Home > Adventures in Parenting
Catch me if you can
In the small town in which I grew up, the Fourth of July celebration had many activities associated with it. Part of the day was spent at the community pool with a unique event. You see, they would “grease” a watermelon and throw in the pool. The fun then began as we all jumped in to try to corral the greasy fruit. I can’t exactly remember what you won if you were able to wrestle the watermelon out of the pool, but I know it wasn’t easy.
You might be wondering why I bring up this part of my “slippery past,” well, I will tell you. My daughter has been sporting a nasty cold for the last couple of weeks. You know the kind kids get - cough and stuffy head. That has meant my wife and I have had to chase her around the house with a tissue. And like that watermelon, she is not the easy one to get your hands on - especially when she knows what’s coming.
One wipe of the tissue is never enough. Just when I think I have a good grasp on her, she slips through my hands and, well, let’s just say that further work is needed on her nose - and maybe her cheek, hands, etc. Children sure can be elusive when they want to be. And the more I wipe the nose, the more frustrated she becomes. And then she cries, and that results in more reason to wipe her nose. On and on the nose-wiping dance goes.
There were many things in my childhood I was thankful I experienced for they have prepared me for things later in life. Little did I know the watermelon in the pool would be one of them. Now, I am very thankful that I had the chance to try to catch that slippery fruit. Gotta go - time to wrestle with my daughter - and wipe her nose.
Not a fan of charades
I have never been a big fan of charades. It seems I always end up on the team with the “weaker” actors or end up with the things that are impossible to act out. And on top of that, I am too self-conscious to want to make a fool out of myself and be a good teammate.
Now, I am having to play charades nearly every day. My daughter’s vocabulary is still rather limited, but she has a finger that works great for charades. She points at everything, leaving dear old dad to try to guess the item. If big brother has my house bugged, some federal agent would be getting a jolly laugh. Lunch time goes something like this, “Wall…chair…fork…food…tray…nose…etc.” She will point and I will try to guess. Some are easy - even with my inept charade abilities, I know what a nose is. After that, things get dicey.
Sometimes I just say off the wall things to see what will happen. She points to her foot and I say elephant. She laughs - she knows what an elephant is. She points to her rubber duck and I will say book. Then she promptly goes and gets a book and lays it at my feet. I guess she wants to make sure I know what a book is.
Other parents have told me to treasure these “wordless” moments because she will be talking soon enough. And then it will be tough for dad to get a word in edgewise. But it would be nice to know what it is she is pointing at and wants. I think I will take a few minutes this afternoon and search online for a mind-reading class. Maybe then I will get things right and the laughs will be because I am funny and not because I am clueless.
Permalink | |
What a moment!
The other day I was sitting on the floor of my daughter’s room waiting for her to venture back in and play. Actually, that’s not quite true. It was more like in a state of utter exhaustion I collapsed in a heap and begged her to come back, so I wouldn’t have to run after her yet again.
As she stood in the hall examining the vacuum cleaner, she acknowledged my pleas and smiled. I thought I was simply going to have to chase her again. The smile usually proceeds a quick toddle down the hall. But this time, she started walking toward my position. I braced myself for her typical lunge at my feet where her toys were. There was no lunge. She walked up, put her arms around me and gave me a big hug. She then pulled away and gave me a kiss.
Wow! I was blown away. Normally, I have to beg for a hug and kiss. This was completely unsolicited. I started to tear up just in time for her to hug me yet again. I was shocked. As I tried to revel in the moment, she pulled away and located her blocks and commenced to playing.
For a minute, I simply sat back and watched. I really couldn’t do much else I was so stunned by the moment. But I quickly recovered and began to quiz her on the color of her toys. We were back into the routine.
Being a parent affords us moments when our child breaks from the norm and does something special. Sometimes those things are simple. Other times they are moments we will remember forever. That simple hug and kiss will be something I treasure for a long time. And I will even forget the fact that she smacked me in the head with a block moments later. The hug and kiss made it all better.
Permalink | |
One foot in front of the other
Put one foot in front of the other And soon you’ll be walking cross the floor Put one foot in front of the other And soon you’ll be walking out the door
Those words not only grace millions of televisions each Christmas season as folks watch “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” but they are also the words that echo through my head every day as I watch my daughter maneuver around our home.
Each day, she takes a few more steps. And each day, I get another chance to giggle. Nothing is more amusing than seeing her moving faster and faster until she finally plops to to the floor. My wife at times looks at her and asks, “Does your brain know what your legs are doing?” Sometimes you have to wonder.
Now, this walking thing does bring with it times of angst. She doesn’t always pick the best locations to do her falling. Bumps and bruises come with the territory in learning to walk, but I didn’t know I was going to get some of them. It seems she likes to land on my legs when she falls. I bruise and she looks up and laughs. But I guess that is all part of growing up dad.
I will say that one of the good things about her walking is I now can keep up with her. She had become quite proficient at crawling. In fact, I was thinking of seeing if she could qualify for a NASCAR short track event she was moving so rapidly. The walking is taking her pace down a notch - but I know that won’t be for long.
So, as she puts one foot and front of the other, I try to move along with her to keep her from hitting those things that are bit harder than good, old dad. I just hope that we keep to walking across the floor for a while, before she is walking out the door. I am not sure I am ready for that yet.
Permalink | |
Dad needs Red Bull
It gives you wings!
This is what the makers of Red Bull proclaim about their energy drink. And if this advertising campaign is true, sign me up for a year’s supply.
Recently, I had the pleasure of keeping my daughter by myself for a week while my wife was out of town. I certainly could have used those wings and anything else Red Bull had to offer. I couldn’t keep up with my daughter to save my life. Room to room she traveled with me lagging behind. And as the day got longer, her advantage become larger. It was like an elephant trying to chase down an Olympic sprinter.
Now, I am not sure what it is in the chemical makeup of a child that gives them all that energy, but bottling and selling it would make someone a fortune. Red Bull would have to go past its wings promotion and move on to warp speed. From the time she woke up until she went to bed, it was like my daughter was hooked up to a double-dosing Red Bull IV.
I did what I could to keep up - from an extra Coke Zero a day, to more coffee, to eating more chocolate. I thought the caffeine and sugar rush would help. No luck, she kept going like the Energizer bunny and I puttered behind like an old Model T. What’s a dad to do?
So, to the makers of Red Bull, if you can promise me your drink will help me chase my daughter from room to room for 12 hours a day, I am sold. If not, please make sure your drink doesn’t get into the hands of my daughter because I will definitely be in trouble if she adds wings to her arsenal.
Permalink | |
Yum - sand!
It’s right here on my computer screen - a cute picture of my daughter from our first family vacation to the beach. And there it is all over her face - sand.
It was bright yellow and much bigger than a spoon. But I guess her shovel looked like what we use to give her oatmeal or spaghetti. So, while I wandered away from the safe confines of her beach blanket, she managed to get a mouthful of beach. And we have the pictures to prove it.
So, being the concerned first-time father, I went online to find out about this baby delicacy. And it sounds like many children think the beach is for more than sand castles and games. Evidently, some children make a habit of it. My daughter didn’t enjoy the beach enough to have more than the one sitting at the beach buffet.
Reading what some people had to say about eating sand was enlightening though. Some parents say children eat sand because it feels good on their gums and tastes salty. Others believe their children do it to got a rise out of mom and dad. And some went so far to say that since they couldn’t keep their child from eating sand, they monitored the quality of the sand they ate. I can almost see the sanitation grades now on the beach - this beach contains grade 98 sand.
It sounds like most parents say there are only two ways to keep a child from eating sand - never go to the beach or keep their mouth full of something else so they don’t think about the sand. Maybe next time, we will take several pounds of her favorite snack to keep her from the powdery beach treat.
With one of those magic birthdays quickly approaching for me (no, I am not going to tell you which one), I started to think about going to the beach as a child. Maybe it is my ever-increasing age, but I can’t recall a time when I didn’t like the sand and the ocean. I don’t recall being scared of the water, and I certainly don’t remember eating sand. And I will flatly deny ever doing it should it come up in conversation among my family.
So, the next time we load up and head to the beach, we will see what is on the menu. Maybe it will be seafood or maybe it will be grade A, top choice beach sand. I guess the decision might just be up to my daughter.
Permalink | |
Father’s Day
For years, I played the role of good son every June. I would venture out, get a greeting card, find something golf related and wish my dad a Happy Father’s Day. And then, it was over.
This year, that Sunday in June was much different. It was the first Father’s Day with my daughter. And it was more than just another Hallmark holiday to check off the calendar.
My wife and daughter decided to bring me breakfast in bed. The doughnuts were great, but my daughter crawling up the bed to give me a kiss was much sweeter. The gifts were nice, but just the fact that I was now a father was unbelievable. What can be a better gift than a toothy grin from a 15-month old?
One thing I found out, sometimes the gifts are as much for others as for the father. One present I unwrapped on Father’s Day was a CD which is quickly becoming one of my favorites - although I am slightly embarrassed to admit it. It seems that the Veggie Tales characters broadened their horizons a bit and did some remakes of ’70s tunes.
Now, if you are not familiar with the Veggie Tales, I don’t have nearly enough time to bring you up to speed. But there is something about a cucumber singing Proud Mary or a tomato singing Car Wash that just makes you want to get up and dance. And if I do, the look on my daughter’s face quickly makes me stop the disco moves.
Father’s Day was very special for me this year, and I think I now have a better sense of how important it has been to my dad through the years. There are now several days a year that I ridiculed as “Hallmark holidays” that I will see much differently. Parenting has taught me many lessons, and this is just one more. And I am sure there are countless more to come.
Permalink | |
Week of firsts
Imagine what it would be like if the basket moved in basketball. Or how much more difficult a round of golf would be if the hole danced around the green.
That must have been the way the stylist recently felt when my daughter appeared for her first haircut. She seemed content when she had one comb to play with, and appeared to be in heaven when given a second one. With a comb in each hand, she smiled and played. And then the cutting began. There were no tears or screams of terror, but there also wasn’t a little girl sitting as still as a statue either.
After several snips on the bangs, the stylist stepped back and said it was “time for the big gun.” I wasn’t sure what she was referring to at the time, but when she returned with a smile I knew what she had in mind. In her hand was the “big gun” - a lollipop. So, here was my daughter getting her first “American” haircut while enjoying her first lollipop. She was a bit apprehensive at first, but it didn’t take long for her sweet tooth to enjoy what she had. Surprisingly, she even offered to share her “hairy” lollipop - when she wasn’t spreading the sticky mess all over her face.
Just several days later, we decided to continue our week of firsts and take her to the beach. Despite the grandeur that is God’s creation of the ocean and the beach, I really believe that little Dum-Dum lollipop was much more thrilling for her. We heard some kids are terrified their first trip to the beach, but not my daughter. She looked around unimpressed at the people, the waves, the sand - the whole nine yards. She did motion to get in the water, but we weren’t quite ready for her to get down in the sand. I had visions of the sand becoming like that lollipop - all over her face, and probably in her mouth as well.
So, we will make a second trip and let her get her feet wet. And I am sure there will be many more trips to the beach after that, as well as many more haircuts and lollipops.
As with any child, there are many firsts to experience. And we enjoyed these recent firsts like we have the others. I think I will grab a lollipop myself, sit back and see what she does next. The journey is always full of surprises.
Permalink | |
Words are coming
I have never been a big fan of horror movies, but I have watched my fair share throughout the years. And one common theme runs through almost all of them - that strange sound you hear is the killer coming.
So it is no wonder that in each movie, the characters become paranoid. Each creaking or groaning of the house has to be something evil coming. The sound of the tree limb banging the window outside is the harbinger of death. Every little noise results in a startled, “What’s that?” And usually results in minutes of panic and anxiety before another gory moment.
Well, as parents, I think we have moments like this. Sure, noises late at night make us jump up to make sure our child is ok. But this isn’t my point. I am thinking more of those first “words” your child utters. Every babble means something, right?
Come on now. Any of you who are a parent are just a guilty as I am. My daughter every now and then busts out with something that sounds like mama or dada, so that has to be what she is saying right? I mean the grunt I heard yesterday in response to a question I had asked her sounded kind of like good, so she said good, right?
My daughter definitely says “baba,” which is Chinese for baby. I am not sure she knows exactly what it means, but she has no trouble saying it. And I encourage her every time she uses it. And then I toss out a few dadas for good measure hoping she will offer one back.
Officially, I don’t think my daughter is talking yet. And I am completely comfortable with that. Maybe she will be like the brother of a friend of mine. He was very slow in speaking, to the point where his family was quite concerned. Finally, when he did speak, he offered forth a complete sentence. Now, that is a grand entrance.
I can almost see my daughter doing that one morning, looking at me and saying, “Dad, those clothes don’t match.” And after the shock of the moment wore off, I would have to admit - she’s right!
Permalink | |
The Comparison Game
Ty, what did you shoot today?
Oh, Judge, I don’t keep score.
Then how do you measure yourself with other golfers?
By height.
Anyone who has seen the movie “Caddyshack” more than once remembers this exchange between the characters played by Ted Knight and Chevy Chase. It’s a simple, yet pointed, reminder of how we all compare ourselves in one way or another to those around us.
Parents seem to be notorious for the comparison game when it comes to their children. We do it because we are proud. We enjoy speaking of our child’s accomplishments, whether it is first steps or words, or the good grades they get at school.
People ask me almost daily how my daughter is doing. And nothing is better than talking about her, but there is this little voice in the back of my head that wants to say something like, “Yes, she discovered a new planet today.” Mind you, that is highly unlikely even for the most gifted 1-year-old. But that would certainly end all comparisons now, wouldn’t it?
We compare our children by how tall they are or by how many words they can say or a myriad of other things. And at times, it can be discouraging when another child surpasses what your own is capable of doing. I am constantly reminding myself that my daughter is doing exactly what it is she was meant to do at this particular age. I shouldn’t push her to do more than she is capable of, but I should encourage her to move forward.
At what age do we learn this “comparison game?” I watched my daughter play with another child her age last weekend, and I can’t say I saw any comparing going on. They played, nothing more. They didn’t lie down next to each other to see who was taller or see who could eat more. They simply had fun.
It was a great reminder to me as a parent to simply sit back and enjoy watching my daughter grow, take her first steps, utter her first words, etc. It’s not a contest. And there is nothing to which I can compare it.
Permalink | |
A moment to reflect
Monday is my day off; I look forward to it each week, as I am able to spend time in the morning, just me and my daughter, while my wife works. It is our “daddy-daughter” time.
Today, I was home with a sick baby. I spent the better part of the morning wiping her nose, which doesn’t make me her No. 1 buddy. It is frustrating when your child is sick and they can’t communicate with you. I desperately wanted to help, but I really didn’t know what I could do other than hold and comfort her.
As she was napping, I took a few minutes to check the Internet. It didn’t take long to learn of the horror unfolding in Blacksburg, Va., on the Virginia Tech campus. A gunman had laid siege to the campus, killing people at a dormitory and a classroom. It was chilling to read the account.
I could only think about what countless parents must be going through at the moment, as they wonder if their child might be one who was killed or wounded. I stared at my daughter; I held and looked at her. I couldn’t even imagine the pain those parents must be feeling. Suddenly, my daughter’s cold seemed much less severe.
As a journalist, events like today’s always leave me a bit shaken. It’s heartbreaking to see what man can do to his fellow man. The people killed today were someone’s sons, daughters, brothers, sisters and friends. I have lost loved ones, but now I am beginning to understand what it means to be a parent who unconditionally loves a child. I can’t begin to fathom what I would do if something ever happened to her.
Recently, my daughter has learned to clap and wave. Each day it seems she learns something new, and our lives become even more entwined. I’m her father and she is my daughter.
Over the past couple of weeks, I hope some of you have chuckled as you have read of my experiences as a first-time dad. Today, I hope you will take a moment to seek out those you love and let them know you care. I know I am going to be doing that. And hopefully, in between the wiping of her nose, I hope my daughter gets a glimpse of how much her father cares for her.
Permalink | |
A painful eruption
Eruption!
The word makes me think about the small container of ash I have that was collected by a family friend shortly after the 1980 event at Mount Saint Helens. I can still recall the television coverage of the ash plume rising thousands of feet into the air. The destructive force of the eruption was amazing and left a lasting impression on me as a 12-year-old.
I am learning there is a reason that dentists choose the word eruption to describe the event of a tooth emerging from the gums of a child. A new tooth certainly appears to be a painful and explosive moment in a child’s life.
As I write this, my daughter is experiencing the eruptive nature of numerous teeth. And, therefor, my wife and I are experiencing the teething process as well. The mini Krackatoa events are very distressing evidently to my little girl. They keep her from sleeping and have her chewing on any of the number of teethers - or anything else that will fit in her mouth - around our house.
We have done all we can to ease her pain - from Orajel to baby Tylenol and Motrin. We have even tried popsicles and ice cream, but the little one isn’t real keen on cold things yet. Nothing we have done really seems to take the edge off the teething. Then again, I guess pointing a fire hose at a volcano wouldn’t do much good either.
On one especially long evening, my wife looked at me and asked if I had ever had tooth pain so severe that it kept me awake. I can’t recall any moment in my life - even when I had my wisdom teeth removed - that I couldn’t sleep because of a toothache. As an adult, I have given little thought to my teeth other than to brush and floss several times a day. I now look at my teeth in a much different way.
I am not sure how many teeth my daughter already has. It’s tough to get her to sit still and open her mouth long enough to count. But I know she is going to have 20 of these eruptions in order to have a full mouth of pearly, white baby teeth. That must mean 20 agonizing moments for her. So, we will have at least 12 more mini Mount Saint Helens’ moments in our home.
This thought made me sit down and ponder the Tooth Fairy. You know, the mythical creature that slips in at night, removes the child’s tooth and replaces it with some kind of prize. I have a better job for this dental pixy. How about slipping in at the dead of night and replacing that cute, gummy grin with a bright, shiny - and painless - smile? Now, that would be truly performing a public service.
So, unless modern medicine - or the Tooth Fairy - comes up with a great way to deal with teething, we will keep plugging along. And try to comfort our daughter as each eruption breaks forth.
Permalink | |
My daughter is smarter than…
“My dad is bigger than your dad.”
“Oh yeah, well, my dad can run faster than your dad.”
“Well, our car is bigger than yours.”
On and on, it goes. Most of us can remember those intellectually stimulating playground conversations where everyone we knew and everything we had was better than the little boy or girl across from us. The exaggerations flowed freely.
I am not sure we ever lose that ability to stretch our version of the truth. As a teenager, the exam we didn’t do so well on was the hardest test ever. In college, the speeding ticket was because the meanest and most stringent police officer in the world pulled us over. I know some of you are smiling as you read this because it sounds just like words you have uttered in the past.
Is it any wonder that as parents our child is the best this or the best that? And what parent hasn’t had the next budding Tiger Woods or Florence Nightingale? I would like to think that my baby is the next Albert Einstein - albeit, I hope, with much nicer hair. And I think I have the facts to prove it.
As a Christmas present, my wife and I received an incredible stroller from my parents that as my daughter gets older can be converted into a tricycle. It had a brake mechanism on one wheel for that conversion. Well, on the second trip around the block in the new stroller, my daughter learned how to work the brake. We would push for about five feet and she would apply the brake. We would tell her no and in five more feet, the brake was back on. Five feet, pull the handle - smart one isn’t she?
So, her mechanically-challenged dad had to remove the brake. I wheeled the stroller right into her room and had her watch me while I took it off. She smiled the entire time - no doubt thinking of another way to best me.
Not impressed? Try this one on for size - at her first birthday party, we wanted each guest to see her open his or her present. It was obvious that she wasn’t going to do so as long as she had an open gift in front of her. So, I would hide the open gift and give her the next wrapped one so we could push on.
My daughter learned this trick quickly. How do I know? I am beginning to find books and toys hidden around her room. There are books under the crib or behind the laundry basket. You might find a stuffed animal tucked under a blanket or behind a toy box. I guess she is hiding so she can find them rather than me hide them.
Ok, so these things may not be signs that my daughter will discover the cure for cancer or develop an automobile that runs on alternative fuel. But maybe she will? And, if I am to be honest, your child might be the one who does one of those things. But until proven otherwise, I can proudly proclaim in my best playground voice, “My daughter is smarter than…”
Permalink | |
Getting it open is the battle
My daughter recently celebrated her first birthday. It was a wonderful day spent with family and friends. Everything was perfect - until all the guests left. Then I had to open a few of the gifts so my daughter could begin to enjoy her presents.
I did some research yesterday and I found a name for what I suffered that Sunday evening - wrap rage! It is a condition that many of us suffer when we have to get something out of the packaging that companies state is used to protect a product during shipping and to keep things from being stolen. I am not sure how many thieves prey on goods designed for a 12-month-old, but more power to them if they steal these products. If I lifted something in that packaging, I would take it back to the store and give them double the price to simply take it off my hands.
A recent study showed that more than 6,000 emergency room visits per year are a result of a consumer injuring him or herself while trying to open a package. People are using everything from utility knives to heavy-duty scissors. One man in the study joked that he heard someone used a .45-caliber pistol to open one package.
I understand that person’s frustration. I was thinking a hammer would be sufficient, but a gun has a nice ring to it. My question is I wonder how many of those emergency room visits are because someone’s frustration has motivated them to hurl the package and unwittingly catch an innocent victim in the head.
My daughter received some wonderful gifts. One was so well packaged, I wondered if she might be too old to use it before I could get it open. After unscrewing several small screws and removing what seemed like a dozen twist ties, my little girl had already moved on to another toy. I could only sit and stare at the toy in one hand and the box in the other that said “No assembly required.” Indeed, no assembly was required, but they didn’t say “No dismantling required.”
There is a move afoot across the country to make packaging easier - and at the same time safer - to get into. I haven’t found a place to put my name on a petition, but I will gladly do so when given the chance. I am all for safety for our children, but how about some concern for the parents? Scissors and utility knives are sharp - remember we have been told since we were little that we weren’t to run around the house with them. And I sure don’t want my neighbors getting frustrated with their packaging and start shooting holes in the floor or walls.
My daughter, like most children, loves to play with the box and paper that the packages come in. But even that is impossible with small screws, twist ties and cut plastic now being the result of opening presents. Give me some good, old fashioned boxes and foam peanuts any day. It is a lot safer and a whole lot more fun with which to play. And it might just keep us parents from suffering wrap rage. Because no one really wants to see an adult take a .45 to a toy train or doll.
Permalink | |
Yes, I have “daddy brain”
Somewhere in small print on my daughter there has to be the words “Do not operate heavy machinery after…”
I never doubted that being a parent was going to be hard work. I knew there would be some sleepless nights. Even if I hadn’t, the robust laughter that echoed through the phone line when talking to a friend of mine the first week home with my daughter would have let me know. What I didn’t expect was sheer and utter exhaustion.
I am suffering from what my wife affectionately now calls “daddy brain.” This is a condition that often leaves me speechless - a situation in which I almost never found myself before. The condition causes me to take a second look before leaving the house to make sure I actually did remember to put on my pants. Many people have asked if my daughter babbles in Chinese or English. I really couldn’t tell you, but the question now might be what language am I babbling in.
Sleep deprivation has led me to say some pretty funny things over the last couple of weeks. My wife has gotten a chuckle on several occasions. But I think my daughter has gotten the bigger kick out of it. Now, she may be just smiling and laughing because she wants to. But for some reason, each time I say something completely ridiculous because I am half asleep, I can only think of the movie “Look Who’s Talking Too.” I can hear Charlize Theron (not really interested in Roseanne being the voice of my daughter) saying, “Dad, you are one weird dude!”
A recent study indicated that taking sleeping pills can lead a person to suffer from “sleep driving.” That’s me - and I haven’t taken any medication! Over the last couple weeks, I think I have been sleep driving, sleep changing of diaper, sleep eating - you get the picture. And the scary part is my daughter sleeps well.
I really have no idea where all the energy is going. I find myself thinking my daughter is preparing for a starring role in a remake of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” I am certain she has snatched what little grey matter I had left upstairs. What else could explain it?
When I was young, I simply thought my parents were a little off based on some of the things they said. I now realize that I had sucked out what brains they had left as well. I can now say I have a new appreciation for what my brother and I must have put them through. Sorry mom and dad - have a full night’s sleep on me. I know I am looking forward to one.
Permalink | |
Can you taste that?
Recently, my wife and I became parents for the first time. I thought I was ready. Well, as is often the case, I was grossly misinformed. This blog will share with you the many things I am learning as a first-time parent.
I am going to attempt to be the only butt of my jokes throughout this blog for two reasons. First, my daughter is too young to protect herself. The only weapons she currently has at her disposal are spit bubbles, fingernails and a smile that can melt the hardest heart. And those are no match for the poison pen of a seasoned journalist. Second, I will not be tattling on anything my wife might do. The reason - I don’t think I am big enough to win that battle.
One of the first questions I have as a new parent is when do a baby’s taste buds develop? Now, I know you doctor-types are going to tell me that we are all born with working taste buds. I have to whole-heartedly disagree. There is no way any baby would drink formula if they could actually taste it. Formula may be some of the nastiest stuff in the world.
Now, I know making that comment leads many of you to ask - how does this guy know what formula tastes like? You guessed it - I tasted my daughter’s formula. I kind of had to.
Since our daughter was adopted from China, we of course had to get her back stateside. That meant we had to run the gauntlet of airport security in Nanchang, Guangzhou, Beijing and New York City. That was four chances for some nice security officer to want me to open a prepared bottle and taste it. They have to make sure we aren’t taking something illegal on the plane. And I didn’t think it would be wise for my first taste of formula to result in me being sick on the shoes of a security officer. I thought that might raise suspicions to a new level and result in me being whisked into some back room for a lengthy conservation.
So, there I was in a hotel room in China tasting baby formula. In the milliseconds that followed, all I could think about was I need something to get this awful taste out of my mouth. But I couldn’t drink the water, and there was nothing else in the room at the time. I was stuck! I hope to never, ever be in that situation again. It was pure agony.
As a dutiful father, I have since tasted nearly everything we have fed our daughter. The peas leave a lot to be desired, but they sure beat baby formula. I honestly believe if my teeth ever fall out from the soft drinks and candy I consume - as many a dentist has promised would happen - I think I could live on what Gerber has to offer. But believe me, I will never get so bad that I will drink formula. My taste buds have developed to the point where I know how it tastes. As far as my daughter, if it keeps her smiling, I will keep filling her sippy cup with the vile brew.
Until next time, I will keep on this adventure we call parenting.
Permalink | |
