I love this idea of a new father as Colonel Klink playing Mr. Mom. When my son was born 15 years ago, I remember thinking of myself as General Jack D. Ripper in Dr. Strangelove because his catch phrase ran through my mind on a loop: "It is all about those precious bodily fluids." All I ever did was nurse, change diapers, and clean up reflux. I was basically a manager of bodily fluids. Good luck with parenthood boot camp!
I can very much attest to this. I’ll regularly find myself suddenly regaining consciousness mid-diaper change, and realize that I’ve been addressing my son as “Mr. Jellybeans” over and over for the last five minutes.
My own soothing technique lately has been slapping the drum beat from Street Fighting Man by The Rolling Stones against any nearby surface (changing table, kitchen counter, car seat, etc).
Our buddy was born a few weeks before Alice Coltrane Live at Carnegie Hall '71 was re-released (we were blessed with a review copy) and it was a big hit in our house, as was Brian Eno's Ambient records, Italian arias, and Gilbert and Sullivan (helps to pass the gas). Now we shush-and-bounce to the tune of skinnamarinky dinky dink skinnamarinky doo. And in a moment of desperation, I found a youtube video called "10 Hours Shh & White Noise Shushing Colic Baby Dark Screen Relaxing Shhh Shush" that is basically Baby Hypnosis. Whatever works.
You got this. You don't need to call 911, and this too shall pass, and then you'll wonder where the tiny smushy baby went. Lucky baby to have such thoughtful parents who get all the references!
I love this idea of a new father as Colonel Klink playing Mr. Mom. When my son was born 15 years ago, I remember thinking of myself as General Jack D. Ripper in Dr. Strangelove because his catch phrase ran through my mind on a loop: "It is all about those precious bodily fluids." All I ever did was nurse, change diapers, and clean up reflux. I was basically a manager of bodily fluids. Good luck with parenthood boot camp!
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I can very much attest to this. I’ll regularly find myself suddenly regaining consciousness mid-diaper change, and realize that I’ve been addressing my son as “Mr. Jellybeans” over and over for the last five minutes.
My own soothing technique lately has been slapping the drum beat from Street Fighting Man by The Rolling Stones against any nearby surface (changing table, kitchen counter, car seat, etc).
I love that. Poop Fighting Dad
Our buddy was born a few weeks before Alice Coltrane Live at Carnegie Hall '71 was re-released (we were blessed with a review copy) and it was a big hit in our house, as was Brian Eno's Ambient records, Italian arias, and Gilbert and Sullivan (helps to pass the gas). Now we shush-and-bounce to the tune of skinnamarinky dinky dink skinnamarinky doo. And in a moment of desperation, I found a youtube video called "10 Hours Shh & White Noise Shushing Colic Baby Dark Screen Relaxing Shhh Shush" that is basically Baby Hypnosis. Whatever works.
We’ve played a little Alice around here. Lulu seems to like it.
You got this. You don't need to call 911, and this too shall pass, and then you'll wonder where the tiny smushy baby went. Lucky baby to have such thoughtful parents who get all the references!