Golden Pig Tales

Being a father is still time consuming. Being a father is still difficult. Being a father is something I have come to accept. Being a father is something I don’t regret now as much as I have during weeks one through three. Being a father is something that I question every morning and night.

If kids were like cats then this fatherhood thing would be a easy. Even if kids were like dogs there won’t be much to it. Kids, though they can be scary animals, are not like cats and dogs. They require a lot more attention and time. They require you to live and grow. They need you even when you want to do something else during the day or night beside comfort and raise the baby.

After four weeks of being a father, I have lost all time. And during spans of time I have lost my mind.

Sometimes he sounds like a cartoon car squealing its tires. Sometimes he sounds like a dog panting. Sometimes he sounds like an angry monkey in a tree. Sometimes he sounds like a geyser only able to gurgle out water. Sometimes he sounds like a siren wailing its way to an emergency. Sometimes he sounds like a squeaky door. Sometimes he sounds like motor puttering out of gas. Sometimes he sounds like a baby that is crying really really really loud. Sometimes he is quiet and still and doesn’t make a sound.

Yesterday morning Valerie noticed Ezra hadn’t pooped much for the past day. Ezra was also very fussy and crying a lot. Of course, like any concerned parent, this caused concern and worry. For me, my worry, was that something was wrong with his intestinal track or sphincter and that major surgery could be needed. When I had a chance search the U.S. Intranet I found two pages:

http://www.drhull.com/EncyMaster/C/constipation_infant.html
http://www.drhull.com/EncyMaster/D/dyschezia.html

The latter was the one that actually gave a description of what Ezra had been doing and what he looked like when he was fussy and what he looked like before he cried and cried and cried and cried and cried and cried and cried.

I came home early from work because both mom and baby were beyond fussy. Ezra did poop a little during the day, but he was still not sleeping much and there wasn’t much poop coming out. And he was still crying an endless oscillating wail of the need of relief. Between a sleepless baby and a sleepless mom, things were very intense.

Valerie was fussy. I was fussy. And Ezra was just plain crazed with emotion.

Ezra wanted to poop, but couldn’t.

Later in the night some grand parents arrived to help hold and walk and talk a crying Ezra to calm him while Valerie and I tried to get some sleep. I got some sleep, but when I woke in the morning I found Valerie downstairs with Ezra. An Ezra, from what I was told, was a poop factory during the night.

Though Ezra has had a crying session this morning that matches any crying session of a normal day, he is now a sleep (so is Valerie) and calm.

I still have the echo of baby cries in my head.