E.G., a.k.a. C.U.B. (f.y.i.)

I’m Earl Green, and I’m a complete and utter bastard.

I say that because that’s pretty much how I feel on this first-ever night of “let the baby cry it out.” Mom is tired – no, scratch that, she’s exhausted and frustrated – and I’m supposed to be watching the baby. Except that Evan, after some baby formula and a diaper change and a bit of swaddling – decided that he doesn’t like having Mom all the way across the house from him. (Try working a graveyard shift for seven years, kiddo.)

Problem: Mom’s going back to work at the beginning of November. And then it’s gonna be the Evan & Dad show all day. He’s got to get used to me, and he’s got to trust me. I love looking after the little guy, and as much of a drag as it may seem to some folks out there to look after a baby, I have to admit, it’s kinda cool. I guess there hasn’t been enough of a routine set in for me to find it pure drudgery yet.

So tonight he’s got something bothering him, and I cannot figure out what it is. So he gets to cry it out for a bit. I hate that. What’s worse is that we’ve had to close the nursery door while he’s at it. Anytime he gets quiet, you’d think I’d rejoice, but no, I get paranoid and want to go make sure something really bad hasn’t happened (i.e., “Hey little guy, are you still breathing?” “Yeah, here, tell me what you think of my lungs – WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”). And if we leave him screeching for about ten minutes, Oberon will run in there to his rescue. And when I say “run in there”, I mean “run into the nursery and take a beautiful flying leap to land right on the edge railing of the crib and then jump down to see what’s wrong with his little buddy”.

And today had gone so well otherwise.

Playtime! We set up this contraption in Evan’s crib for him for a bit.

I’m not sure he knew what to think of it. I know Jan kept hitting the little “kittycat nose” button, which triggers a loud MEOW sound effect that brings the three stooges running every time.

Cribcam! A frame of some video I shot. Because I’m dad, and I have to shoot video.

After Evan was finished looking-at-but-not-touching his playtime apparatus, we set up his little keep-the-baby-from-rolling-away gadget in the crib, and I finished setting up his jam box.

Yes, Evan’s got a jam box. Happy one-month-old-day, little man. I realize the wiring thing is gonna have to disappear once he’s big enough to mess with it/get caught up in it, but for now, it’s great for listening to Soothing Sounds For Baby. Beneath the jam box: poop disposal unit.

Dark sinister animal with evil glowing eyes. Every little kid should have one of these in his bedroom.

Much less sinister, but much more goofy, animal.

Stuck outside waiting for Evan to stop wailing: Obi and Olivia look like frogs pinned back prior to dissection. (You can see Obi’s not sleeping here; could you sleep while hearing your best buddy cry like that?)

I’m going to go check on the little guy in a few minutes, because I can’t stand it. I’m really not much good at this whole “let them cry it out” thing. I lasted…well…as long as it took me to write this blog entry and take that last picture.