, say a little prayer
Take a deep breath of mountain air
Put on my glove and play some catch
It's time that I make time for that
Wade the shore and cast a line
Pick up a long lost friend of mine
Sit on the porch and give my girl a kiss
Start livin', that's the next thing on my list
Raise a little hell, laugh 'til it hurts
Put an extra five in the plate at church
Call up my folks just to chat
It's time that I make time for that
Stay up late, then oversleep
Show her what she means to me
Catch up on all the things I've always missed
Just start livin', that's the next thing on my list.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
"Like raising a dog."
I was enjoying the early morning air, rocking little Sierra on our porch swing while drinking a cup of coffee. My neighbor Tom noticed us and opened his window. We exchanged hellos, said how fun yesterday's BBQ was, talked about Sierra and how I was going to enjoy being home with her during the next year. "Yeah," Tom said. "I've heard having a little baby is just like raising a dog."
What did he just say? Did he just equate my beautiful little daughter to a canine? Did he just refer to my mother's granddaughter as a furry, four-legged creature? I was offended; slightly appalled.
And then I went inside and taught my daughter how to roll over.
What did he just say? Did he just equate my beautiful little daughter to a canine? Did he just refer to my mother's granddaughter as a furry, four-legged creature? I was offended; slightly appalled.
And then I went inside and taught my daughter how to roll over.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Monday morning with Sierra
For the last few days with Sierra, I have felt like a short-order cook. Why? Well, Sierra has learned how to roll over. She does it constantly. She absolutely loves it; smiling and cooing every time. However, there is a bit of a problem. She hasn't figured out how to flip from her stomach over to her back. Once on her stomach, she quickly becomes agitated and then cries because she wants to rotate over to her back. So I come in for the rescue and flip her back over. She smiles, she kicks. Just all out excitement. Before I can get back to hot morning coffee (now becoming quite cool), I hear a rustle on her play mat and she is back on her stomach. About a minute later, she's agitated. I come in for the rescue, flip her back over. She rewards me with her trademark smile, complete with the dimple in her right cheek. And two minutes later? You guessed it ...
Luckily, I have found a wonderful remedy. On Animal Planet from 8-9 a.m., there is a show called Sunrise Earth. It is show with no narration, just sounds of water, birds chirping, fish splashing. The scenery is beautiful. Bright orange skies with big, billowy clouds. Fish and birds of all shapes and colors. It's really quite breathtaking. It is now 8:42 and Sierra hasn't taken her eyes away from the sights and sounds. She is quietly watching while playing with her stuffed parrot and zebra dolls.
I know, I know, TV is "bad." But when you've been flipping babies for an hour, it sure is a nice respite. Plus, I love the sound of a rushing river ... this show is great. Little Sierra and I will go for a few long walks later today and see the ocean or the park at the top of Signal Hill, but I just needed to get my coffee in first. I may write Animal Planet a letter of thanks!
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