Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Me & Bean are Back, with a New Guy in our Pack.

It’s been a while since I blogged about my adventures with the Bean, and with good reason: His name is Hunter. Just when we started sleeping again, and the stinking’ diaper changing was over—Hunter Joseph Goldstein was born, and the late night games have started all over again. 

 As for Rowan, she has grown into a beautiful three-year-old. She’s so pretty—my little shorty pants—is now super model toddler tall, and she’s smart as a whip. Her life would be perfect except for when we drop her off at daycare/preschool, she cries her head off. It’s the most depressing part of the week, Brooke and I take turns, but it always results in a major meltdown. Even with Pookie, her mini pink elephant in her pocket, she has a serious case of mommy separation anxiety. She screams, “Don’t leave,” as she attaches herself to my leg. Or if I pick her up to calm her down, she digs her nails into my chest, and wraps her arms around my neck. The only way I get out of there is when her teacher pries her off of me. I put my ear against the door to see if she’s still crying when I leave. She always does. Five minutes or so. Then I leave.  

 And then we have the sibling rivalry. Hunter drives her insane. At first I thought it was just Rowan being the bully, but Hunter is a piece of work. Cute as hell, but what a sneak. He goes after anything she’s playing with, and if Rowan doesn’t feel like sharing her Legos or Playdough, he yanks her hair with his Kungfu grip, and my fire hydrant of a son, doesn’t let go. I have to pry his baby fingers off of her. Don’t get me wrong, the Bean is no angel. She lures him down the hallway, and when he gets close to the bathroom door, she slams it on him. Or she puts her arms around his neck, the illusion of loving her baby brother, and then proceeds to choke him. Kids will be kids I guess. Before we had Hunter, people told me that although having a second child is tough, and challenging. They said that it’s also easier in some ways because you know the drill. Well they were right to some degree. When Hunter cries and cries and cries, I don’t worry about him dying. If he coughs while I’m feeding him a Cheerio or a Goldfish I don’t rush him to the Emergency room because I think he’s choking. And if Hunter happens to bang his head, i know he’ll be alright. unless he’s vomiting. And then that’s a concussion. Well, Hunter is almost one-year-old and he hasn’t crashed his head yet. He’s built like a tank. 30lbs, He’s wearing 18-24 clothes. He’s a very big baby. I’ve been trying to get my blog going again, but I couldn’t find the right starting—returning—point. 

We’ll, about 30 minutes ago, I found it. Rowan was being goofy and wanted me to put her into the free-standing laundry basket in the hallway of my new apartment. It looked pretty safe, so I figured why not. So I lifted her up, and lowered her in. She was laughing. She looked so cute. I thought back to when she was around one-year-old when I used to put her in the same basket. Wow, how time flies. So there we were, laughing, and having a good time, and I pulled out my iphone to take a photo of her. Bad move. The moment I moved the phone from my eye, her weight shifted forward in the basket, and she went down like a redwood tree. Timber! Her head smashed into the wall—just outside the frame of the door. Bam! Quiet. She was so quiet. And then she started crying so hard. Tears flying. A purple face. I felt horrible. I felt so guilty that I was more interested in taking a photo with my new fancy iphone than watching her. You’d think I learned something, from when I dropped her on her head the first time—three-years ago talking on the phone, carrying laundry, tripping over my dog. The experience that sparked this blog, (Read “Baby’s Really Bounce” post here) and that sparked my new book that will be published Father’s Day 2013. 

Tonight, as I type, Rowan holds a frozen bag of peas to her head, while Brooke is nursing Hunter before he goes to bed. I smile. This is my life now. Though it’s a tough, and a lot of responsibility, and we don’t go out anymore, and when Hunter gets up in the middle of the night, and wakes Rowan, and then they wake us, it’s okay. I love my family. I wouldn’t change it for the world. I’m back blogging for this site, so stay-at-home dad’s and moms please stop by, from time to time. Tell your friends, share on Facebook, and leave comments. I’d love to hear your experiences.


  1. Being a dad makes you change some of your ways after all. That's nice.


  2. You're lucky in one way: your two weren't born simultaneously. Mine were - ok, 12 minutes apart. From them I learned that twin toddlers never run in the same direction at the same time. They run opposite. They do it on purpose; they're tag-teaming you. And when they have succeeded in demolishing your sanity, they'll spend their teen years lamenting a childhood of insane parenting. I have heard this can even happen to parents of non-twins. Be warned. Be afraid. Be very afraid.