Zoë, First Time Dad & First Time Mom: April 2008

I have never been one of those people who cries tears of joy (FTD on the other hand cries during a good hallmark commercial) or for reasons other than fear and pain. There have been a few exceptions to this over the years however.

Age 15 - We discovered a certain bar in Dupont Circle the happily served alcohol to underage kids.

Age 18 - I moved away to college and opened my eyes to a world of all night parties and scruffy granola boys.

Age 22 - My first "real job paycheck". My salary was only slightly above that of my previous waitress salary however, I no longer had to serve anyone a twice baked potato.

Age 29 - I was living in San Francisco and we had no off street parking. I once (emphasis on once) drove home and there was an open parking space right in front of our old beat up victorian.

Age 34 - Zoë took an afternoon nap in her crib after only 2.5 months of daily attempts.

FTM here ....Many apologies that I haven't written in some time. It is just that I have been struggling with what aspects of the first two months of parenthood to describe.

Do I describe how I now wake from a deep sleep if so much as a hand moves in the crib down the hall (without use of any monitor)? How sometimes when FTD is holding the baby and I go to the bathroom I stay there longer than needed just to catch my breath and have some personal time? How my breasts now look like they should be in a National Geographic article? Or perhaps I should describe how my husband's favorite topic of conversation, Poo, has now been taken to a whole new level. There are so many options!

So let me begin by saying the FTD is a great father. He loves ZoZo to death and has even begun coming home at a decent hour just to see her in the evenings. He is involved, helps out around the house and even tells me that my overweight body (plus and an extra 5 lbs of baby weight I can't lose) is attractive sometimes. But I have to poke at him for just a couple things. Perhaps some of you can relate.

1.) Sleep - FTD has really sensitive hearing. I mean he can hear like a basset hound can smell. He listens to the freaking radio at a decibel that I can only compare to the hum of a mosquito. I know something is on, but have no idea if it is music, an 18 wheeler on a road a couple miles away, an airplane flying overhead, the dishwasher etc. When I was the walrus (how I refer to my third trimester) he slept in a different room most nights because I "snored too loud" and he couldn't rest well (no comment on how well I was resting). I was convinced he would be my savior for middle of the night feedings. Fast forward 3 months .......his own offspring screaming at the top of her lungs one room away, with a baby monitor on full blast and .... HE IS SNORING AND DOESN'T HEAR HER! Are you kidding me? Seriously?

2.) Can you please hold the baby - I will summarize this by saying I was heading to the doctor's office in about an hour and desperately wanted to shower to rinse the baby vomit that is permanently encrusted on my left shoulder off for an hour or so. I asked FTD to hold ZoZo. Hopefully this picture will help you all understand what happened next.

Apparently the SIDs articles never made it into the FTD reading list.

2 Months Not 2 Years - FTD is convinced that Zoë is at the age where riding on shoulders, standing on laps, sitting up on pillows, flipping in arms, hiking, jogging, dancing to really loud techno "crap" (AKA music) is not only fun but also age appropriate.

She is not a boy - FTD is very opposed to gender fussy clothes. What I mean by this is anything pink with bows and peter pans collars. I have to say I for the most part agree with him on this and though she does have a totally decked out pink car seat, I usually have her sitting in it with an outfit that is red, or orange or even the dreaded gender neutral sage green/yellow. By no means do I dress her to compete with Suri, Violet and Apple, however FTD sometimes dresses her to compete with the unfortunate homeless woman with the pigeons landing on her that often sat outside my window in San Francisco. The other day, I came down and he dressed her in army green pants, a lime green top that was on backwards (with snaps up the front) blue socks and a white and red hoodie. I can't even imagine what will happen when she is five and he needs to comb her hair as well. It totally baffles me considering he is typically quite well dressed himself .

I am sure that these things are just the beginning of our differences in parenting styles and aptitudes. Just think about all the things I will have to write about when solid foods are introduced!