napping with you

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Yesterday I came home early from church to help take care of you.  With teeth working their way through your gums, you've been having some fussy periods.

I came home to a screaming baby Nugget.  You wanted to be held close.  You had little patience for any activity and preferred to just be in arms.

When I saw the signs of your getting tired, I cradled you, and rocked you in the rocking chair.  The apartment got quieter as your lids grew heavier.  I put you down in our bed and laid next to you, my hand on your chubby leg, and you feel asleep.

As I got up to sneak away, you opened your eyes and grabbed my shirt tight.  I laid back down, you still holding my shirt, and watched you fall back asleep.  You wanted me to stay with you.  I did.

I ended up taking a nice 45 minute nap with you.  It was wonderful. 

I woke up to the sounds of a screaming Nugget.  Eh. 

I still love you, though, and I absolutely love napping with you.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

when papi meets the ground

Dear Chicken Nugget,

After our snow day on Thursday, I had a hard time finding a place to run. There are huge piles of snow on the sidewalk and on every corner there's an adventurous obstacle of snow, ice, slush, and ginormous puddles.

Early this morning, before church, I decided to go out for my 5-mile "long" run.  For the next 12 weekends, I'll be running longer and longer as I reach for the half-marathon distance (13.1 miles).  With the temperatures going over the freezing mark and the sun breaking out this morning, I figured it would be a great day for a run. 

About half a mile in, after having to jump over puddles, climb hills of snow, and hop over patches of ice, I thought, "This is a great run. Can't wait to tell everyone about all the obstacle dodging I got to do."  Little did I know...

Running up a path in the park, I passed a lady with a small fluffy dog.  No biggie.  Literally.  Then, I saw a lady with two unleashed Pit Bulls.  Generally, I'm respectful of dogs.  I give them their space and prefer to not run near them.  However, this was a narrow path and the only way to continue was to come pretty close to those dogs. 

I slowed to a walk, held my gaze forward, hands down, and walked confidently forward showing that I was no harm to them.  The two dogs decided to come over to say an aggressive hello or to have me for breakfast.  One dog jumped up on my leg, with lips retracted, showing it's menacing sharp teeth.  The other dog came around and was about to do the same when the owner finally called out, "Lucy, Stop!"

Seriously? I was almost eaten alive by a dog names Lucy?  Great.  Luckily, Lucy and pal backed off and ran back to their owner.  I started running again feeling some scratches above my right knee where Lucy had jumped up.  But, I didn't think it was too bad and just kept going. 

I continued to enjoy my running game of snowy survival and was soon lost in thought.  About another half mile in, I was enjoying the sun warming my face . . .

. . . it's funny, when the world looks tilted at a 45-degree angle and you find  your arms flailing up in the air, the only thought that can cross your mind, is the obvious, "Oh $#!+, I'm about to fall" . . .

And, I did.  Hard.  I landed on my rights side, right on my hip.  I rolled over onto my belly and stayed down, cursing the ground, and assessing my injuries.  As I slowly got up, I noticed the huge patch of ice on the ground that I missed.  From across the street I heard a guy call out, "You OK?" 

"Yeah, I think so," I said, feeling my leg and hip to make sure there were no bones sticking out of my skin.

"I'm an ER doctor coming home from the hospital," he called back.  "I saw six fractures on my shift, three of them runners." 

I'm pretty sure I heard a slight laugh in his voice. 

I walked around for a bit, feeling things out.  He stayed to watch me for a bit. 

As I broke into a light jog for a bit, he asked, "Are you sure you're OK?"

"Yeah," I shakily called back.  There was no obvious pain, aside from the bruising kind you tend to get on the bone after a hard fall.

"All right.  Take it easy," he said and started back on his walk home. 

I still had a mile to go on my run.  I should go home, I thought.  Then I thought, no, get the mile done.  It can't get worse. 

I gingerly stepped over ice patches on the rest of my run, nothing heroic.  I made it home safe, or as safe as can be after a dog attack and hard fall.

In my six years of running I've never been attacked by a dog or fallen on ice.  I have fallen on a boardwalk by a beach trying to chase after your mom, but I'll save that story for another day. 

Twenty years from now, if you hear that I've fallen on an icy run, it'll probably involve a trip to the hospital and, possibly, surgery.  Thankfully, I'm still young enough that I can get up from a hard fall on my hip and keep going.

Please come visit me at the hospital.  Also, don't ever name a Pit Bull Lucy.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

firefighters to the rescue

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Tonight was an exciting Friday night.  Usually I come home, play with you, have some dinner, put you to sleep, do some reading, and go to sleep myself.  This evening it was just about the same except for the two fire trucks that showed up at our door.

While you played under your jungle gym and as we sat for a bowl of delicious veggie soup your mom made, we heard the carbon monoxide alarm beep.  We opened the kitchen window and opened the door to our apartment for ventilation.  Then, unsure of the next steps, I looked it up online.  Most sites suggest you leave the house and immediately call 911.  We called our city's information line, 311, which promptly connected us to 911.  After repeating our information three times to three different operators, I heard, "Sir, FDNY will respond."

Cool, I thought.  Firefighters are coming.  I'm going to be 31 in a week and half and I still find fire trucks and all the cool equipment very exciting. 

A minute after hanging up the phone we heard the sirens.  By minute two there were six firefighters at our door.  Two of them ran up the stairs - one holding some sort of reader thing and the other holding a long spear-like hook.  Awesome!

We had moved you to the Jumperoo where you were diligently gnawing on a seahorse chew toy.  The strange men in uniforms with silly hats and funny toys drew your attention.  You stared at them.  There was no bouncing, no noise, no crying.  You just stared. 

The firefighters were kind enough to take pictures with you.  Of course, they were still doing their job - measuring the air for a dangerous poisonous gas.  But, while they did it, why not take a picture with the cute baby?

After reassuring us that we weren't in danger and telling us to buy a new alarm, they left.  You followed them out the door with your gaze as we thanked them for their help. 

I'm sure we experienced the beginning of what will be a lifelong fascination with firefighters. 

Your mom and I are grateful for the FDNY for making sure we're safe.  We hope their night was full of easy assignments and cute babies.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

Snow Day!

Dear Chicken Nugget,

It worked.  All of it!

12.6" of snow fell in Queens overnight

Snow day!

we had a great time in the snow

you hung out in the snow for a bit

and we rushed back inside to get warm

Best day of the year.  If you ever wonder why daddy keeps flushing frozen peas down the toilet, today is the reason why.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

sNOw Day?

Dear Chicken Nugget,

The news in New York City this winter has been packed with snow.  We've gotten a lot of it.  At least three storms have come through with significant accumulation.  There was one storm that came through the day after Christmas that actually made New York City stop for a bit - and that almost never happens. 

During that storm, your Great Uncle Richard was stuck on a bus for three hours.  The bus got stuck in deep snow, the snow drifts made it difficult for people to get off, and the winds were blowing at over 50mph.  I'm sure he'll tell you the whole story in hilarious detail some day.

Even tonight, as I write this letter, meteorologists are predicting 8"-12" of snow by 8am.  Usually this would get me excited for a snow day.  But, this year the City of New York seems to be on an anti-snow day kick.

It's unfortunate.  There is much fun to be had in a fresh pile of snow.  On the day after a snowstorm a couple of weeks ago, a father called our school to inform us that he was keeping his son home from school.  Not for safety reasons or anything of that sort - he simply wanted to take his kid to the park to play in the snow.  That kid's dad became my hero that day.  At least some folks out there still know how to enjoy a good snowfall.

I love the snow too and would appreciate being able to explore it with you tomorrow.  So, tonight I put a spoon under my pillow, turned my PJs inside out, did the snow dance, and flushed a handful of frozen peas down the toilet.  (OK, so technically the last one was supposed to be ice cubes but we're out and I figured the next best flushable frozen thing in our freezer was the peas.)

If we get a snow day, we party.  If we don't, I'll leave the partying to you and your mom.  I'll be at school, with about half the kids, all wishing they were playing in the snow.

Have a good night, Nugget.  Sleep tight.  Dream of snow!


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

I sing, you laugh

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I like to sing out loud.  Your poor grandma had to listen to endless hours of me singing along with Menudo, Michael Jackson, Dr. Dre, Third Eye Blind, or whoever my favorite artist was at the moment of my indoor concert.

There's audio tapes of my singing as a kid somewhere that my mom had me record.  Still, no one ever taught me how to sing and no one in my family told me I had an awful voice.   

When we were 11 or 12 years old, my friend Rolando yelled at me for trying to imitate Michael Jackson's voice.  He told me it sounded terrible.  I never really took that to heart.  Your mom still has to deal with my high-pitched warbling.

In High School the music teacher asked me to try out for the Choir.  She had heard something relatively good during class and wanted me to try it out.  On the day I tried out, standing before some pretty good singers, I unleashed about a third of a decent scale before my voice broke into a series of cracks and shrieks.  The music teacher kindly told me it was just my voice changing and suggested I try out again in six months.  I never went back.

No one has really said much about my singing since.  I think folks are just being nice. Then, last week you started laughing at me.

Recently you've been going to bed without the need for any sleepy time routine.  However, with teeth seeming to push and cut their way through those little gums, you've been getting a little fussy at night.  So, this week we went back to the sleep routine.

As I picked you up and cradled you in my arms, with a slight bounce in my step, I broke into Frank Sinatra's "The Way You Look Tonight"...

Some day, when I'm awfully low...

Heh, Heh, Heh

When the world is cold...

Heh, Heh, Heh

I will feel a glow... Heh

Just thinking of you... Heh, Heh

Your mom heard your raspy laugh and started cracking up. 

For about a week now I've been laughed at when I sing.  It's cute.  For now.  Because you're little.

Hopefully I'm not doing any long term damage.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

when we were young

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I spent most of the day thinking about my elementary school friends.  One of my oldest buddies, a guy I've been friends with since kindergarten, sent an email highlighting a piece another friend wrote and his own subsequent reflection.

Carly wrote a piece about our first grade class and where some of us are now. She called you "praiseworthy."   She used the word "lauded" in describing me as a science teacher.  God bless her and her words.

Your good-looking papi is in the second row, third from the left

My friend Rolando told the story of how Carly went from being his nemesis to becoming a friend.

I have great memories of both.  And today I spent a good deal of time lost in those memories.

I remember going to Carly's house to play and thinking how nice she was.  Super nice.  Her mom too.  Her mom once asked my mom for a recipe for Spanish rice.  Not sure why I remember that.  I also remember hiding a pair of earrings I got from a toy vending machine in her desk in the third grade.  I wasn't going for the earrings, that's just my luck.

Rolando is permanently etched in my mind since he was a constant presence.  Not only was he a good friend, his family was wonderful to me. He was the bold one and I was shy one and I was glad to play sidekick. I spent a lot of time at his apartment, playing video games, talking movies, discussing time travel, and going places. 

For that matter, the parents of my friends were responsible for me getting out of our cramped apartment often.  My friend Vanessa's dad took us to an antique car shows and to NYPD family events (he was a detective).  My friend Andres' parents took us to Mets games and on trips to Bear Mountain.

My mom, too, took the kids who lived on my block on trips to the Bronx Zoo and to weekly Junior Park Ranger meetings.

These memories led me to the already known conclusion that the reason my childhood is full of great memories with these kids was that our parents were incredible.  It's with their active influence that we experienced what we did and had the fun we had.

As a parent, I hope that I can do for you what they did for us.

And, I hope that you end up meeting a bunch as awesome as ours when you get to school.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

I cried

Dear Chicken Nugget,

This morning as I sat down on the couch to eat breakfast, I sat on a rattle. 

It made me think of you.

And, I cried.

That's all.  I love being your dad.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

zombies & cardio

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I love zombies.  They're scary and gruesome.  And scary.  And I love them.  

It probably has something to do with the fact that I was introduced to scary movies at an early age.  I love a good scary movie.  A good scary movie is like a roller coaster ride in the dark.  And, if the scary movies is about zombies, even better.

Sometimes I'll even dream about zombies.  In these dreams I'm fighting them, running away from them, and genuinely getting an adrenaline rush out of it.  Zombie dreams are the best.

So, today when you and your mom went out to meet up with other mommies and babies, I stayed home and put on Zombieland.  I tried watching that movie with your mom once.  She didn't last beyond the opening credits.  She doesn't get scary movies the way I do.  She doesn't dream about zombies either.

As I write this letter I'm watching the main character run away from zombies. 

Yet another good reason to train hard.  We also own the Zombie Survival Guide, so no worries.  FYI, as soon as you learn to walk we're gonna teach you how to run.  Rule #1: Cardio.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

BHAGs

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I've got a problem.  I love to run.  But, during the cold, winter months I can't get myself to run on my own; at least not regularly and as often as I'd like.  Running in the freezing cold is hard, not to mention stupid.  

This year my winter running has improved by coaching my Young Runners Club.  It's also helped to be inspired by you.  I have been getting out, just not as often as I'd like. 

I can always do better.  So, in my attempt to get into better shape this year I've set a big goal to run the 13.1 NYC half-marathon.

Setting a big goal is a sure-fire way for me to train harder.  When I first started running I set a big goal to run a marathon.  I went from barely being able to run 2 blocks to completing 26.2 miles in nine months.  In my almost seven years as a runner, I've  had to repeatedly set race goals to inspire me to train harder.  Without a race as an end-goal, I'll take things a little too easy.

I've also become a sort of charity runner.  I like to use my running to raise money and awareness for certain causes.  Over the past few years I've raised money for St. Jude's Childrens Hospital, the Lance Armstrong Foundation, the American Heart Association and this year, World Vision.

By setting a big goal and running for a charity I ensure that I stick to a training program.

Today when I go out and run in freezing temperature I'll know that there are many reasons for me to keep going: you and your mom, my health, people in Africa, and simply getting to the finish line.
 
Speaking of finish line, I've gotta go.  Now.  So cold.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

one vote

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I can't say for sure but I'm pretty certain that I've voted in almost every election that's come up since I turned 18 - most of them anyway, there may be one that slipped through the cracks.

The truth is I'm a sort of politics geek.  I love reading up on current happenings in the political world and have been known to make a comparison chart of candidates to help me make my choice on election day.

Still, there are things that upset me - like incumbents that should be gone but are too powerful for opponents to even enter a race and single-candidate elections where I know very little of the lone candidate.  This happens often in small races for court positions.  I can't stand seeing a single name for surrogate judge.  Basically the Surrogate Court is in charge of wills, estates, and unclaimed properties.  The judge is elected to a ten-year term and, usually, we know very little about the candidate.

Last year I took a stand.  I looked up all the candidates in all the elections and found very little about the candidate for surrogate judge.  How can I, as a responsible voter, elect someone to a position without knowing about their character or values?

So, I wrote myself in:

If you take a close look I'm in good company.  Although I lost by over 12,000 votes to the lone candidate, I tied with Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ralph Nader, Beelzebub, Jay Leno, Frank Zappa, Boba Fett, Bono the Boston Terrier, and, my favorite, Peter.  Mickey Mouse got me by a vote.

I hate mice.

Next election, I'm taking that mouse down.

Eternally yours,

Tu papa

Murophobia

Dear Chicken Nugget,

For the last five days your mom and I have been terrorized by a mouse in the house.  I first caught a quick glimpse of him running from the couch to the space between the desk and cabinet near where I was sitting.  This, of course, led me to hop on the couch and squeal like a little girl.  Your dad, Nugget, suffers from murophobia - the fear of mice and rats.

I sprung into action and ran across the street to buy half a dozen sticky glue traps.  I laid them out wherever I thought Mr. Mouse might travel.  When we went to bed that night, I spent a good amount of time lying awake and listening to every little sound in the apartment.  I can't stand rodents.

As you get older I have no doubt that any of my former roommates will share with you a gazillion stories about me and mice.  New Yorkers have the unfortunate experience of having to often live with rodent pests.  My roommates have gotten a number of good laughs from my reactions to these disease-infested creatures.

After a few nights of terror and buying fancier traps, we finally caught the little guy last night.  We had seen him scurry under the desk and your mom suggested we lay a glue trap down there.  I put the trap down, walked to the kitchen to put another one down, and by the time I got back, the trap had moved.  As I got closer to inspect it, the mouse squeaked and tried to escape from its gluey trap.  I froze.

Your mom was already in bed with you and called out, "Did we catch him?"

"Yep," I replied from atop the couch.

"Bag him and take him out to the trash," she said.

"I can't.  He's fighting back," I said, voice shaky.

"That's what you're supposed to do when you're fighting for your life."

Thanks.

"Take a another sticky trap, throw it on top, and place the whole thing in a plastic bag," she suggested.

I did just that but the little guy turned his head and tried to gnaw through the trap.  Freaked.  Me.  Out.  A tiny part of me felt bad.  His little beady black eyes asked for forgiveness.  A bigger part of me was scared and disgusted.  Still, with his front paws pulling on a printer cable, holding on for dear life, I didn't have it in me to struggle with the mouse.

Your mom got out of bed, grabbed a broom (to stun him, she declared), and managed to bag the little mouse in less than five seconds.  She's my hero, your mom.  While she was double bagging the mouse, making it safe for me to carry out to the trash, you began to cry.  I picked you up and stood with you on top of the couch while your mom saved us from sure pestilence. 

Then, the saint that she is, she took a picture.

Papi saving Nugget from the bubonic plague

I managed to build up enough courage to take the mouse out to the trash.  And, despite my complete fear and revulsion, I said a little prayer for it.

You and your mom went back to bed and I stayed up at the desk doing work, happy to have finally rid ourselves of the mouse.

About an hour later, I saw something moving from the corner of my eye.  Yes, another mouse.  Letting out a ridiculous bellow, I tip-toe hopped to our bed where I told your mom what I had just seen and lay awake for half the night listening for Mr. Mouse's vengeful family.

I hate mice.  I hope we catch all of them so that you can live in a safe, healthy apartment free of plague.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

published

Dear Chicken Nugget,

You are now four months old and making giant leaps in your awareness of the world.  You recently started watching with interest what your mom and I do with our hands - things like writing, typing, and eating.  It's fun watching you try to figure out what we're doing and we know that soon you're going to want to do the same things.

Yesterday, at lunch, you were sitting on my lap and you reached out for the bowl of pesto pasta I was eating.  You got a good grip and pulled it towards you.  We had to tug pretty hard to get the bowl of pasta away from you.  It'll be fun when you can start having solid foods of your own.  Soon, very soon.

Sometimes when I type on the computer and you are on my lap, you reach out and tap the keys on the keyboard.  I'm sure my writing needs the help anyway.

Actually, I learned early this morning that something I wrote was published on a blog on the Runner's World magazine site!

I wrote an essay detailing how I started a running club at my school.  The last time I wrote anything sports related for any publication, I was writing for the Sports section of my High School newspaper.  It's been a long time. 

So, your father wrote something that tons of strange people will be reading.  Although for this particular piece, you did not help me, I'm sure that as you grow up and your little arms get longer, the banging on the keyboard is going to translate into someone out there getting an errant email.  Maybe it'll even get published.

Looking forward to reading you my writing and to reading yours.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

shameless self-promotion v. 1

Dear Reader,

This is my first of what may be just a handful of letters addressed to you and not my little Nugget.

I wanted to take the time to thank you for reading, for your comments, and for your support.

When I started writing this blog, it was simply a way for me to chronicle the happenings of a father-to-be and then new-father for myself, my wife, our baby, and our families.  It has since extended to friends, acquaintances, and complete strangers.  I appreciate that.

I know a lot of you are reading these posts as somewhat-automatically updated Notes on my Facebook page - which I'm not frequenting too often these days - and, therefore, are probably missing out on neat stuff happening on the actual blog page.  Whenever you get the chance, please visit the original site, http://www.dearchicky.com/

There are some "features" I've added since this blog began that I'd like to point out:
- There is a PayPal link that allows you to donate to our Nugget's college fund.  We are not, in any way, a non-profit so this donation is not tax-deductible.  I just thought it was fun way to raise money for our Nugget's college tuition.  Feel free to click and donate.
- There is a RoadID button that allows you to check out and shop for a product I believe is necessary for almost anyone. 
- There is a link to BabyEtte, a baby-wearing small business that is family-owned, hand-made, and awesome.  Like it says on the link, we love their products!  Check them out and if you buy something, tell them you heard about them from Dear Chicken Nugget.  We get nothing out of it, we just want them to know how much we love telling folks about their stuff.
- And there's a bunch of other cool stuff like an embedded video of "A Social Network Christmas," a map showing where people are reading the blog, (as far away as Qatar, Japan, and Russia), a link that helps us become a Top Baby Blog, and links to other dad and parenting blogs I enjoy every now and then.

Again, thank you for reading and for your support.  Keep coming back and commenting on Dear Chicken Nugget.


Yours,

Christian

New Year's Resolutions 2011

Dear Chicken Nugget,

As we end the second day of the New Year, I thought I'd lay down my resolutions for this year.  I'll let you hold me accountable to these.

Most people find resolutions fun and pointless.  They're a great way to reboot your personal goals but since there's no accountability, most people drop their resolutions within weeks.

To help keep me accountable, I'll offer you this:

For every resolution I do not keep, I will give you $100 cash.  I usually make ten resolutions a year, for a potential $1000 cash every year until you turn 18.  

Deal?  You just smiled at me, so I'll take that as a yes.

So, without further ado, my New Year's Resolutions of 2011:

1) Be a good father.
2) Be a good husband.
3) Run nine NYRR-scored races and volunteer for one NYRR event.  This will help me gain guaranteed entry into the 2012 NYC Marathon.
4) Become a certified USATF Level 1 Running Coach in order to better teach my Running Club kids.
5) Clean up the back room, or "man cave" as your mom calls it, once a month.
6) Finish reading the Bible, with Facebook breaks allowed only in between books.
7) Exercise every day unless illness requires rest - your mom will have to judge "illness" on this one.
8) Get my cholesterol checked at least four times this year.
9)  Donate blood at least four times this year.  Note to self: Don't do the cholesterol check and blood donation on the same day.
10) Dance with you at least once a day.

I hope to be able to complete all ten resolutions this year.  In the long run I hope you'll understand that me completing these ten resolutions is more important than the cash you'll earn from me breaking them.  Still, it's a good way to keep me focused.

Two days down and you still have earned no cash from me - off to a good start.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

oh the way we fly

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Happy New Year!  You are now officially in 2011.

A lot has happened since I last wrote:

- you went to your first party (my staff holiday party)
- we flew to Nebraska for Christmas break
- you celebrated your first Christmas
- you were baptized in Nebraska
- you met a whole lot of family
- we went on our first zoo trip together, in Omaha, NE
- you celebrated your first New Year

I'll have to write about these individually later since I had little time to sit and write during all this fun.

I will say a little something about our flying experience...

I'm not a fan of flying.  At some point in my life I wanted to be a pilot, and even an astronaut, but as I grew older and realized that my nearsightedness was going to prevent me from piloting an airplane or shuttle, I had to settle for being a passenger.  Here's the thing, I have control issues.  If the plane swings from one side to the other, gets bumpy, or drops a few feet in altitude, I... flip... out.

Not in a big way.  But, I will put my hand on your mom's knee and squeeze a little.  I'd like to believe that if I was sitting at the controls, I wouldn't be needing reassurance.  That might create an awkward moment between me and the co-pilot.

However, taking you on your first plane ride was a very different experience.  We had one layover on our way to Nebraska and one on the way back to New York - four planes in all.

I only had to grab your mom's knee once.  Not that the plane rides were perfectly smooth.  It was that all our attention was on you.  Flying with a 3 1/2 month old is hard work.  Every step of the way, from packing luggage, checking in at the counter, boarding, to simple things like sitting, diaper changes, and getting off the plane felt three times harder with you.  And, you were a dream baby... for most of the flights.

On three of the four flights we probably looked like parents who knew what they were doing.  We even got compliments on how great a baby you were.  Then came the fourth and final flight.

We took our seats in row 12 and prepared for takeoff.  The lady sitting next to me looked at you and did one of those "isn't that baby cute" shrugs.  As the plane started to roll your mom tried feeding you to help you deal with pressure changes, a system that worked well for the three other flights.  You refused to eat.  And you started to cry.  The lady next to me did one of those half smiles with a pout, as if to say, "aww, precious."

The crying went on.  We tried changing positions.  We tried singing.  We tried showing you a toy.  We tried everything we could think of.  And you cried.  The tall guy sitting in front of us turned around a few times to see what was going on behind him - his face more annoyed than concerned.  You continued to cry.

The lady next to us stopped looking over with those "cute baby" glances and she put her headphones on.  I finally put you in a sleepy time position, the last thing either of us thought you were, and within a minute you were asleep. 

For all the crying you did, I think your mom and I did pretty well.  Although we were aware that for the first time in our brief and limited flying experience, you were "that crying baby" we ignored all the glances and head-shakings and focused on you.

You, my Nugget, are a lot of work.  A lot.  And I wouldn't change it for anything in the world.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa