It could be hydrocephalus...aka water on the brain. Or something worse like a brain tumor. Or whatever. It didn't matter, the idea of there being anything wrong creates a horrible pit in your stomach. I mean, as parents, we worry enough as it is. I worry every time Baby J. has a cold or every time she makes a funny noise (could that funny noise mean something's wrong with her? probably not, she's probably just being weird.) Whatever the case, we're worriers. And something like this, a problem with her head or her brain really makes us worry. But I think what made us worry more than the potential for there being something wrong (since my wife and I both assumed she probably just had a big head despite what the pediatrician said), was the idea of an MRI.

Now, an MRI is relatively safe. It doesn't use radiation like a CAT scan. But the real scare was that Baby J. would have to be put under. The procedure takes up to 45 minutes or more, and there's no way you could keep most grown adults still for 45 minutes; can you imagine the difficulty in keeping a baby still that long? As a result of this total impossibility, it's necessary to put the baby under general anesthesia. Ug...

This is what we really dreaded. Major things can go wrong when you put someone under. And we couldn't shake the feeling we were going through a completely unnecessary procedure, one that stemmed from the inherited trait of a watermelon-like head. So for three weeks we waited until the date would come for us to go to the hospital. For three weeks, we tried to distract ourselves from the reality that we'd be putting our child under soon. For three weeks, we didn't sleep.

When the date arrived, we had to get up at 5am. We had the first scheduled MRI of the day, a 7:30 appointment that required we arrive at the hospital to fill out paperwork by 6:45. We were tired. Baby J. was happy to be on the trip. Of course not knowing where we were going, she was excited to be out of the house while it was still dark and up way before she's supposed to be. She laughed and talked most of the trip to the hospital. And when we arrived, she was all smiles, babbling to the nurses, checking out all the cool neat hospital equipment she never normally sees.

The anesthesiologist came in, explained the procedure. Nothing he said made us feel better about the situation. Only one of us could go with Baby J. when they put her under. My wife went. As much as I wanted to go, I knew my wife needed to be there for it. She came back a few minutes later, crying. The worst part was watching her baby go limp. One of the doctors joked the hardest part of the procedure was when the moms cried because their baby went limp; my wife didn't find it funny.

Then, we waited. More than an hour went by. Finally, I asked what was taking so long, and I was told Baby J. was finished and sleeping, and we would get to see her when she woke. Thanks so much for telling us the procedure was over. Hospitals, always too busy to tell anyone what's going on. Then, we were told she was waking. And 50 feet before we were to the recovery room (or whatever room it was called), we could hear Baby J. screaming. And when we saw her, wrapped in someone else's arms, bawling because she had no idea what was going on or who was holding her, we ran to her.

It wasn't long before we left the hospital. Baby J. drank some milk, but then she threw up in the car, despite the nurses telling us we didn't have to worry about nausea. Funny enough, Baby J. quickly recovered from being knocked out. She was more active that day than I was, who felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Despite not knowing the results of the MRI yet (it would take 2-3 days), we were relieved the actual procedure was over, that Baby J. had woken without any obvious problems, and that we were home again.

After waiting two days, we got the results. So what was it? Water on the brain? Brain tumor? Something somehow worse?

No.

It was nothing. Baby J. just had a big head. I'm too tired right now to explain how annoyed we were. Sure it could have been something. It could have been something really terrible, and we should feel better for knowing that it isn't anything. But seeing our baby go limp, seeing her wake up screaming and terrified. Knowing that for the next several days afterwards, Baby J. unusually woke up several times in the night (she usually sleeps the whole night through without waking once), and that she would wake in her crib screaming for us, knowing full well this was because she remembered waking up alone and in a stranger's arms; all of this, it made us angry.

D.

Baby J. Tries on Her Birthday Outfit

As promised, I'm going to go into detail on the theme we chose for Baby J.'s first birthday party. We had a lot of themes to choose from. And at first, we really couldn't decide on what we wanted to do. At one point, we had thought of an Alice in Wonderland theme, but we decided that was too complex. We thought of maybe a more general book theme, since Baby J. loves books, but again, we felt it would be too all-over-the-place, and it really wouldn't be easy to find decorations for. So, we came up with an amalgam of themes. We combined two themes to create The Princess Monkey theme.

It sounds a little weird. Princess and monkey theme? We liked the idea of a monkey theme, but we also think of our little girl as a princess. So, we couldn't help but combine the two together. We got green streamer so we could put up what looks like jungle vines around the house. Then, we made paper cut-outs of monkeys to hang from the streamer. We're mostly getting pink balloons, and Baby J. will be wearing a pink tutu. I also designed a little monkey t-shirt for to wear; it says "1st Birthday" on it, and I got it made from cafepress.com. We bought her a little pink crown as well, but the likelihood of it staying on her head for more than five seconds is small; maybe we'll get lucky and snap a photo before she has a chance to take it off.

We decided not to go with cake, even though there are cake pans out there in the shape of monkeys. For the first birthday, we thought it would be much easier to go with cupcakes. The cupcakes will be chocolate with pink frosting, and we found monkey/jungle theme cupcake paper that wraps around each cupcake.

Since there will be other little ones there, we decided to make some favors. We made up some bags that contain a little monkey hand puppet and some other little toy jungle animals.

Continuing with the jungle side of the theme, I also made up a bunch of origami jungle animals, which I'm displaying around the house. These are easy to make; you can find directions for them online. For music, I found dozens of jungle or monkey related songs like "The Lion Sleeps Tonight", "Ape Man" by the Kinks (a personal favorite), "The Monkees Theme", and more. You'd be surprised how much good music is about monkeys or the jungle.

Also, I put together a digital slideshow comprised of thousands of photos from Baby J.'s birth right up to a couple days ago. We'll have this playing on a loop on our TV while guests are walking around and talking. It'll be fun for people to see all the photos of her growing up into being a one year old.

Overall, the party isn't costing much. We made a lot of things ourselves. The origami, the monkey cut-outs, making our own cupcakes and other food, the shirt that I designed myself, the simple party favors we found in a dollar bin, all of it boils down to big savings. If you have the time and the patience to plan it all out, you can save a bundle. You might even save yourself some time in the long run. At first, we tried finding a lot of things online, and it was near impossible. When you have an oddly specific theme like we had, it was easier to hunt and peck and find and make things than try and find a pre-wrapped package or something even close.

D.

It's funny doing all of this work and all of this planning for someone who in all likelihood won't remember much of the day after a week or so (if even that long, I really don't how long a baby's memory is). I just tried googling baby memory, and I'm getting about 500 different answers. The point is, she won't remember it years from now, she won't remember all the friends and family that came just for her. She won't remember the cake or the presents or the smiles on everyone's faces. I guess it's a good thing I plan on taking a lot of pictures.

I think I have about one picture from my first birthday. My family was clearly lazy in the picture-taking department.

D.

I don't hate him. He wasn't abusive to me, at least he didn't hit me. And only a few times did he scream at me or bring me to tears. I can think of the last time he did bring me to tears; I was talking on the phone with my mother, telling her I was ready to leave my father's place for the weekend, and he stood behind me and started shouting, "tell her to shut up! tell her to shut up!" I don't know what he was thinking. He thought it was funny. That was his kind of sense of humor I guess, belittling people. I broke down, and I cried into the phone. Quickly, like a kid who realizes he's done something wrong, he kept hopping around apologizing and telling me I could have friends over next time I visited: because well, he never encouraged me to have friends over or have birthdays at his house or Christmas there or anything. So, being the age I was at the time, around 12 I think, I just kind of thought to myself my father is a big kid.

I was always terrified of my father. I don't know why. Like I said, he never hit me, but I guess in the back of my head I always thought he would. For awhile, my mom had a boyfriend, and I lived with the two of them. Her boyfriend turned mean, and he hated me. I was a teenager, and he was convinced I was always on drugs. Ironically, I've never used drugs, not even tried them. This guy, he was probably 3 or 4 inches taller than my father and built like a rock, pure muscle. And me, a 15 year old scrawny kid who was 120lbs soaking wet, I used to stand right up to him when he made the accusations. I never backed down. He was somebody I should have been afraid of, thinking back, so why wasn't I? And why was I so afraid of my father instead? It just makes me realize I never want my daughter to be afraid of me, not ever. I'll discipline her. I'll keep her in line, but I'll always make sure she knows she can come to me, whenever she needs to, that I'll always be there for her.

I know I'm all over the place, as I'm writing this, but that's how my mind is working right now. I'm thinking back to when I was little. I would call my father each weekend, set up when I'd visit, and then my mom would drive me over. When I kind of decided I didn't really want to see him anymore, I just stopped calling. He didn't call me back either. Years passed, and then he made a weak effort to reconcile with me by buying me some things. What was there to buy me? The thing is, I didn't hate or resent him. I just didn't really want to know him. And I look back, and I think he mustn't have really wanted to know me. If Baby J. grows up and some day (and she will as all teenagers do) goes through a period where she doesn't talk to me, I'm going to find out why. I'm going to sit down with her. And I'm going to work it out. But I won't let her drift out of my life.

The last I ever hear is my father resents me. He's angry I never called him, that I didn't invite him to my graduation or my wedding. But why would I? I know there are a lot of people who stick by the adage "honor thy father" but I think it's a two-way street. That's my opinion on it. If I felt like he wanted to be a part of my life, maybe I would have tried harder to be a part of his. He had parental visitation rights. He had every right to order me over to his house, to stop by for a visit, to pick up the phone and find out what was wrong with his son, why his son felt such a disconnect with him. But he never did. He thinks I was jealous, attention starved, etc. But that wasn't it. Jealous of what? And if I was starved for attention, wouldn't I do everything in my power to see him? Wouldn't I be like a constant lap dog wishing for his approval? Instead, I never wanted his approval, I never needed it. I didn't care what he thought. And I've spent more than ten years assuming he never cared what I thought.

So, finally, I come to the point of this article. What does it mean to be a father? Fathers these days, thank God, are a lot more involved than they used to be. I know a few dads who treasure every moment with their kids, who I imagine would never let their kids drift apart from them. I think being a father means:

• Full, 100% commitment to your kids. Know them. Understand them. Do everything in your power to know every facet of your child's life.
• Financially supporting your children. Encouraging their interests.
• Taking responsibility for your child. Disciplining them. Teaching them.
• Interact with your children, involve their friends and other family members, don't sit them down and ostracize them from the rest of the world.

I don't know how my father measures his parenting skills. I think he's twisted it all up in his mind, and he's come to see me as a spoiled brat. I think it helps him sleep better when he doesn't hear the phone calling him. But you know, looking back at the list, at the third item, maybe that's why my father never felt like a father. He didn't discipline me or make me feel like I was in a controlled environment. I always felt like visits with him were utter chaos. I would go home stressed, and I would be a jerk to my mom for a few hours. I remember my mom one time, bringing me home from his house and saying, "Why do you always act up when you come back from his place?" And it was true, I did. I always acted up for a couple hours until I got it out of my system. Maybe it's something about hanging out with a big kid for two days that does that to a person.

I came to realize, at some point, I didn't like the way I was around him, and I didn't like being around him. I hope more than anything Baby J. will never feel that way about me.

D.

I keep thinking to myself how painful life can be. Birth wasn't exactly pleasant for my baby or my wife. All the stumbles, all the crashes while learning to walk. And then there's teething. I remember when my wisdom teeth came in. It was agony. I was one of the few people blessed with enough room in their mouth for their wisdom teeth to come in, and when they did, it felt like I was chewing glass for a week. I try not to think of that too much, when I hear Baby J. wake up in the middle of the night screaming. I hate to think of her in that type of pain.

D.

So, I woke up this morning to a bloody lip. My daughter was completely unaware of what happened. Her head is a lot tougher than my face. I gave her to her mommy, and then I inspected the lip. It wasn't too bad, but it stung. Still, I can think of better ways my daughter could have woken me up.

D.

Reading with Baby

I cannot overemphasize the important of reading to your child, even a child as young as a few days old. Well, ok, I could overemphasize it, I could say something crazy like, "If you don't read to your child, the sun will explode." But still, I made my point: reading is very important.

Ever since Baby J. came home from the hospital, we have been reading to her. We read to her every night. We read to her during playtime. We read to her at each nap. Already, my daughter has developed a love affair with books. She can't read the words, but she recognizes them when we read the books to her. She remembers the pictures, and she associates the pictures with words. I've read her a book with cows in it many times, and the other day, one of us read that book, and she got up, grabbed a toy cow and brought it over to us.

When you talk to your child, you don't tend to make associations, at least not all of the time. It's too difficult to always do that in conversation. How often can I remember that every time I talk I need to point to things about which I'm speaking? Or that when I'm having a conversation with her, I need emphasize the important words? Reading takes care of that for you.

Also, reading this early has made my daughter love books. Recently, bathtime was abyssmal. Every time we put her in the bath, she got upset. She couldn't stand it. Then, we got one of those water books, the kind of plastic pages so it's ok for the bath. Now, when it comes to bathtime, she sits calmly, and I read her book to her while she looks at each page and points at all the pictures.

And at naptime and bedtime, reading her books consistently has become part of the routine. When we read her the last book of the night, she becomes drowsy. She makes the association with reading before bed with getting ready for sleep. And it makes putting her down for the night that much easier.

Getting your child to love books early on means it's going to be that much easier to get them to love reading later on. She already loves books. It's not going to be nearly as difficult to sit down with her and teach her the alphabet and teach her how to sound out words and how to read sentences than it would have been had she never had any interest in books. A lifetime love affair with reading will mean our baby will perform better in school, she will better understand comprehension, she will be better equipped to learn on her own.

D.

Did we really need a study like this? Who thought to themselves, hey why don't we conduct a study to see if spanking our kids will make them smart? I mean, who thinks that way? Who was this person? And I so do like the results, so long as the kid is less than six years old, then the study says "go ahead and spank those rugrats!" but if they're over the age of six, then spanking them might result in behavioral problems.

So if you have a real little one, and they don't understand what they did wrong when you tell them what they did wrong, the best solution is to smack them one. I guess that makes sense if we're living in a totally senseless world. Why on Earth would the kid understand why they were being hit if they didn't understand what they did wrong in the first place? And what does this do except teach our children that the solution to a problem is violence. Those first six years are a crucial time of development. Those are the years where they develop language, learn to understand the world, begin to feel love and joy. Should we mar those years by hitting our kids when they don't do what we wish?

Maybe it's because I come from a younger generation. I wasn't spanked. I figured out things. I figured out that fire is hot and that running full speed down the stairs with a pair of scissors in my hand isn't a good plan. I figured out not to talk back to people. I figured out I should behave in school and respect my elders. I figured out to refer to adults as sir and ma'am. I figured out how to study. I figured out how to read and write and do everything I was supposed to do.

But never was I smacked into learning the things I learned. If I tried to touch a stove, would a slap across the face have told me that touching the stove was a bad thing? Or would it have told me that my parents are violent and don't know how to say a simple "no" and pull me away from something harmful?

Smacking your kids is the easy way out. I'm sure your kids learn fast what not to do. But easy doesn't make it right.

But she still didn't like. She didn't play with the snow. She looked up at us for a minute or two, whimpered and then cried. Next year, I tell myself, next year I'll be fighting with her to keep her out of the snow. But this first year, well, she's not a snow baby.

Baby Sitting in the Snow