Well that just about cracks it...

The other day the car stalled out. Papí was transporting the boy to go pick up Mrs. papí. At the time I thought the gas was low and it was just possible that the thing ran out (it seemed a little unlikely...).

I was in downtown Oakland and Mrs. papí (we stalled nearby our meeting place) joined the boy while I ran to buy a gas can and to bring back a gallon of gas. The car started and ran fine all the way back to home---after filling up the tank a little more.

The next day, I went with the boy to pick up Mrs. papí once more, for we planned to drive about on errands. The car then stalled again at about the same distance from home (just cut out with no warning)---about 2-ish miles.

All the while baby boy fervently awaited his mother's attentions, so I imagined his disappointment; though again we were within a short distance from the meeting place. Bad luck, I thought, and I prepared to call AAA (we were stuck in traffic at this time where there was no way to get the car over due to the line of cars on my left). Grrrr...

On a lark, I tried the key once more and the car started and ran just fine. By now, Mrs papí joined us and we made it home together.

Now, I must tell you that papí must drive the car through a tunnel to get to home from these meeting places. Otherwise we might just walk to pick up the Mrs. Those tunnels are smoky and sooty and very loud places. Cars turn on the jets and fly through there, and they are joined by semis and other deliver vehicles all roaring through.

This finally hit home to me as I researched the car troubles online. I never claimed to be the swiftest horse in the race, nor to be the brightest light in the box. But I must say that this dawning realization did not come over me until I contemplated the journey to the friendly auto service people. That journey would be around 8.7 miles by google maps estimation.

Initially the thought came upon me in subtle trepidation: Should I really just knowingly stall out and then expect to wait until the car starts? Sure, but if so then where should I stall out? Papí's hometown is much less dense than the big inner city downtown. Wasn't that just putting unnecessary risk into the situation?

Remember, the very point of this blog is that I am with the child during the very time I must deliver the vehicle to service. Recall again that I must get around nine miles and there is a question about how many times the car must stall before we actually arrive. Those of you who drive even a little will note the many stupid contradictions even as I did not at the time take them into consideration.

The upshot of all this: I was getting ready to ford the vast urban distance---no I never once planned to take the freeway, and for that I am at least a little proud---and the boy securely in the back. His mood was so excited. He seemed up for the adventure. Little could he expected the disaster approaching.

Of course not, he relies on papí in everything. Everything papí does must seem like the cat's meow to the boy (at least when Mrs. papí is not around, as he much prefers direct feedings instead of the express bottles papí furnishes).

Papí drove the car towards the tunnel. The tunnel that might well be one mile in length...

...hold it! As a large SUV pulled up behind us at the stop light just before the lane to the tunnel, Papí decided against it, and at the last possible right turn we went towards the land route (a bridge some three miles out of the way, but much safer to stall out on if that be the case). Only about five or six blocks into this detour, the car stalled. In the event we kept our heading into the tunnel the car perhaps might stall at 50 mph in front of a too-close SUV...

...Ouch! That was really too close. Papí regrets his temporary insanity and gladly welcomes the fresh perspective of sensibility!

The whole situation compounded as papí and the boy waited by the side of the road and the vehicle (with blinkers on) sat in a little left-turn only lane in the middle of the road. Thankfully, the AAA arrived within a half-hour to strap the car, yet the tow driver forgot to secure the front wheels rolling on the road behind the harness and papí and the towdriver were surprised by a grating sound as the driver-side wheel scraped along the curbside with the car at a 90-ish degree angle from the towtruck (on a straightaway).

Well, that is something for yet another blog. I only bring it up here as the boy was now strapped into the tow truck's middle seat. That was a loud experience and the papí felt fortunate to have some of that express bottle at hand for the startled boy. What with the bounding and the loud radio music, we left our little safe place.

We stepped out of the quietude of papí's ragas and piano music. And once we got out of the tow truck and papí managed all the paperwork at the mechanic's place, papí and the boy went to the café where papí had a cappuccino and the boy had more mommy express. We sat in the shade of the bright sun on the super loud corner and the boy stood on the table and on papí and belched, and then we jogged across town a bit to shop for home; and then we jogged across town a bit to get to the bus home.

Papí arrived home sweat soaked and a little delirious while the boy just at that time---after an eventful bus ride of shadows and light and people and colorful things---began to feel his tummy a bit empty and his head a bit sleepy.

Cheers.

The mystery of the scratchy head...

The boy left large looking scratches in his head. Currently he gets a bit itchy and when he is frustrated --- waiting too long for the bottle or a change, or just sleepy and not comfortable to sleep --- he runs his right hand along his brow and up into his scalp like a spiked vacuum cleaner.

Every day he leaves a couple more marks. His scalp is already dry so that he gets hard skin on top. I treat it with baby oil rubbed in with a quick wash to follow. From time to time I use olive oil and a little vitamin E mixed in with the lighter baby oil/mineral oil.

Washing makes all the difference because when I did not wash out the oil the scalp came back more dry than ever. Just another mystery to do with babies. The boy is learning forgiveness at an early age.

After backing off of that and going back to washing right after oil treatment, his scalp begins to look like usual. That is, initially shiny and red for a few hours, and then a bit crackly as time passes.

The olive oil/vitamin E additives seem to hold off the crackliness a little longer.

The greatest part of the whole treatment: his scratches (at least on the scalp) seem to disappear. He really appreciates the scalp massage too; if I can get him into a comfortable position. There are so few surfaces that I want to get oil onto. But if I hold him in the baby carrier, then I can rub his scalp to my heart's content and he will look up with his big eyes.

Today I rubbed his scalp, and he made to speak a little. There is not much to distinguish the sounds he makes at this point, but it sounded like a tone of wonder. So far he has said 'good' (something I speak to him often), and it sounds like: 'gooooaaaaaaathhh' only softer than that. But when I repeated it to him 'good', he used the same sounds 'gooooaaaaaathhh.'

He is onto different elements of his speaking process most of the time. He has much to learn and he seems to get that.

Today for about an hour I played selections on guitar. Songs like 'so long, it's been good to know you' and 'she moved through the fair' elicit sounds of singing from the boy. Papí beamed with delight during our little session today. He opened his mouth wide and made to sing a bit.

Sometimes he dances there on the bed, and sometimes he even cries because papí forgot something important to baby before launching into his carousing. He will get a generous smile on his face, this will turn slowly and slightly into almost an apology, or an 'excuse me, don't mean to fuss' followed shortly by a full-on frown and a red-faced burst of exhibitory sadness.

I try to make it to him by the time the frown crosses his face, though through circumstance I passed that point once or twice. Crying follows, and after that (my memory of it causes a subtle shudder) if he is still not helped baby launches into bellowing heaves of sobbing.

Fortunately, his outbursts all have a reason and a rhyme to them. All together, I suppose that when the boy exhibits moods more often, I mentioned the sleepy uncomfortable mood he does have now, I suppose he will still have reason and rhyme. These will arise from within the boy, only for papí to guess.

Cheers.

Today we went to the Dr Office...

The boy turned 15 weeks. We celebrated by sleeping in and then going to papí's dentist appointment. He was great and the dentist was not so bad either.

Anyway, the feedings went mostly regularly, but the boy was pretty gassed early in the day. His breathing was forced through a stuffy nose, and the dumb suction device next to the bed is so abhorrent to the boy that he tends to fuss more than I can justify as to its actual effect.

He just slept and slept any chance he could get. I put a hat on him and his breathing seemed to ease. It is hard to do my own breakfast when the boy clings, but when he is having trouble sleeping I rather he sleep on me and I will grab what's at hand.

I become better at using one hand to do the little things, but I got a little freedom to get to the kitchen and make chai and reheat some pancakes from Saturday. It all worked out pretty well. papí was fed, and baby was sleeping.

Mid-morning I needed to get across town to the dentist, so we packed up after the second feed--unusual to actually feed him over the morning, but he does not eat as much when he is forcing his breath; he becomes hungry sooner...

The dentist's office is generously sized, and I told them that the boy is coming with me, so they cleared space as I rolled the stroller into place at my feet. Later I regret not having his car seat separated and on the floor; he becomes unsettled when papí is being probed. If I put him at my feet on the floor I can rock him and his mood settles.

The Dr was lightning fast. He absorbed the developing mood of the boy with a decent reservoir of patience. I appreciated that because the work was somewhat painstaking. Papí's teeth are not in the ilk of 'good.'

The boy has a few blusters, and really does not let go until we nearly land in an elevator on the first floor. I really pushed it with the change this time, and I always tend to regret when I skip something in the boy's care.

A large part of my learning from and with the boy arises from self-centered-ness and its counterproductive consequences for my boy.

After the dentist's office, we stopped in the car for a feed/change pitstop. He appreciated the care and he smiled constantly. He is charming when he smiles, but there are also cues to something he might need.

I found the diaper-bag baby care kit and its suction ball worked very well. The key was that the tip of the ball (the part inserted into the nose) is very soft and flexible. The boy did not protest quite so hard when papí attempted (and succeeded!) ...

From then on, the boy breathed well and got a nice afternoon nap.

As I write, he is talking to mommy rather loudly. I wonder what the rest of the evening will bring? Anyway, I must dress the boy with more layers when I take him out for a little jog. More about that another time.

Got to go fix tomorrow's lunch for papí and Mrs papí...

Cheers.

In the beginning, there was a little body, with a lot of needs.

This is the beginning of my little blog. I am the father of a small boy of 14 weeks age at this writing. My wife gets up each morning and she goes to work. She is gone from the house for twelve hours and then she is home. Meanwhile, the baby awakes and lives his growing ways and I must facilitate and care for him.

This is such a different experience for me. What with the mindset of caring, the many items from a list of things one must infer from the boy's mood and bearing, I find that I shape my thoughts differently.

My schooling pointed in the direction of technology. I spent lots of time in front of dreary machinery managing implications and inferring the way ahead in software. In some ways I wanted to continue that work, but the industry did not require me. Someday I will blog about what I think of the industry I come from, but that is not today.

Babies do not resemble technological instruments with respect to environment. Technology can only reflect the culture and group rationalizations built into the path of inception of that technology. Technology can look great coming out of one sector, and then it can change into a foul-spirited bomb in the next. The software packages that inform the Space Shuttle (something that, while dated and a bit dreary technologically, still caries many of the high-hopes for human endeavor) may result in the birth of a space weapon that manages massacres here on Earth.

Babies don't have that kind of tolerance mis-direction or misuse--though I will not address the extremes of experience that doubtless leave an imprint over time. They absorb lots of garbage, but there is still a chance that everything might come out right and any baby can still grow up to bring forth great works even when they start with slim chances. A child may be hurt grievously during upbringing, yet go onto fulfill a higher purpose without any of that baggage to hinder him.

Technology can _only_ absorb from the intentions and motives of its direct environment, but babies attain to something beyond even their most loving parents' view. There is a price to pay for the "fault-tolerance" of babies regarding their environment. This same tolerance to unhealthy or nonconstructive environments also produces people whose daily wish it is to thrive amongst the toxic environs of this world without a care for making a change, without a thought of how it might go differently.

Probably this outcome haunts most conscientious parents the most. As a new parent myself, I only keep my nose to the grindstone and keep the diapers coming and keep the bottles the right temperature and tilted only just so...

Cheers.