How not to Dad: Episode 1
Travelling From/To: Home in Hanceville, AL / Wal-Mart in Cullman, AL (Approx. 6miles)
Mission Intent: Spend time with my baby daughter, do some light shopping, maybe visit a park and walk with the stroller, return home with a nice little memory of a perfect father-daughter day.
Result: Promising beginning; eventual chaos
Grade: F
My wife was out of town. My stepson was at his dad's. I was alone with a six month old. This was exciting to me, as I love one-on-one time with my kids. I get Abby fed, get her dressed in her Batgirl onesie, and even find matching purple pants in the labyrinth that is her dresser drawers. I'm wearing dad-approved navy blue cargo shorts, a Leprechaun movie t-shirt (I'm a horror movie fanatic) and flip flops. So yeah, we look cool.
The first task once we were properly attired was to prepare the diaper bag. To all who are unfamiliar, the diaper bag is a literal bottomless pit of baby products that you'll need on any quest into civilization. Things to remember: diapers, wipes, formula, bottles, water, extra clothes, bibs, spit up towels, pacifiers, teething toys, regular toys, sunscreen, blanket, first aid kit, survival knife, rope, harness, helmet, map, compass, lip balm, flashlights, batteries, matches, extra day's supply of food, water treatment system, signaling mirror, walking stick, and a full set of metric deep-well sockets and wrenches. And you damn well better not forget one thing on this list, or your baby will definitely remind you.
So I gather all the components. I fix up a little three compartment canister that holds enough formula for three bottles. I set it aside and prepare the bottles with warm water. I do a quick check to make sure there are diapers, extra clothes, wipes, a towel, and all the other stuff, then I zip up the bag and get Abby in her car seat. I bump her head against the seat handle as I ease her in. This triggers an eruption of tears and I do all I can to comfort her. Eventually I gave her one of her teething toys and she lost interest in crying so I buckled her in.
Slinging the diaper bag over one arm (my wife is tiny, and I couldn't wrangle my other arm through the backpack strap), I carry the bag out to the car. I come back in, grab my cup of coffee, pick up the car seat, and stand at the door for several seconds like a neanderthal as my mind works out how I'm going to open the door while holding both the car seat and a cup of hot coffee. The answer is NOT, I finally realize, to hold the car seat and coffee in the same hand while opening the door with the other. Eventually my mind works through this problem and I proceed, pausing again on the other side of the door to figure out how the hell I'm going to close it.
We make it into the car and begin our day. Abby falls asleep as I drive. I go through Jack's drive thru and grab some breakfast that I eat in Wal-Mart's parking lot once we arrive, while Abby naps.
She wakes up when I get her out. I'm pretty clever, I realize, because I decide to park beside the cart return station. This way I can get her out and place the car seat in a shopping cart immediately, and don't have to lug the car seat all the way into the store.
I've got this shit figured out, y’all. This trip's gonna be a breeze.
Abby is all smiles as we make our way through the front doors. I go to the electronics section first and pick out a couple of movies. Then I head to the men's clothes and choose a few things. I stop by the arts and crafts section and get some canvases (canvi…?). So far, so good. Abby grunts and wriggles a couple of times here and there, but I dismiss it as mild discomfort. She is content as always. I even go to the baby section and look at the toys.
And here is where it all begins to unravel.
Abby starts to fuss. I think to myself, she's getting tired of the car seat. Get her out of the car seat and hold her. You'll have a free hand to push the cart. What could go wrong?
One thing that could go wrong would consist of me banging her head against the car seat handle as I get her out. Again. Causing - again - an eruption of crying that I have to try and soothe away while tending to the buggy with my other hand. So I try the usual method, I begin to walk and lightly bounce her in my arm. Only now I'm wielding a Wal-Mart shopping cart with one hand, trying to steer it between racks of baby clothes while calmly talking to my daughter the way I do when I want her to go to sleep.
I knew I was really in trouble when her elephant teething toy didn't calm her down. Normally you can hand her that and it goes straight to her mouth, and she's immediately absorbed with chewing on it. Instead she continued to cry and I awkwardly shuffled through the aisles holding a sobbing baby in one arm and pushing the shopping cart with the other.
Can’t put her back in the car seat now. It’ll just piss her off more.
I shamble down the large aisle in the rear of the store. Finally Abby begins calming down. Her teething toy is beginning to work its magic, and inwardly I sigh in relief.
Until I realize I can’t reach my wallet to pay for the stuff in the cart.
It’s in my back pocket, on the same side where I’m holding Abby. Neanderthal Luke reemerges, standing in the children’s clothes section with a baby in one arm and a shopping cart full of crap at my side, probably looking like I’m trying to figure out how to add one plus one.
Hey idiot, let go of the shopping cart and switch the baby to the other side so you can reach it, my brain says after it apparently reboots. With a clumsy, not-so-swift motion that tried to be a swift motion, I shifted the baby to the other arm and grab my wallet.
In order to extract a debit card you need two hands. One hand to hold the wallet, and the other hand to pull the card from it. I manage to get my wallet into the hand that is holding the baby, and Abby and I fight for a moment over who gets the card once I pull it out. She fusses a little, but finds her teething toy again and all is calm. I shove the card in my pocket and head for the front of the store.
I make it to the registers. No way in hell am I going to attempt a self checkout like this, so I find a lane and wait my turn.
Abby does not have the same problem my son Logan had at this age. Logan hated standing still. We always dreaded getting to the checkout lines because the minute we stopped he started pitching a fit. Abby, on the other hand, sits on my arm and gnaws on her toy elephant, and just looks at everything. She’s back to her old self, content and happy.
There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. I see it. We’re gonna make it, little sis. The day is still ours.
We check out. The lady at the register and the elderly lady behind me make a fuss over how cute and little Abby is. They talk to her and she looks at them and even half-ass waves at them as we walk away.
Feeling the weight lifting further off my shoulders by the second, I proudly carry my daughter into the parking lot like a mighty warrior returning from battle. Yes, I’ve lost a few men, we’re both wounded and beaten down, and she’s got a head injury, but we survived. We fought the good fight and have lived to see another day.
Neanderthal Luke makes a final appearance once I stop the buggy at the trunk of my car. With but a moment’s hesitation, I sweep the dumbass side of myself away, grab the fob from my keychain, and push the button that pops the trunk. I sling the bags in the trunk with my free hand. I grab the car seat (much lighter when it’s empty) and set it on the base that’s strapped into the back seat, return the buggy, and stand there with my baby in my arm, feeling successful.
Triumphant even.
Hell, let’s get her fed before we do anything else, I think. We’ve got a few hours worth of water and formula and spare diapers. Let’s brush off the problems we’ve had and make a day of it.
I slide the driver's seat as far back as it can go, and then ease into the car with the baby. Abby slaps at the steering wheel as I reach for her diaper bag so I can make her a bottle. We’re having fun now! I unzip the bag and open it up, pull the bottle out (already filled with water because I’m a genius), and then reach in for my canister of pre-made formula that I so precisely measured and filled for three separate bottles, and-
Hmmm. Don’t see it.
Nah, it’s there. I remember packing it. It’s probably underneath the spare clothes. I shuffle things around a bit in search of the little container.
Confusion leads to uncertainty.
Uncertainty leads to panic.
Panic eventually leads to realization.
I thought back: I had measured all the scoops of formula, snapped the lid on, and then set it on the kitchen island so I could make the bottles, then I put the bottles in the bag, checked for diapers, wipes, clothes, and burp cloths.
Here’s the kicker: Nowhere in that list of activities did I place the damn formula in the diaper bag. So now I’m sitting with a time bomb in my lap. A time bomb that might speed up if I put her back in her car seat. And I do indeed have to put her back in the car seat, right? Yes, I have to remind myself half jokingly. (Okay, okay, I know you can't drive through town with an infant in your lap. Still, there's that voice that sneaks in, whispers shit like you're a good driver, don't worry the cops'll never see her. Just drive. I hate that guy.)
This is where my daughter comes in clutch, and saves the day. I had resigned myself to facing a car ride home to the tune of my daughter’s rageful cries. Instead she calmly looked at me as I placed her in her car seat and allowed me to buckle her in. We rode home. I still held a tiny ray of hope that I would be up for going back to town after we’d been home for a while and Abby had gotten a nap, but I think I knew our trip was done. Still, my daughter is amazing. She goes with the flow more than any child I have ever seen. She proved that by remaining calm on the ride home, though she must have started getting hungry. I don’t know if I thanked her out loud for not losing her shit, but I did in my mind for sure. And I thank her now.
Moral of the story: Dudes, check your diaper bag. Double check your diaper bag. Triple check your diaper bag. At minimum food, diapers, wipes, and extra clothing absolutely must be with you at all times.
Or you will be destroyed.
THE WAL-MART FIASCO OFFICIAL REPORT
Travelling From/To: Home in Hanceville, AL / Wal-Mart in Cullman, AL (Approx. 6miles)
Mission Intent: Spend time with my baby daughter, do some light shopping, maybe visit a park and walk with the stroller, return home with a nice little memory of a perfect father-daughter day.
Result: Promising beginning; eventual chaos
Grade: F
Details
My wife was out of town. My stepson was at his dad's. I was alone with a six month old. This was exciting to me, as I love one-on-one time with my kids. I get Abby fed, get her dressed in her Batgirl onesie, and even find matching purple pants in the labyrinth that is her dresser drawers. I'm wearing dad-approved navy blue cargo shorts, a Leprechaun movie t-shirt (I'm a horror movie fanatic) and flip flops. So yeah, we look cool.
The first task once we were properly attired was to prepare the diaper bag. To all who are unfamiliar, the diaper bag is a literal bottomless pit of baby products that you'll need on any quest into civilization. Things to remember: diapers, wipes, formula, bottles, water, extra clothes, bibs, spit up towels, pacifiers, teething toys, regular toys, sunscreen, blanket, first aid kit, survival knife, rope, harness, helmet, map, compass, lip balm, flashlights, batteries, matches, extra day's supply of food, water treatment system, signaling mirror, walking stick, and a full set of metric deep-well sockets and wrenches. And you damn well better not forget one thing on this list, or your baby will definitely remind you.
So I gather all the components. I fix up a little three compartment canister that holds enough formula for three bottles. I set it aside and prepare the bottles with warm water. I do a quick check to make sure there are diapers, extra clothes, wipes, a towel, and all the other stuff, then I zip up the bag and get Abby in her car seat. I bump her head against the seat handle as I ease her in. This triggers an eruption of tears and I do all I can to comfort her. Eventually I gave her one of her teething toys and she lost interest in crying so I buckled her in.
Slinging the diaper bag over one arm (my wife is tiny, and I couldn't wrangle my other arm through the backpack strap), I carry the bag out to the car. I come back in, grab my cup of coffee, pick up the car seat, and stand at the door for several seconds like a neanderthal as my mind works out how I'm going to open the door while holding both the car seat and a cup of hot coffee. The answer is NOT, I finally realize, to hold the car seat and coffee in the same hand while opening the door with the other. Eventually my mind works through this problem and I proceed, pausing again on the other side of the door to figure out how the hell I'm going to close it.
We make it into the car and begin our day. Abby falls asleep as I drive. I go through Jack's drive thru and grab some breakfast that I eat in Wal-Mart's parking lot once we arrive, while Abby naps.
She wakes up when I get her out. I'm pretty clever, I realize, because I decide to park beside the cart return station. This way I can get her out and place the car seat in a shopping cart immediately, and don't have to lug the car seat all the way into the store.
I've got this shit figured out, y’all. This trip's gonna be a breeze.
Abby is all smiles as we make our way through the front doors. I go to the electronics section first and pick out a couple of movies. Then I head to the men's clothes and choose a few things. I stop by the arts and crafts section and get some canvases (canvi…?). So far, so good. Abby grunts and wriggles a couple of times here and there, but I dismiss it as mild discomfort. She is content as always. I even go to the baby section and look at the toys.
And here is where it all begins to unravel.
Abby starts to fuss. I think to myself, she's getting tired of the car seat. Get her out of the car seat and hold her. You'll have a free hand to push the cart. What could go wrong?
One thing that could go wrong would consist of me banging her head against the car seat handle as I get her out. Again. Causing - again - an eruption of crying that I have to try and soothe away while tending to the buggy with my other hand. So I try the usual method, I begin to walk and lightly bounce her in my arm. Only now I'm wielding a Wal-Mart shopping cart with one hand, trying to steer it between racks of baby clothes while calmly talking to my daughter the way I do when I want her to go to sleep.
I knew I was really in trouble when her elephant teething toy didn't calm her down. Normally you can hand her that and it goes straight to her mouth, and she's immediately absorbed with chewing on it. Instead she continued to cry and I awkwardly shuffled through the aisles holding a sobbing baby in one arm and pushing the shopping cart with the other.
Can’t put her back in the car seat now. It’ll just piss her off more.
I shamble down the large aisle in the rear of the store. Finally Abby begins calming down. Her teething toy is beginning to work its magic, and inwardly I sigh in relief.
Until I realize I can’t reach my wallet to pay for the stuff in the cart.
It’s in my back pocket, on the same side where I’m holding Abby. Neanderthal Luke reemerges, standing in the children’s clothes section with a baby in one arm and a shopping cart full of crap at my side, probably looking like I’m trying to figure out how to add one plus one.
Hey idiot, let go of the shopping cart and switch the baby to the other side so you can reach it, my brain says after it apparently reboots. With a clumsy, not-so-swift motion that tried to be a swift motion, I shifted the baby to the other arm and grab my wallet.
In order to extract a debit card you need two hands. One hand to hold the wallet, and the other hand to pull the card from it. I manage to get my wallet into the hand that is holding the baby, and Abby and I fight for a moment over who gets the card once I pull it out. She fusses a little, but finds her teething toy again and all is calm. I shove the card in my pocket and head for the front of the store.
I make it to the registers. No way in hell am I going to attempt a self checkout like this, so I find a lane and wait my turn.
Abby does not have the same problem my son Logan had at this age. Logan hated standing still. We always dreaded getting to the checkout lines because the minute we stopped he started pitching a fit. Abby, on the other hand, sits on my arm and gnaws on her toy elephant, and just looks at everything. She’s back to her old self, content and happy.
There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. I see it. We’re gonna make it, little sis. The day is still ours.
We check out. The lady at the register and the elderly lady behind me make a fuss over how cute and little Abby is. They talk to her and she looks at them and even half-ass waves at them as we walk away.
Feeling the weight lifting further off my shoulders by the second, I proudly carry my daughter into the parking lot like a mighty warrior returning from battle. Yes, I’ve lost a few men, we’re both wounded and beaten down, and she’s got a head injury, but we survived. We fought the good fight and have lived to see another day.
Neanderthal Luke makes a final appearance once I stop the buggy at the trunk of my car. With but a moment’s hesitation, I sweep the dumbass side of myself away, grab the fob from my keychain, and push the button that pops the trunk. I sling the bags in the trunk with my free hand. I grab the car seat (much lighter when it’s empty) and set it on the base that’s strapped into the back seat, return the buggy, and stand there with my baby in my arm, feeling successful.
Triumphant even.
Hell, let’s get her fed before we do anything else, I think. We’ve got a few hours worth of water and formula and spare diapers. Let’s brush off the problems we’ve had and make a day of it.
I slide the driver's seat as far back as it can go, and then ease into the car with the baby. Abby slaps at the steering wheel as I reach for her diaper bag so I can make her a bottle. We’re having fun now! I unzip the bag and open it up, pull the bottle out (already filled with water because I’m a genius), and then reach in for my canister of pre-made formula that I so precisely measured and filled for three separate bottles, and-
Hmmm. Don’t see it.
Nah, it’s there. I remember packing it. It’s probably underneath the spare clothes. I shuffle things around a bit in search of the little container.
Confusion leads to uncertainty.
Uncertainty leads to panic.
Panic eventually leads to realization.
I thought back: I had measured all the scoops of formula, snapped the lid on, and then set it on the kitchen island so I could make the bottles, then I put the bottles in the bag, checked for diapers, wipes, clothes, and burp cloths.
Here’s the kicker: Nowhere in that list of activities did I place the damn formula in the diaper bag. So now I’m sitting with a time bomb in my lap. A time bomb that might speed up if I put her back in her car seat. And I do indeed have to put her back in the car seat, right? Yes, I have to remind myself half jokingly. (Okay, okay, I know you can't drive through town with an infant in your lap. Still, there's that voice that sneaks in, whispers shit like you're a good driver, don't worry the cops'll never see her. Just drive. I hate that guy.)
This is where my daughter comes in clutch, and saves the day. I had resigned myself to facing a car ride home to the tune of my daughter’s rageful cries. Instead she calmly looked at me as I placed her in her car seat and allowed me to buckle her in. We rode home. I still held a tiny ray of hope that I would be up for going back to town after we’d been home for a while and Abby had gotten a nap, but I think I knew our trip was done. Still, my daughter is amazing. She goes with the flow more than any child I have ever seen. She proved that by remaining calm on the ride home, though she must have started getting hungry. I don’t know if I thanked her out loud for not losing her shit, but I did in my mind for sure. And I thank her now.
Moral of the story: Dudes, check your diaper bag. Double check your diaper bag. Triple check your diaper bag. At minimum food, diapers, wipes, and extra clothing absolutely must be with you at all times.
Or you will be destroyed.
Somehow, I knew the formula wouldn't be there. I guffawed. Great stuff!
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