Eli's a little less boring

Hey internet!

What with studying for the bar, taking the bar, passing the bar, finding a job, working, and trying to be a good dad and father, I haven't had the energy or time to blog. Also, I haven't felt like there's much to write about because, let's be honest, babies younger than three months are kind of boring. They're nice, and all, but they don't do much besides sleep, eat, and make noise.

That's starting to change! Eli has found his hands, kind of. We can put toys in front of his face and he'll try to wrap his chubby little fingers around them and bring them to his mouth. The problem is his dexterity. He just kind of wraps his wrists around the toys and hugs them to his body. It's pretty funny to watch, actually. His arms are are really more like clubs with wrists than an arm with dexterous hands.

Clubs that are ALWAYS clammy. That poor kid got my circulation problems; his hands are always cold. Add a constant, thick sheen of saliva to those chilly stumps and you've got a pair of hands that kind of feel like dead fish.

Sorry, Eli. It's true. But I love you anyway, bud, clammy hands and all.

A quick list

1. Studying for the bar is lame.

2. Studying for the bar with a newborn is lamer.

3. Andrea's being really nice and letting me get plenty of sleep.

4. Eli has to eat every two or three hours . . . day AND night. Sure, I knew that babies were demanding. But one's foresight is limited "in the moment," right? On top of the actual feeding, it takes another 30 minutes to check his diaper, burp him, swaddle him, and get him back to sleep. I was burping and rocking him a few mornings ago at some awful hour. It was dark and he was really quiet, not stirring at all. I was hoping he was asleep. I turned on a night-light to get a better look at his face and noticed that his eyes were wide open. He turned his head slightly and gave me a look that said, "Hey dad. What are we doing?" I wanted to kiss his face and yell at him at the same time.

Eli's Mom

In case you hadn't heard, my son was born two days ago. Eli "the handsome guy" Alba was a healthy 8 pounds 6 ounces. I am so incredibly humbled to have this little person in my life. We've talked a lot about how awesome he is, and deservedly so; he's great! But right now I want to focus on somebody else. Andrea, Eli's mom, is also awesome.

Before I was married I knew I wanted to have kids. Naturally, that's something I thought about when Andrea and I were seriously dating. I knew she would be a good mother, but I never thought she would transition into this role with the grace and deftness that she's demonstrated. What a privilege it's been to watch her! She's a natural!

For one, She's loves this new person with such an intense ferocity that it's almost scary. Seriously, don't get in between her and her little Eli. She would do anything for him.

Andrea is also incredibly selfless. She literally sacrificed her body to give him life. It's no surprise that birthing a child is incredibly painful. But that pain will continue for weeks as her body heals from the trauma. She has already lost sleep making sure he's adequately fed and will continue to lose sleep while he chubs up. She's given her body, time, and energy to her son.

She's also STRONG! It's a joke in my family that Andrea is a "fragile flower." We laugh about her long skinny arms and wonder how she's able to lift a gallon of milk. Well the joke's on us! You should have seen her pushing. She was a champ during the marathon labor and delivery and I am very impressed with her physical stamina. If she can birth an 8-pound child, she can do anything.

I have no doubt that Andrea will continue to be a strong, selfless and loving mother. I'm so excited to watch the relationship between Eli and Andrea develop over the years. They're going to be quite the duo, in part because of Andrea's awesome qualities. Congratulations, Andrea. You're a great mother!

Put that Kid to Work

I frequently tell Merlin that he needs to start working when he gets here. If he can't be a baby model to support his mom and dad, then at least he could do some housework.

His Inheritance

I often think about what traits this kid will inherit from his parents. Here's what I hope he gets from Andrea:

Her silliness. Seriously, this girl is silly. She's a little shy when you first get to know her but just wait till she's with her family. Then she busts out her robot voice (I least I think that's what she's trying to sound like). She answers questions in a high-pitched, loud, monotone nasal voice, and says things like "affirmative." She also does these weird dance moves to her self-sung sexy song (it's a song that she composed herself that she sings with "duh duh duh duh duh DUH DUH DUH DUH" noises). Her silliness makes me laugh. I hope our little Merlin gets that.

Her work-ethic. This girl knows how to work! She gets extremely high marks in her employment, doesn't cut any corners, and deserves a big raise in any job she has. If our son gets just a fraction of her desire to work he'll do very well in life.

Her frugality. I hesitate to put this. Sometimes I really like it when Andrea's strict with money, but sometimes it drives me nuts! On the whole, our little guy will be blessed to inherit this trait from Andrea. She keeps a meticulous budget and knows exactly what's coming in and out of our bank account. It's certainly served us well during this time of employment uncertainty.

Her smarts. Andrea's very smart, and it shows in how well she performed in school. She should have been the one in law school; I'm sure she'd do much better than I did!

From me? I hope he gets:

My hair. I like my hair. It's thick. Nice color. I'll be honest here, he'd be lucky to get hair like mine. Ha!

Science & Pregnancy Blog and Consciousness

For those interested, I thought I'd pass along this gem of a blog:

Bumpology - The Science Behind Pregnancy

The author is a pregnant scientist herself, and provides some cool information.

The latest article, the baby's level of consciousness, is especially interesting. I've often wondered whether, or to what degree, our little Merlin is conscious. Is he self-aware? Does he have memories? Does he reflect on those memories?

Consciousness, I think, is largely informed by sensory experience. But what sensory experience does he have up to this point? He's apparently been able to taste differences in the salinity of the amniotic fluid. He's no doubt been able to sense differences between light and dark (we've shined lots of flashlights on Andrea's belly to see if he would react). He can hear muffled sounds. And he's probably felt me push back on his little limbs that he puts close to the surface.

But these episodes barely scratch the surface of what WE experience in our daily life. How can he build an identity, a sense of awareness, from these incredibly watered-down sensory experiences? Does he even recognize the gradients in salinity, light, pressure, or sound?

She confirms in the article what I've always imagined his existence is like to this point: "[T]he fetus remains for the most part sedated by low oxygen levels and anesthetic chemicals that are produced by the placenta . . ." I think our little baby is mostly in a sleepy, anesthetized state, not unlike the foggy state that I remember waking up from when my wisdom teeth were removed, or when I woke up from that nasty concussion in high school after I was hit in the head with a shot-put (I'll tell that story later).

I'm excited for this guy to "wake up" and experience the joys of this outside world in a more conscious state. I think he'll like it.

Honeymoon Stage?

I have a feeling about this son of mine. And I hate to admit it. But in the interest of preparation, and reality, here it goes: there might be times where this kid gets on my nerves. I can't possibly imagine how his cute little whimpers could be annoying, or how his constant need of attention would interfere with my heretofore selfish lifestyle. But if I'm honest with myself, I must concede that the honeymoon stage with little Merlin may not last forever.

You know what I'm talking about, right? There's that beginning of every relationship where the whole world is alive with happiness and everything is glorious to behold. You want to spend as much time as possible with that other person, and he or she can do no wrong! "My son! Oh, look at you!!! You just pooped all over yourself. For the third time today! What a good boy! Oh, and what's this? Poop in your hair? How adorable! So proud of you son, for pooping like a champ! Can't wait to snuggle after your bath!"

Sadly, this utopia may come to an end. "My son! What the hell did you do in your crib?! Why is there crap smeared all over your back and in your sheets?! And, WHAT THE . . . how did you manage to get poop in your hair?! Who poops in his hair, Merlin?!?! Now I get to wash your sheets and clothes for the third time today! But don't worry about me. It's not like I'm not busy studying for the bar or anything! Oh my gosh, please go to your mom as soon as I'm done cleaning you up."

You get my drift? Of course I'll always love and cherish my son. I'll do anything for him. It's just that I might bug him at times, and he might bug me. But until that day comes, I'm going to cherish the blissful state of our budding relationship. I cannot WAIT to spend every waking minute with that child. Just five weeks to go.

It's Here!

A little package arrived today!



No. Not that little package.

This one came from Barbri, not the stork. I don't like them. They just took nearly $3000 of my Andrea's hard-earned money.

Whoa. Somebody get me a forklift. 31 lbs.

The green is to sooth you. It prevents you from slitting your wrists or gouging out your eyeballs upon opening the bar-review materials.

Tah-dah! One source of my stress for the next few months.

Mantivity with My Son #2: Mowing the Lawn

Few things are manlier than laboring for the perfect lawn. Instead of peeing on trees, we men of the bourgeoisie fulfill the primal urge to mark our territory by showing off our landscaped quarter-acre of property in the suburbs. Mowing the lawn also incorporates other manly things, like engines, gasoline, sharp blades spinning at high speeds, and dirt. What's not to love about mowing the lawn?

My son and I will mow the lawn together. I'll teach him the tricks for getting a mower started, the techniques for achieving a nice checkered pattern in the lawn, and how to edge around trees, sprinklers, and curbs. We'll take pride in the lawn together, laugh at the neighbors' ugly yards, and sweat in the sun. If I can teach my son to love mowing the lawn, then I'll have succeeded in part of my fatherly duties.

Still Want to Be a Lawyer

I'm in a clinic this year representing indigent criminal defendants in their appeals before the Maryland bar. Really neat stuff. Among the highlights:

• Traveling to a supermax prison smack in the middle of Baltimore* to meet one of my clients in a 4' by 8' cell. Though the guy has made some stupid decisions, he was a very nice and encouraging man. Saddest image of that day? Watching him fumble with the pen and paper as he struggled to sign the consent-to-representation form while being tightly cuffed.
• Traveling to another prison in rural Maryland and receiving the most thorough pat-down imaginable. Seriously, that guard went places I didn't know I had.
• Proudly printing the final version of the brief for the case I was arguing. It was the 17th draft. I think. I lost count there at the end.
• Doing my first REAL oral argument! So much of law school is faking it. We play lots of pretend. But this time, just two days ago, it was for real. A real man was behind the name on the brief, and he was hoping that I would do a good job for him. I did the best I could, and I had the time of my (professional) life. I really got into it and was this close to approaching the bench and yelling, "No! You don't get it! This is what I'm saying. This is why we win!"

Not having a job lined up (yet), has been messin' with me. What if I can't cut it as a lawyer? What if not having a job is the universe's way of telling me that I should work at McDonald's instead? Maybe I am fantastically talented a making Big Macs, and that I just have to give it a try? Well, the clinic pushed me back in the right direction. Yes, I can and should be a lawyer. I'm pretty good at it. I have fun doing it. I just need to find somebody to pay me to do this stuff.

*I'm not kidding about that facility being in the middle of Baltimore. One minute my co-counsel and I are driving through some shopping/office district, and the next minute we see an enormous dungeon-like castle with barbed wire all over it. C'mon, Baltimore! I want to like you! But you're not helping your reputation by keeping a large group of Maryland's most dangerous right next to the Bath & Body Works!

Just a House, That's All

There's this song by the Animal Collective that came out last summer called "My Girls." It's basically about this guy's desire to provide a simple living for his family, for his girls. While the timing and the source of the message are a little irritating-I don't need a rich hipster to tell me, the poor unemployed father, that it's really the simple things that matter in life-I relate to the sentiment:

There isn't much that I feel I need

A solid soul and the blood I bleed

But with a little girl, and by my spouse,

I only want a proper house

I don't care for fancy things

Or to take part in the freshest wave,

But to provide for mine who ask

I will, with heart, on my father's grave

Nice, right?

When I'm not thinking about finding a job, I usually think about owning a house to raise a family in. Nothing big. Nothing opulent. Just a nice house with a yard that I can take of, and a garage that I can work in. The yard will have incredibly groomed grass so the kids can run around barefoot with the dog, whose name will probably be Karl, or Bruce. The garage will have a work station for my bike stuff, and a big bench for my other projects. It will smell like gasoline and wood, and the kids can come in whenever they want to help me do things.

The day when we own a house will come. I'm sure it will. I'm just itching for it to be here sooner rather than later.

Merlin Kicked Me

Andrea read in one (of her dozens) of pregnancy books that by now a person might be able to hear the baby’s heartbeat if he puts his ear up to the pregnant woman’s belly.

I tried the other day and was greeted instead with a little bump to the side of my head.

“Hey!” I yelled at her belly. ”You can’t kick your dad!”

I put my ear to her belly again and immediately felt that same thing.

That little turd.

Hey Mom and Dad

Little Merlin is moving around on a pretty regular schedule lately. He’s almost always awake and active between 7:00 and 9:00 pm. Last night we were cuddled up on the couch around that time. I had my hand on Andrea’s belly waiting for the light flutters under my palm. I took my eyes off the tv for a second and actually focused on her belly when I saw what looked like a golf ball trying to come out of Andrea’s stomach. I laughed and yelled at Andrea to look at her belly. Just a few seconds later we saw the same bump rise up again. I wanted to see more, but he got quiet. Was that his knee? His foot? His elbow? I like to think he was waving at us.

This was the first time we have actually seen him moving around. It really brought home the fact that a little human is actually in Andrea and ready to come out in a few months.

Totally fascinating. Also a little bizarre.

Mantivity with My Son #1: Watching Football

Since finding out that we’re having a boy, the only think I can think about is spending time with him, spending manly time with him. In that spirit, I’ve decided to start a series of posts titled “Mantivities with My Son.”

In no specific order, Mantivity #1 is watching football.

Men appreciate athleticism, and men love collisions. What’s the perfect combination of the two? Football, of course. Minus the really shiny pants and the gratuitous butt-slapping, football is really, really manly. Watching it, and making a fool of yourself while rooting for your team has defined manhood for generations.

I’m going to watch a lot of football with my son. I hope he learns to appreciate the nuances of the game, revels in the supreme athleticism of the competitors, cheers for the teams that I love (Go Utes!), and hates the teams that I hate (*cough* BYU *cough*). If my son learns to love watching football, then I’ll have succeed in part of my fatherly duties.

Ultrasound

The anxiety we felt waiting in the hot, crowded waiting room was overwhelming. Was our baby healthy? Was it still alive? Does it have lady parts or boy parts? We must know now! Anxiety makes Adam crabby. Crabby Adam and Andrea don’t get along very well.

Yeah, things were a little tense.

Luckily, we didn’t have to have wait long. Just a few minutes after checking in the ultrasound technician called Andrea’s name.

We walked into the dark room and Andrea sat on the table. I sat next to her, held her hand tightly, and positioned myself for an unobstructed view of the screen. The technician, bless her heart, got straight to work. She asked if we wanted to know the sex. Of course, we said.

Just seconds later, the tech had the baby in her sights. I was amazed by the beauty on the screen; gray and black outlines of limbs and human features flickered before us. I think I see a hand! A head! There’s a thigh!

“You have a little boy,” she said just a few seconds after starting. Holy cow! She’s right! That’s his wing-wong!

Then we saw the heart, all four chambers working in unison, beating beautifully. The kidneys were there too. His femur was the right length. His head was normal, and his spine and ribs were all there. I was thrilled that it was a boy, and I was grateful that our baby was healthy. I was also overcome with wonder and amazement imagining the processes that made this little guy.

For example, look at his foot:


For me, the beauty of this picture is imagining the complex reactions that made Merlin’s perfectly developed metatarsals and phalanges. The creation of this foot began in a single cell wherein some of my DNA and some of Andrea’s DNA fused to create a truly original code for another human being. This unique chemical code, which has never been present on the earth, was responsible for shepherding the arrangement of calcium and phosphorous from Andrea’s diet into a delicate matrix of bone that will eventually support the weight of Merlin’s body. This code was also responsible for the chemical reactions that guided the development of five toes on each foot, five fingers on each hand, and countless other differentiated body parts. It’s nothing short of awe-inspiring.

So that’s one emotion I felt during that ultrasound: awe. I couldn’t wipe the stupid look of shock off my face.

The other emotion? Absolute and unadulterated love. My heart skipped a beat every time I saw the baby move. He puckered his lips a few times and looked like he was practicing sucking, not practicing sucking like his dad sucks at basketball, but practicing how a baby gets food from the boob. I loved him for every movement he was making. During that ultrasound I wanted nothing more but to spend time with my son, do manly things with him, tell him how awesome he’s going to be, and tell him how much his parents love him.

In short, the ultrasound was incredible. I can’t wait to meet this guy.

I HAVE A SON!

It’s a boy!

*chest thump*

Boy or Girl?

Unless our little baby is shy, we’ll know the sex next Thursday at 2:00 pm. I can’t wait. People often ask what I would prefer, a boy or a girl. I have no idea.

Sometimes I prefer a little girl. The other day, Andrea and I saw the most adorable infant shirt; it said in big pink letters, “Heartbreaker.” Andrea has a pajama shirt that says the same thing. Since then, I cannot get the image of my baby girl and my wife each wearing their “heartbreaker” shirts while they pose for a picture. It would be my desktop background for life. My heart melts just thinking about it. I never thought I could be so smitten by the thought of really chubby thighs and a toothless grin!

But sometimes I want a little boy. I know boys. I grew up with them. I am one. We’re awesome. When I think about having a boy I think about the traditionally manly things we can do together: watch football, fix cars, build things with Legos, lift weights, play catch. Thinking about bonding with my little boy in that way makes me all warm inside.

My goal is to not prefer one or the other. I want to be equally thrilled by the news on Thursday. Wish us luck, and pray that little Merlin is feeling a little exhibitionist next week.