It happened in Miami . . .

I finally collapsed into bed at 10:00 Monday night after trying to quiet Greta for nearly an hour. Eleanor was already sound asleep and, as usual, I had turned on the baby monitor. I know I mentioned it in an previous posting, but our baby monitor is a really cool, high-tech one that has a video screen and other bells and whistles. If you keep it plugged in the screen stays illumined all night, but if you rely on its battery power, the picture goes off after three minutes or so to conserve battery life, although the audio remains on in case the baby squawks. On Monday night Eleanor must have turned the monitor on when she got into bed. After a few minutes the screen went blank because it was using battery power. When I finally came into the bedroom I assumed that the monitor was off because the screen was black, so I turned the wheel on the side into the on position. Unfortunately, the wheel that you use to turn the monitor on is also the volume wheel, so instead of turning the monitor on, I unknowingly turned the already on monitor to its highest volume setting and then I crawled into bed.
El had left the TV on and CSI Miami was just beginning. Some of you may have seen it, but it started with a teenage babysitter in a dark living room with the phone ringing. It was one of those creepy voices that said "I'm in the house." Nervous, the babysitter started looking in all of the bedrooms and closets. Eventually she went back downstairs into the kitchen, opened the pantry door and . . . a dead body fell out. It was predictable and wouldn't have been scary if at the same time the body fell out of the pantry Greta hadn't let out a scream that came blaring out of the baby monitor and nearly knocked me off the bed. I'm telling you, I haven't jumped so high since, umm, ever. Greta didn't even wake herself up, but I was so rattled I couldn't fall asleep for another thirty minutes.

In other news, yesterday was the first day of Lent. It was Ash Wednesday and it's tradition to receive the sign of the cross on one's forehead with ashes made from last year's Palm Sunday palms. We had a short service last night and Greta came. However, saying that Greta attended the service would be a stretch since as soon as I stepped into the pulpit she began to cry. She more or less continued to upstage me throughout the service and as a result Eleanor and Greta spent most of the service in the church basement. When the service was over Greta got her ashes too.

And another thing, Greta has been smiling a lot lately, which has in turn, kept us smiling. The experts say that this usually happens around the six week mark, which we'll pass this Sunday. I guess that means that she's merely average - but all smart people know that smiling is overrated.

It must be snowing somewhere

Last week Grandma Marmo came out for an extended visit. Her flight was delayed for most of the day coming out, which didn't make any sense because it was neither snowing in Minneapolis or New Jersey, but whatayagonnado?

We had a great time with her here. We played games, watched movies and enjoyed having an extra set of hands around the house. Greta clearly loves her grandmas and they love her. Eleanor and I love the grandmas because without them we don't know how we would have survived the first five weeks! Thank you grandmas.

Rub a dub dub, one babe in a tub (and one wet parent)

This week Greta had a bath. It wasn't her first bath, but it was the first time she used her special tub. In other words, it wasn't a sponge bath like she'd had in the past. Her special tub is a contraption that looks like a piece of contemporary furniture, like one of those chairs that if you set it on its side it is would look like the letter 'S.' Well, Greta got to sit in her ultra modern tub and had a bath, which, as you can see by the pictures, she didn't really enjoy until it was over and she was dried off.

After the bath things got interesting. Greta has several cute towels that have built-in hoods. As soon as she finished her bath I swooped her up and put her in one of those towels. I then cradled her in my arms like I normally would to carry her and we headed down the hall to her nursery. Just as we got to the changing table I felt her towel soak through. Thinking it was only bath water I didn't pay it much attention, but then it was wetter and wetter still - and very warm. Yes, she peed on me. And just like the time at Macy's, I looked down and saw the happiest yet sinister little grin on her face. It was a look that said, "Why don't you put that in your blog you doofus. Serves you right for calling me a werewolf. Next time I'll pee on you in public. Capiche?" So anyway, she peed on me; right through my sweatshirt (see above).

From there we moved over to the changing table where I was reminded of something else surprising about new babies. Now I don't know if it's just really dry here or if she's outgrowing her skin or what, but Greta seems to shed a lot of skin on her fingers and her toes. As a result we are constantly putting lotion on her from head to toe to keep the peeling to a minimum. The trick is, she's a slippery little bugger when you lube her up like that so you have to be real careful. The other issue with greasing up your baby is if you have a dog. Now maybe it's just Jerz, but our dog loves lotion. If he catches a whiff, he'll be all over you trying to lick it off, particularly Keri Lotion and now apparently Huggie's Shea Butter. So picture this, Greta is crying on the changing table because she's cold and slippery. Jersey is on the floor salivating looking at Greta and I'm caught between them with urine soaking through my shirt. It all ended up being okay, but needless to say I got into the office a little late that morning.

My Lil' Valentine

Today marks one month since Greta's birth. Future-uncle Peter gave her a new Valentine's outfit that she proudly wore until about two hours ago when she vomited all over it (don't worry Peter, she did like it. Really, she did).

Other than that it was a pretty quiet day. We've had nasty weather, as most of you have, and we've tried to stay inside.

Tonight I needed a break from working on my sermon for Sunday and I was cruising the Web for music websites. Greta was on my lap fussing and crying. The first site I hit started playing the Foo Fighters, which seemed to only upset Greta more. Then I tried another site and it played a new song and it was very soothing to Greta. She began to relax and she stopped fussing. The funny thing was, the song was "Snap Yo Fingers" by Lil' Jon and the Eastside Boyz. You can listen to this mollifying tune yourself here: http://www.emusic.com/album/10925/10925242.html

Anyway, above are the pics of Greta this morning in her Valentine's outfit (pre-barf). Enjoy and happy Valentine's Day from all of us.

The Rootin' Tootin' Baby Girl

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, it has been nearly a week since my last post. Sorry about that for all of you dedicated readers who have been on the site every day looking for something new. I've slacked off a bit but I'll try to do better this week.

Some of the things that have really struck me about my new baby are those natural impulses and reactions that humans are born with, like how she knew both of her parents' voices right out of the womb and how her tiny fingers could grasp things (including my glasses) from the beginning. But maybe the most amazing thing of all was her instant ability to suckle. Obviously a nursing instinct (called "rooting"), but at first, and I mean during the first few hours after birth, she had her tongue in and out of her mouth just licking and sucking at the air as though she were expecting something. Soon she began to recognize her mother's chest and before long she was accustomed to finding the source of her feeding every time she was laid on her side. However instincts, particularly strong instincts, have a downside . . .

In recent days there have been several close calls.

Now I don't think I've shared this on the blog yet, but Greta has been going through a growth spurt (or at least she's eating like it) and she seems to have an insatiable appetite. The problem is that her immense hunger seems to cloud her perceptions about appropriate feeding sources. I won't go into too much detail, but let's just say that next time she's crying in the middle of the night because she's hungry, I'll go into the nursery wearing a shirt - and I'll be keeping her at least a few inches from my chest.

Today was a particularly dangerous day to get near Greta's mouth. First she tried to use those piranha-like gums to take a bite of my shirt and then tonight she was on her play mat and tried to suck some milk out of the unsuspecting stuffed monkey's foot (see picture above).

So, she may be a little confused right now, but her mother and I still think she's brilliant - Eleanor's just glad she doesn't have teeth yet. Ouch!

Target on a Monday morning

Yesterday was a very special day for Greta and I; we watched our first Super Bowl together. However, today was a bit different and far less manly. Let me ask you, what is the antithesis of watching the Super Bowl on Sunday night? Answer: buying a breast pump at Target on Monday morning. Yes, today I bought a breast pump (no, smart alec, not for me). And my trip to Target couldn't just be an in and out trip either. So let me tell you about it.

First of all you should know that today in Jersey was probably the coldest day so far this winter. Eleanor was doing school work so I decided that I'd volunteer on my day off to take Greta and go get some supplies at Target. Now, if you ever want to go to Target with virtually no one else in the store, go on a Monday morning at 10:00 when it's eighteen degrees outside. Yet even with only a few dozen other shoppers the store was not empty enough (for my taste) to purchase a breast pump. The rest of the items on my list were easy to find, diapers, milk and shampoo, but of course, the breast pump was not where I thought it would be and so I had to ask for help. Now, remember I am a guy and I am already handicapped in my judgement about things like asking for directions, so here I am at Target and not only am I shopping for a breast pump but I also have to ask for assistance finding it. The closest salesperson was behind the counter at the pharmacy, so I headed over there - and then, for the first time in history, three, yes, three employees came over to ask me at the same time if I needed help. I thought about saying no and bolting into the safe haven of the electronics department, but I faced my fears and asked them where I could find . . . a breast pump. I could tell they were trying not to laugh. Two of them looked at the floor and one of them, half smirking, said with a "you moron" type of voice, "uh, in the baby department." I was a little irritated. After all, I was near the diapers, the feminine products and the generally "embarrassing purchases" department, so I didn't think I was that far off the mark, but to this lady I was an absolute imbecile. I pushed Greta and the cart away from what would soon be gossip central and I semi expected to hear an eruption of laughter from the pharmacy - it didn't happen, at least while I was in earshot. Anyway, I got the breast pump and Eleanor better love it . . . that's all I gotta say.

The Aunts go marching two by two

Hurrah! Hurrah! Greta's two aunts from my family came out for a visit this weekend. Carrie and Jayne both flew in from Chicago and then back again yesterday. It was a quick trip, but the only objective was to hold the new niece, which they both did.

Since the visit was brief, it was also fairly uneventful. However, there were a few interesting moments. First, on Friday afternoon we bundled Greta up and took her to the local high school hangout, Surf Taco http://www.surftaco.com/, for some lunch. She stayed asleep through the meal - proof that she digs the ire vibe from the reggae music (Mon).

As usual, Greta kept the company happy and amused with her pitiful little sneezes and manly gas. She sat up on the table in her bouncy seat while we played dominoes and ate pizza.

The aunts showered Greta with gifts including a new winter coat and a swimsuit. But the real Daddy Warbucks was uncle-to-be Peter, who bought out most of the local Baby Gap. The clerks in Skokie are still restocking the shelves. But perhaps the most amazing part of the aunts' visit was the amount of pictures they took of the bambino. Greta is still seeing stars from all the flash photography over that twenty-four hour period, but hey, she likes the attention.

Just when Carrie and Jayne were settling in, they had to head back home. Carrie needed to be in church today back in Chicago and Jayne needed to drive back to college.

We all had a great time and we were sorry to see them leave, but they'll be back in April for the baptism.

My grizzly discovery

The grandmas are going to hate me for this. Sorry.

Yesterday and today Greta has been a wreck, a total wreck. She has been crying uncontrollably - absolutely miserable. She feeds then cries. She sleeps for fifteen minutes and then wakes up to cry. She belches, then cries. There's just no consoling her.
Of course, Eleanor and I are reasonable, intelligent people so naturally we asked ourselves why Greta would continue to cry so often. And now, after two plus weeks of observation I believe I have the answer . . . be forewarned, it's not pleasant.
It started out the night she was born. After the delivery when things had calmed down a bit, Greta was given her first bath by one of the nurses. She did not like it at all. At first she fussed and then the fusses turned to cries, then the cries to screams, and then, the screams turned into "ah-woos." That's right, early in the morning hours of Jan. 14, my daughter howled, "ah-woo, ah-woo, ah-woo." I thought it bizarre, but didn't pay much attention.
The second disturbing incident came later on the same day. That afternoon Eleanor and I were looking over the new baby and we made a shocking discovery. As we were admiring all the thick dark hair atop her precious head, we noticed a patch of ear hair! Yes, she has ear hair on both her ears. Not the kind that old men get that comes out of the ear canal, but hair, long hair, growing off the back of her ears. Naturally we were disturbed, but the nurses reassured us that it was fairly common for children to have ear hair when they are born. It falls out after a few months. Nevertheless, I was still a bit dismayed. My little girl, perfect in every way - has ear hair.
The clincher came last night and was confirmed tonight. Last night around seven I took out the garbage. Unlike most winter evenings I had no trouble finding my way around in the dark because last night and tonight there is a full moon. When I saw the lunar glow I instantly made the connection. I knew then and there why Greta was so fussy. It all made sense; the full moon, the "ah-woos," the ear hair. I had made a grizzly discovery - my daughter is a werewolf. She's an adorable and perfect werewolf, but a werewolf nonetheless. I have compiled some photographic comparisons below as evidence of my discovery. See for yourself.

You can only imagine the pain I'm experiencing not only because of Greta's condition, but because of the realization that I am . . . a weredad.

The evidence

TOP PHOTO: Greta and the area in question.

SECOND FROM TOP: The area in question on a mature werewolf.

SECOND FROM BOTTOM: Greta's ear.

BOTTOM: Greta's other ear.