Yesterday we were getting ready to go out, everybody putting on shoes, rounding up supplies, getting Noah to choose a small toy to bring…you know, the regular routine. I open the door, start ushering Noah out, and Teresa looks at me and says, “Are we bringing Desi?”

Calmly sitting in the other room, oblivious to the world, is little Desmond.

“Oh yeah. Yeah, we should probably bring him.”

See, this is how my mind starts to internalize things. Teresa was in love with Desi and dreaming of her new four piece family within weeks of finding out. I, on the other hand, am like a fine wine. Facts must age in my brain until they’re ready for use.

As we load into the car, the old process of buckling Noah in has now expanded to buckling Noah in and getting Desi locked in. I try to avoid the second part, as putting a newborn into a car seat is akin to fitting potato chip into a change purse. It looks like it could fit, but your pretty sure something will snap in the process.

So while it used to be “Me and Tree and the boy” now it’s “Me and Tree and Noah and Desi.” It’s no longer “Noah is an addition to our couple.” It’s “We are clan Bullard.” We are a traveling troupe. Matching t-shirts would almost be appropriate.

After a long struggle (search “poop” and see how many posts come up) Noah has finally come to terms with the fact that poo belongs in the toilet. Turns out the breaking point was simply lying about the world’s supply of Noah-sized diapers. We warned him that we were running low, and that soon he’d be forced to poop in the toilet. It was a game of human waste chicken. Who would blink first?

Noah held out until the very last diaper, and then only held it in for a day before finally deciding the toilet wasn’t the spawn of satan (in regards to poop…peeing in the toilet has been no problem for months.) I got a call at work from a tiny voice saying, “DADDY I POOPED IN THE TOILET!!!” This time it wasn’t a wrong number.

So my life has changed in a very good way. I haven’t had to clean up anything resembling adult poop in over a week. It’s almost weird. He’s tells us when he’s going about 50% of the time, so sometimes you’ll just walk in on him, or it will be really quiet, and you’ll get suspicious.

“Noah?”

“I NEED PRIVACY!”

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My mother once told me that if you couldn’t say something nice, you shouldn’t say anything at all. Yep, she was the one who came up with that.

Luckily I didn’t listen, otherwise this blog wouldn’t exist.

So two days ago I posted about Desi and our family and how we were sick. Little did I know that within a few hours of that post we’d be in the ER. Desi has a fever. Teresa burst into tears like we had already failed him as parents, and I went into “let’s get done what needs to happen” mode, and got us to the hospital tout suite.

So generally, in medicine, the way they find out what’s wrong with you is by seeing how your immune system is fighting. The problem with this method is that 2 week old babies don’t yet have and immune system, so there’s nothing to check. So what they have to do is take blood samples, then put them in petri dishes and try and grow various bacteria. If it grows, then it’s in his blood. If not, then he’s clear. This is a process that takes 2 days. So we get to stay in the hospital for 48 hours. To top it all off, they have to check for spinal meningitis. Yep, spinal. So you know what that means?

My son, at the ripe age of 2 weeks, got a spinal tap. This means Noah is going to have to step it up if he wants to kee the “I survived my father” title for long. If Desi keeps on this course, he’ll be fighting giraffes by 3 months.

Your move Noah…your move.

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So Desi has been in the house for 10 days and we’ve already gotten him sick. I knew this would happen when I started feeling my through hurt the last day in the hospital.

Tree and I tend to play parasite ping pong, then Noah came, and with the addition of Desi I guess we can now play doubles. It’s good to know that we’ve informed him that he’ll always be safe with us, his new family, as long as he can weather the minimum of one-per-season cold that I get, and then spread around the house.

Last night was awful. Tree and I had been dealing fairly well with the less sleep thing, but last night was bad. Desi had gas, and I suppose starting to feel the cold too. He was miserable, and was sure to let everyone else know about it.

Upside, Noah spent his first night in underwear. He woke up around midnight to use the bathroom, and made it the rest of the way through morning without incident. This would be more exciting if he had pooped in the past two days though. He pees fine, but he will run around demanding a diaper to poop in. He simply doesn’t understand the idea of popping in the toilet. He will openly admit to preferring to poop standing up, hiding behind a curtain like that ghost kid in Three Men and a Baby. That’s a not a joke. I’ve actually caught him standing behind a curtain, with that blank stare cats have when they poop.

Today I’m back at work, Tree’s first day alone with the boy. Noah is at school. Personally, I’m envious of the woman. She’s probably sitting at home right now with an unconscious kid on her chest, watching Arrested Development on Netflix Streaming, dozing in and out of consciousness.

Meanwhile I’m here, at work, working my fingers to the bone. Yep. Busy, busy, busy.

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We were going through our Netflix Streaming queue looking at movies, and Noah desperately wanted to watch anything we mentioned.

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Yesterday, at about 5:30 Teresa informs me she may be induced today. There’s a few tests she needs to do, (Something about low fluids. Can’t Jiffy Lube take care of that?) and if she tests positive for them, they’re going to go ahead and pop the baby out. This is a little disconcerting on a few fronts. The first, of course, being the health of the baby. He’s measuring 32-33 weeks along, despite the fact that he measured 36 weeks last week. (week week week.) So perhaps he’s shrinking? That’s no good. I never saw Benjamin Button, how did it end?

The over all idea is that if she is low on fluids, he’s far enough along that having him out in the ‘real world’ is better than trying to um…I don’t know, top her off? I honestly have no idea how this all works.

Then of course, most importantly, how this all affects me.

I’ve spent some time in contemplation, thinking about how this will change our lives. You’d think having a second kid isn’t such a big deal, since you’ve already had one, but for some reason, it is. I’ve already forgotten most of infant care. I think it’s something along the lines of “don’t support the head” and “shake when crying.” Maybe, I don’t know if that sounds right.

Here’s a great example of how my life is already changing. I’m trying to write this post, and Tree informs me that we need to “go” to the “doctor” to get “tests” to see if she’s going to be induced right now. Gah! I never get any ME time!

Real quick, since I know this is going to be a big deal use #BullardBabyWatch2010 for Twitter trending topics. And keep your eyes here for all updates.

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He’s getting really good. It’s not shown in the video, but he’ll sometimes take that turn really fast, with his feet off the ground for 5 or 6 seconds, adjusting through the turn, really controlling his balance. He’s never gonna know what training wheels are.

Apologies for the poor video, my phone was the only thing I could find. Also, the audio is really low, which is a downside of the G1. The mic points towards the shooter, so I’m loud, while Noah’s adorable comments are quiet. It’s worth turning up your speakers.

(For those reading on Facebook, you have to click the “View Original Post” to see the video.)

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This morning, just after my alarm went off and I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I heard a sound I hear most mornings: my son slowly opening his door, whimpering in his ever constant “I need something but I’m not going to tell you want” whine.

But this morning it was a little different. Normally it only takes him a few seconds to travel from his room to ours. But now his whine seemed sustained, and stationary. And with it an occasional odd squeak. I lay quietly, trying to figure out what he was doing. His whines grew louder. I decided I should get up and see what’s going on before he graduates to full tantrum, which can be hard to come back down from.

What I find is my son, laying on the floor, half conscious, trying to drag his bike out of his room. The handlebars were stuck on the door. He woke up from sleep, walked to the end of his bed, and tried to ride his bike out of his unlit room. The first thing on his mind when he woke up was “I wanna ride my bike.”

I love my son.

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It would appear I have made a monster.

Over the past couple of years Tree has yelled at me a few times about how I tell Noah to clean himself while he eats. I simply try and help him from spreading his mess any further than it needs to be. If he gets spaghetti sauce on his hands, you might as well have him wipe it off, lest he wipe it all over his face, shirt, table, etc. Nothing wrong with not making a huge mess every time you eat. Only a crazy person would take this little bit of guidance and turn it into a personal mantra.

Well, leave it to my son to blow things out of proportion.

It’s come to the point where he’ll throw a fit if he gets things on his hands. The first time it snowed this winter we played outside until he tripped and landed hand first in snow. He burst into tears about his hands being wet. “Clean it off!” he cried.

Today he and I took a walk through our neighborhood to investigate a small patch of woods. We walked about 3/4 of a mile (which is 10 miles in toddler units) to a little wooded area between two subdivisions. On the way there he talked about how he was going to find dinosaur skeletons. He was very excited. Then he saw the woods. “Those woods dirty daddy.”

I managed to get him about 15 feet in before he made us turn around due to his concerns about getting his shoes dirty. I’m not making that up. He refused to go any further.

Tonight as I put him to bed, we talked about our day, and when I asked him if he enjoyed our walk, his only comment was about the woods being too dirty. “Someone should make the woods clean daddy.” Again, this is a direct quote. I have to get him out of this mindset, cause all my hopes and dreams of exploring the woods and camping with my son could easily be destroyed if he’s a neat freak.

If only his dirt phobia could be molded to get him to pick up his LEGO…

Speaking of going to sleep, my son has figured out each and every method he can use to delay his loosing consciousness. It used to be “I’m scared.” but that doesn’t work very well any more. He still uses it no doubt, but we brush it off pretty quickly now. So he’s expanded his repertoire to included “I don’t like my pajamas” to “the tags are scratchy” and he’s even learned to utilize his toilet training to delay sleep. He knows we can’t just ignore a “I need to go to the potty” so he uses it to get out of bed. I swear, this kid is either going to use his manipulation skills for good and become a hostage negotiator, or he’s going to be the leader of a huge cult. Hey, Tom Cruise has to step down at some point right? (Bazing! Scientology joke! Let’s see if I get sued!)

I guess it’s a good thing we’re having another one. Maybe we can raise that one right. I mean, if you look at my family you can see that my parents didn’t get it right the first time. My oldest sister is insane, but by the time they got to me, they spat out a well rounded, funny, good looking super human.

Also, I’m super humble. Like, the most humble guy ever.

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You may recall from my last post, I quickly mentioned this:

“So despite sleeping horribly last night, interrupted by a vomiting toddler…”

Now, many of you may have read this as the whining of a jaded, careless parent. But no, you’re wrong. That right there is what is called a narrative device. More specifically foreshadowing.

Any amateur writer can come up with a story and use foreshadowing to create intrigue about a plot point he devised earlier. But imagine the sheer creativity, neigh, genius it requires to foreshadow an unknown future event. Some may call it luck, some coincidence. Those people can leave, cause I call it tonybullard.com.

(You can tell how serious I am by all these italics. ITALICS!)

So on to the point. Yesternight (the proper term for “the night before last night”) Noah threw up. I was sure he did it because he got to worked up crying and screaming, coughed to feign sickness, and gagged himself. Yes, he’s just that scheming. So I blew it off. You know, ’cause I’m fricking parent of the year.

JUMP CUT TO: Tonight. Noah refuses to take his vitamins. He usually chows down on these things like it’s the end of the world and we’ve given him anti-zombie tablets. In my effort to coerce him, I eat one. It’s a kids vitamin, I doubt it will kill me. This tactic doesn’t work. We basically force him to eat the thing. Thumbs were pressed into mouths.

Within 3 minutes I feel what can only be described as “gross.” This is fairly low on the scale of “Fine” to “Chest Burster.” None the less, it’s no fun. I say to Teresa, “no wonder he doesn’t like them, I feel kinda gross.” (See that folks? that’s called “consistency.” It’s also known as “doesn’t own a thesaurus.” ITALICS!)

OK, so prayers, lights out, I sit at the computer while Teresa settles him into bed. I here “Tony?” faintly from Noah’s room. I poke my head in.

“How gross did you say that thing made you feel?”

Then, as if carefully planned, I hear the indistinguishable sound of vomiting.

“Geez! Not that bad!” is the first thing that pops out of my mouth. Lights come on, Noah has covered his bed in his dinner, and Teresa runs from the room claiming she’s going to join him in his “Ode to Leftovers.” Cleaning, Changing, blah blah blah.

So there you have it folks. We, Teresa and I (if I go down we all go down!) force fed our child a vitamin that made him vomit. If we can do this, brag about it on the internet, and not get arrested, then anyone can have a child.

Here’s lookin’ at you future parents!

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