Rising above the Bar

It's been a bit tense in the Beaudry household these days. In case you haven't heard, Jennifer will be taking the New York State Bar Exam this week. She has spent the past three years preparing for this moment, and during the past two months, she has done nothing but eat, drink, and breathe in her legal studies. That is, nothing except give birth... but that was just a week off, and even then she considered bringing some review books to the hospital.

Jennifer set three goals for herself this year, which I earlier referred to as the "trifecta of insanity": graduate from law school, give birth to a beautiful but very heavy baby boy, and pass the bar. Two of those things are now complete. By Wednesday evening, it will all be over. On Thursday, we will wake up confused and unsure of what to do with ourselves. We might forget to wear underwear or socks. We might eat with our hands and talk in grunts. We might even watch "Wheel of Fortune." I just hope we don't accidentally try to put adult clothes on Kyle. My shirts are just not his style.

Until then, we're just doing all we can to help Jennifer study. My mom was here for two weeks to assist with Kyle duties so that Jennifer can review her notes for several hours straight each day. Meanwhile, I've been trying to support my studious wife. I even attempt to understand what she says from time to time, although, sadly, these days she hardly speaks anything but legal babble. Kyle is also pitching in by letting Jennifer sleep later into the night, and by helping her with some of the essay writing.


(Above: Kyle crashes after a full day of helping his mom study)

Once Jennifer is done with the Bar, she says she won't want to talk about it. That can be tricky, since there are plenty of things out there to remind her of the agony, but we'll do our best to avoid them. Starting Thursday, we're going to have to wash up with blocks of soap. If our sweet tooth is aching, we will have to buy a chocolate rectangle. And when Jennifer is finally done with that horrid exam, she will join some of her friends at an establishment that serves drinks on a long, wooden board. She deserves a good time.

So, keep Jennifer in mind on Tuesday and Wednesday. She has done all she can to prepare for this exam, but the extra support and prayers won't hurt. Also pray for Kyle. He'll have just his dad to take care of him during those two days, and who knows what will happen then.

Picture pages

Kyle has fantastic hearing. From a mile away, he can pick up the sound of his mom or dad taking the first bite into a sandwich, which then triggers the part of his brain in charge of crying. I'm not at all concerned about Kyle's hearing abilities. I am a little concerned about his sight, though. It must be difficult for him to focus on anything when every move he makes is accompanied by a camera flash.

I must admit I am partly to blame for that. Kyle's mother and I do take a lot of pictures of him. So do his grandparents. And our friends. And our neighbors. And our landlord. And the mailman. And the milkman. And the taxman. And the garbage men. And the grocery store clerks. And the bus drivers. And the taxi drivers. And the newspaper reporters. And the bank tellers. And the nuns. And the professional cheerleaders. And the bartenders. And the muggers. And the mayor. Now come to think of it, a lot of people have been taking pictures of Kyle. Yet I would still say Jennifer and I probably take the most.

It's hard to not take so many pictures of our little one, especially when we want to capture every special moment: Kyle takes a nap; Kyle naps some more; Kyle goes surfing. However, there was that one point when I took a picture of Kyle's first piece of mail when I thought to myself, "Are we going a little too far?" The answer, of course, is subjective - those who don't currently have babies would probably say "yes," while those who do would say "can I answer you later? My kid's hungry and crying and - oh, no, that's the fifteenth onesie I've had to change this morning!"

Fortunately for everyone (but mostly for the grandparents), I have put together a collection of photos from Kyle's first month. Some were taken by us, and some were taken by our family and friends. You can see them by clicking the picture below:

Kyle's First Month

However, because this album is of Kyle's first month, it doesn't contain any photos from the past week, including cute ones like this one...



... and this one...



... and this one...



and even this one...



You will have to wait 'til the next album for those.

But wait, there's more! You can now click on the picture at the bottom of each of my blog postings to see a whole album of Kyle resting comfortably in a chair next to his bear buddy. I will update that album every week.

Okay - I have to go now. Kyle's moving his left foot right now and I need to grab the camera to capture it.

Milk duds

As Jennifer and I plunged into parenthood, our generous friends and family inundated us with a flood of gifts, including a fine piece of literature called Safe Baby Handling Tips. Many of you probably have seen some of the tips included in this book, as they have been spread throughout the internet. Our friends Jon and Dara, who are due in December, even posted some of these tips on their blog. Sociologists and pediatricians agree that if every parent followed the advice offered in Safe Baby Handling Tips, we probably wouldn't have all the problems we have in the world today. Thanks to this book, I know now that I shouldn't keep Kyle in a cage, wash him with a garden hose, or calm him down with booze (at least not until a few years from now). There's one particular tip, though, that I felt you should see:

Our little Kyle hasn't quite mastered this concept. Let's just say, as of now, Kyle is not picky about where his nutrition comes from... and for some reason, he seems to think that nutrition can come from me.

This does put a slight damper on our cuddle time. Just when I think Kyle's resting comfortably, he gets that wild look in his eyes, and then starts scaling Mount Dave, wiggling his body, kicking his legs, and bobbing his head up and down with his mouth wide open. There's no stopping him as he squirms left and right, in pursuit of that elusive fountain of milk. I try to reason with him, but he becomes more persistent than ever, letting out wails as he unsuccessfully tries my arm, my armpit, the left side of my chest, the right side of my chest, the middle of my chest, and, if I let him, my nose. I tell him that I can't help him, but the screams get only louder. Sometimes I manage to calm him down by giving him a finger, a bottle, or a steak, but that goes only so far. Eventually Jennifer comes to the rescue and provides Kyle with a proper feeding.

Of course, there is an upside to Kyle's confusion. We now know that Kyle is hungry whenever he starts sucking on my shirt, and the bobbing of his head is certainly helping with developing his neck muscles. However, I am a little leery of doing the "skin to skin" bonding, as recommended by some baby books. I would have to place him on my bare chest... and, well, I'm a bit concerned that he might try some serious milking and put me in a lot of pain.

I'm guessing Kyle will eventually grow out of this phase, perhaps before puberty. We'll probably wait, though, until long after grade school to show him the video we took of one of his unsuccessful hunts for milk. Maybe we'll just hold onto that until he gets a serious girlfriend.

Tater tot

Kyle is no longer a just a homebody. These days, he regularly goes out on neighborhood strolls, and this past weekend he went to church for the first time. These ventures do come with certain risks, though. We are extremely cautious with each encounter we make with another person, and Jennifer has come awfully close to tackling those who attempt to touch our little one. We don't want Kyle to catch any diseases, such as a cold, the flu, or disco fever. But most of all, we're concerned that these other people might try to eat him.

I never thought much about the threat of cannibalism before Kyle was born. It wasn't something covered in our birthing class, and when he was born, nobody asked if we wanted fries with him. But now we're wondering whether our friends and family are smacking their lips thinking of our little one.

Just a few days ago, one of our friends wouldn't stop talking about how Kyle has great "frog legs." Shortly afterwards, her fiance said his little toes looked like kernels of corn. At that point, we had to kick them out of our apartment and ban them forever. Granted, we wouldn't have been as upset if these were simply acquaintances or gourmet chefs... but these friends are on the short list of possible BABYSITTERS for Kyle. How can we be sure now that they won't sprinkle some seasoning on him the moment Jennifer and I head out the door?

We can always pray that Kyle won't ever be used as a main course, but that's also tricky to do, especially when our church's congregation has hungry eyes for our munchkin. When one member met Kyle this past weekend, she called him a "little pork chop." Others just drooled when they saw him, many asking how much he weighed, as if he was a slab of beef for grilling. In the meantime, we set the baptism for next month - I just hope they don't Christen him with barbecue sauce.

(Above: Kyle thinks he's tasty)

With all these stomachs growling for Kyle, you might think that the only safe place for him would be at home. Yet he's not even safe here. My parents were here last weekend, and my mother - yes, my own mother - said Kyle was born with "chicken legs." She is now impressed with how "plump" he has become. What's that supposed to mean?!? And next week my mom will return to New York to help us out with - of all things - the cooking! You can be sure I will be keeping a close eye on her.

In the line of fire

Having a baby boy is a risky business, as some of you may know. Every day is wrought with peril, as we parents brave the "underworld" known as the diaper change. A baby boy is a locked and loaded weapon, ready to fire... and fire he will... when his target is in range, armed with nothing more than an unscented wipe.

We were warned, of course - in fact, the image on the left is from a card sent to us before Kyle was born. Friends, family members, doctors, parents, food delivery guys - practically everyone told us to take caution when changing a diaper to avoid being squirted. Our friends Sarah and Alex, proud parents of a young boy, recommended that we use a cloth as a shield whenever we change a diaper, while my cousins Kris and Craig, proud parents of TWIN boys (God bless them), urged us to go to Target and buy lots and lots of washcloths. We took all this advice, cleared out Target's linen department, and armed ourselves for battle.

For us, changing a diaper is a lot like that opening scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark. One of us holds the washcloth with one hand while using the other hand to undo the diaper, carefully unsticking the tabs as to not trigger any booby-traps. Then, almost instantaneously, the diaper is pulled off and -WHAM!- the cloth is thrown down. After cleanup, we make another attempt at the same tricky operation, this time to remove the cloth and slap on a new diaper. If all goes according to plan, everything stays calm, we are not bombarded with projectiles or boulders, and Kyle's sinister plans have to wait until next time.

(Above: Kyle plotting to strike)

The washcloth shield has been a savior. Many times Jennifer and I would change Kyle and then realize that the towel was soaked. Beads of sweat would roll down our brow as we look at each other, knowing full well that we were the intended target. Those times we consider ourselves lucky, since the washcloth cannot protect all of the time. Kyle's grandmother was an unfortunate victim when she simply checked to see if a diaper needed changing. Many onesies also have been sacrificed.

(Above: Mortally-wounded onesies)

If you look at the odds, it's amazing that we're not hit more often. The inexperienced may believe that a diaper needs to be changed once or twice a day. Not so. Kyle's bowels are timed to our thoughts and actions, so whenever we plan to eat, take a nap, sit down or breathe, they spring into action. We change diapers 15 to 20 thousand times a day. Sometimes twice or three times in once session.

And then there are the surprises, and I leave you with the worst one of all. It happened Saturday morning, and NOBODY prepared us for it. I will spare the details for those of you who like to eat while reading my blog. Let's just say that on Saturday we learned that everything - EVERYTHING - is projectile... and that a dirty diaper doesn't necessarily mean the eruption is over. Most importantly, we also learned that your bed can never be far enough away from the changing table.

Dry cleaning is going to make us broke.