Fireworks

Yesterday was the 4th of July, but I'm sure you already know that. Sarah's parents were cooking burgers on the grill and invited us up. We were feeling a little stir crazy from being in the house for the last 4 days, so we jumped at the idea.

Of course, about 2 seconds after getting Tyler secured in his car seat, he started screaming bloody murder! It had been close to 2 hours since his last feeding, so he was due for some boobage. Great. So, I unbuckled him and gave him to Sarah for a pre-ride snack. He slept like a... erm... well, like a baby for the 45 minute ride to Coldwater.

And he slept for, pretty much, the entire visit there. Nana and Papa Bouse and Tyler's aunts were all proud of how good he was being. On the other hand, Sarah and I telepathically said to each other "Tonight is going to be hell on earth". The more he sleeps during the day, the less he's going to sleep at night.

So, 9pm rolls around. Sarah's family are going to go watch fireworks. The three of us, however, were not. It just doesn't seem appropriate to take a 6 day old child to see fireworks. Especially with all the mosquitoes that were flying around. It took about a half hour for Nana and Aunt JiJi to say their goodbyes to Tyler. Papa Bouse wasn't exactly in nirvana over the delay, but what are ya gonna do. Tyler got a nice serving of boobage before we left. I loaded him in the car seat, put him in the car, and we hit the road. It's about 9:45p at this time.

At 9:59p, he started bawling. 20 minutes ago, he had eaten, burped, and been changed. He couldn't possibly need anything else. Plus, we were driving. I told him, politely but firmly, that he was just going to have to cry it out. See, Tyler looks to the boob for comfort, even when he's not hungry. I, however, do not want him to associate the boob with sleep. If that becomes the case, he'll never fall asleep unless he's next to the boob. Now, I know that is probably every man's dream, but he should not be starting this particular habit so early in life. So, it's important to me that he learn to fall asleep on his own. That, in a nutshell, is why I told him he was going to have to cry it out.

Quite surprisingly, it only took him 7 minutes to do so. It was as if a switch was turned off. He just stopped, right then and there. I even started talking trash to him from the front seat. I said something along the lines of, "Is that all you've got? Only 7 minutes?"

Sarah, the voice of reason, informed me that it probably wasn't too wise to push the issue, and that maybe we should be happy that he had given up. Maybe it isn't a good idea to provoke a baby.

Once we got home and I got Ty out of his car seat, I was talking to him and he started crying again. I had one hand on his bottom, and one hand on his back, holding him upright, so we were looking at each other. He burped. I felt pleased, understanding why he was crying. But he didn't stop crying.

Then, "IT" happened. I could feel the force of the explosion against the hand holding his bottom. Speechless, I just looked at him for a second or two. Then, another bomb rocked the house. I have discovered the weapons of mass destruction that President Bush has been looking for. They have been cleverly hidden in the bowels of my own son. And they were detonating. My first instinct was to take cover. Drop the baby and dive into the nearest bunker, and pray for the survival of my wife. After a third, slightly less devastating explosion, I decided to survey the damage.

The force of the blasts were enough to compromise the air-tight seal between leg and diaper. There was some collateral damage. Why-oh-why couldn't Sarah have been holding Tyler at the time? After using more babywipes than usual, I felt satisfied with the cleanup.

That's when the second wave of the attack started. This clever bogey waited until my guard was down, doing cleanup, to start the chemical warfare. Without warning, urine streamed up and out, much like a overly powerful drinking fountain. Luckily, I had the new, clean, diaper handy. Ninja reflexes took over. I grabbed the diaper and intercepted the stream. I was able to minimize the destruction, but, mentally, the damage had been done.

I guess I got to see some 4th of July fireworks afterall.