First Cold

Elijah had another first yesterday. First bad cold. The studio audience goes, “Awwwww.”

I relieved Pam from her babysitting duties last night and opened a bottle of wine. Grover crept in and started whining. I’m not lying here, people. Grover cried and whined and walked over to the stairs. It could be coincidence, but Grover led me upstairs to our room, where Eli was hacking and wheezing and generally blowing snot all over his crib.

Not knowing what to do, I rolled him onto his back and went to my favorite baby reference book. Now, Diana and I differ on our baby books. She likes the old standard “What to Expect” books. My favorite book is by this New York doctor whose motto is “Laissez Faire.” Kid hits his head on the table? Kid learns not to walk by the table. Kid sticks his finger in a socket? Kid learns not to stick his finger in a socket. I exaggerate, but he’s kind of controversial.

So I look under the section, “Colds.” His recommendation? I kid you not, it’s “Ride it out.”

So I went back to my wine and TV. Content in my awesome fathering.

Diana arrived home several hours later and discovered our hacking baby. She was instantly concerned. I said, “Ride it out! Ride it out!” Grabbed the thermometer and I said, “Ride it out! Ride it out!” She inserted it (you know where), I cried, “Ride it out! Ride it out!” His fever was 101. Diana looked at me like I was an idiot. I whispered, “Ride it out?”

After a night of Tylenol and crying, Elijah seemed to improve this morning. But he’s still pretty sick. Elijah must be hoping to ride out my fathering for the next 18 years.

5a.m.

The boy is learning how to be a good sleeper. We toss him in the sack at 6 or 7 and he usually arrives at Dreamland in 15 minutes. I imagine Dreamland for Elijah to contain giant piles of dog hair he can cram into his mouth, huge vats of applesauce and many many rattles he can bash himself in the face with.

But here’s the rub: Eli can’t sleep past 5a.m. You mathematicians out there have probably calculated that he is still getting 11 hours of sleep. But I’m talking about my sleep here, not his. Every morning at the stroke of 5, he chirps, spits and howls until Di or I get him out of the crib. Di and I silently fight over who has to get him up. I usually lose because she has a lightening fast uppercut. And, well, she always takes the 1a.m. feeding.

So I’ll put him in our bed and play with him until my official wake up time of 6:30. And by “play with him” I mean sleep with my finger dangling over Eli so he can yank on it.

Well, a few days ago I caught Diana staring at Eli with a thoughtful look on her face. I imagined she was checking the air for poo evidence. She looked at me and said, “I wonder if he’s hungry at 5a.m. Do you want to try feeding him tomorrow morning?”

Sure enough, during the next morning’s chirp a thon, I gave him a bottle and he went right back to sleep. And continued to sleep until 7.

We’re morons.

First Sand

Although she wouldn’t be able to pass a field sobriety test, Diana recovered enough over the weekend for us to at least start looking like a family and not a sideshow. Diana was even able to stay upright long enough to take Elijah to his first trip to the beach.

Anyone who knows me knows my fathering technique is an constant internal battle between overprotection and underprotection. On the trip to the beach, overprotection won by a landslide. I forced Elijah to wear a hat three sizes too big and a ridiculous pair of sunglasses. Both of which he hated. However, his eye hand coordination hasn’t progressed to the point where he can snatch said items off his head and throw them into Lake Michigan. I even positioned myself between him and the sun, so as to throw a shadow over his baby skin. And make myself look like an idiot.

But the beach was a relative success. In other words, Eli didn’t scream. Imagine being a baby and seeing the surf for the first time. He must have thought mom and dad took him to Mars for the day. He did quite enjoy what he could see through his safety sunglasses.

Grover enjoyed the beach as he always does. Although I caught him debating whether or not to bury his human baby brother in the sand. He chose wisely.

Keep your fingers crossed, gang. I think Hamanneggs is gonna be back to normal very soon.

New Tricks

My big time fancy job seems to now include flying to different countries every week and scratching my chin in conference rooms while saying smart sounding things. All while the song “Louie Louie” repeats in my head. This week’s country was Atlanta, Georgia. If you want to argue Atlanta is not a different country, I’d like to refer you to my voting record for the last 4 presidential elections.

The bummer is Diana still hasn’t recovered from her ear. So I had to ship her and Elijah off to the Jackliches again. Thankfully, the Jackliches like Eli and have no problem with Grover destroying their garden.

Anyhoo (Diana hates it when I write “anyhoo” on the blog, but she’s still too sick to notice this one), I picked wife and baby up this morning only to learn that my boy has grown several inches over the last week and has learned several new tricks.

Apparently, he can roll over at will. Front to back, back to front. Over and over. Which means I can no longer place him precariously on beds, couches and roof tops. He also managed to shove himself backwards several inches while on his stomach today. Which means I can no longer leave shards of glass on the floor.

He also has figured out his hands. Anything within baby distance is worthy of a grasp, then a shove into his mouth. His favorite thing to snag is giant handfuls of Grover’s fur. For a good ten minutes today, Grover lay on his back while Eli had two fist fulls of his fur. Grover was very patient (good boy), but I could see in his eyes he was remembering that time he knocked over Eli’s stroller a few months ago.

Fear not, Hamanneggs reader. Di may still be sick, but she is feeling lots better. I think by this time next week I’ll be able to go back to one notch below Eli on the helpless meter.

p.s. We haven’t been able to take a lot of pictures these last few weeks. So I drew today’s photo. It’s pretty accurate.

Jail Bird

Until last week, Elijah slept in a co-sleeper, which is a mini crib tied up to our bed. It’s great because he can adjust to our sleeping schedule. Kind of. But it stinks because he’s right next to us all night, so every peep, poop and raspberry goes right into my ear.

So when I got back from Germany, we decided to move him into his crib. And his own room. He took to it alright. But, like every other father on the planet, I think he looks like he’s in jail whenever I throw him in there.

For instance the other night I checked on him and he was sitting there, playing his harmonica. He had a big pile of pacifiers next to him (pacifiers are the currency of the baby big house) and he was etching hash marks into the wall. Seriously, I do sometimes catch him grasping two bars in his sleep like James Gagney.

The one flaw in our plan is Eli’s bedroom isn’t air-conditioned (What can you expect from a house that costs 3,000% more than my first salary?). So last night it was a billion degrees in his room and the boy was not having it. Oh, and we left the co-sleeper at the in-laws. Because we’re morons.


We made an executive decision to put him in our air-conditioned room on our air-conditioned bed. Now, Diana flat out refuses to sleep in the same bed as Elijah for fear of smothering. So she slept downstairs. Yes, I know she’s sick and should have been in the bed, but I have to wake up with Eli. Stop yelling at me! To add insult to injury it was Di and my anniversary. Romance was in the air.

So it was me and Elijah all night. We both slept fine. But I woke up at 4a.m. this morning to find Elijah blowing spit bubbles and literally covering my face with his baby spit. And laughing like a child who covered his father’s face with spit.

I’m hoping for a cold front.

Go Bears

While in the midst of emergency packing for my trip to Germany, I snapped a cell phone photo of Eli in his awesome Bears jersey.

Before I had a son, I believed dressing your child in sports team memorabilia was a form of abuse. I mean, how do parents know their kid actually likes Michigan, or Notre Dame or Gonzaga? But now that I am a father, I know deep in my soul that Elijah is a part of me. And that part needs the Bears to cover the spread every week.

Once on the ground in Stutgart, I realized how desperately I missed my son and I was so very thankful I had the above photograph.

I’d sit in a stuffy conference room, fighting off jet lag and listening to marketing people compete in how loudly they could talk, sometimes in German. I’d pretend to check my cell phone for messages and then flash the Eli Bears pic. It was awesome. I’d make him dance, we’d have adventures under the conference room table, I’d even let him peek at confidential documents. Occasionally, a marketing guy would break my trance by asking me something. I’d reply, “As long as it’s worthy of PORSCHE…” And I’d say “Porsche” with reverence. Everyone would nod solemnly.

On a happy note, Diana is feeling better. I think she’s up to 65%. Which is much better than last Sunday when she was -14%. I’d personally like to thank everyone who called and emailed and wrote comments on the blog.

For those who comment on the blog, I love it when I get feedback or get a note from a reader. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to reply to you personally. Because my technological ability starts and ends with snapping photos of my son on my cell phone.

Hamann Eggs Is Back On The Air!

I’m back from Germany, gang! Which means the HamannEggs hiatus is over. I’m not going to waste valuable blog space talking about my business trip. If you want details, go to my other blog: “IShouldHaveBeenaMusicTeacher.blogspot.com.” I missed the family desperately while I was gone, and of course, a ton happened with good old Elijah while I was across the pond. I’ll get you up to speed:

Eli now has a mustache. I don’t approve, but he says all the other 5 month olds have them.

He can bench press 350 pounds.

He learned Latin, and French. Oh, and he can write Chinese, but isn’t comfortable speaking it.

Eli built a perpetual motion machine in the Jacklichs’ back yard. But Grover knocked it over.

He had a brief role on TV’s “Desperate Housewives.” We have them on tape. I hear it’s juicy.

He single handedly brought the “Cha Cha” back into vogue.

He ate an entire Buick Skylark.

Actually, he spent a nice week at his Grandparents, where Don and Sheila doted on him helped Diana heal. She’s at about 60%, which means she can finally hug her son without puking. The Evanston crew kept our place from burning to the ground while I was gone. However, there is not an ounce of alcohol left in the house.