The Best Laid Plans

"No plan survives contact with the enemy." Alexander of Macedonia said that, right before he was killed by Ebola-laced elephants.

I propose a variant truth: "No plan survives contact with an infant."

I have determined, after incurring a brand new car bill, various medical expenses, repeated housing repair expenses, and numerous oversized grocery bills (not to mention how ridiculously expensive crabs are this year), that I would like to start making actual money with my writing. Which means writing for publication, in addition to endlessly tweaking the epic fantasy novel squatting in my brain meat.

In preparation, I've been reading Six Figure Freelancing, by Kelly James-Enger. It's a first edition copy, which means it's a bit dated (written in the days where the Internet was only a research tool and Word hadn't devoured every feature of word processing), but it still has some valuable insights on the level of persistence and organization a writer needs to freelance successfully.

I took the book to heart and declared that I would get organized. I set myself a goal for my first week, namely that I would take half an hour a night to sit and write without doing anything else. To hell with the dishes, laundry, and dog! I would set aside all my chores at 10 p.m. for a half an hour and just write.

I told my wife about my declaration, because that's how they work, and she did everything she could to help me cut down on my chores for the night, God bless her. All I had to do was put Ben to bed at his usual time, between 9 and 9:30, and I'd be set to get started.

So naturally Ben developed a mild cough and wet himself three times in a row, then refused to stay asleep when I put him in his crib, then passed out, then woke up again, then sucked down his third bottle of the night and drowsily threw himself upside-down in my lap in some non-Euclidean baby sleeping position that led to me half-lowering, half-plonking him into his crib, whereupon he tossed a bit before he gave up and passed out at the stroke of 10:30.

Now it's 10:45, and I'm finishing up this post to tell you, Dear Reader, that it is never wise to leave an infant out of your calculations, especially when he is sleeping on your chest.

Fifteen minutes to go. Onward! Upward! And stay asleep little buddy!

The Fever Dreams of Nurgle

I remember once, I think, I wanted to write something... but that thought is gone now, washed away in a tidal flood of snot and blood and sweat.

Nobody warns you when you have a kid that you are putting yourself at risk of getting every childhood disease known to man, again. Well, they may warn you, but they say "just wash him when he comes home from daycare and you'll be fine." Liars, all.

Daycare is not a place where loving people care for your child while you work to support him. Daycare is a festering plague pit where only the strong survive. I've been to the pediatric emergency room twice since Ben started daycare over fevers that turned out to be almost nothing, then he got pinkeye.

My wife has been sick for a solid month. She actually talks to people in that hellhole. Upper respiratory infection, bronchitis, strep throat, pinkeye, upper respiratory infection again... I've honestly lost track and I'm not sure either of us has an accurate tally. I escaped the reckoning for awhile, but I've been sick for a week now with something in my nose and throat and an ear infection that came from nowhere.

Neither of us has any paid leave left. I'm relying on a Higher Power to get me out of work to see my family on Christmas Eve. Possibly that power is meteorological.

We have three great-grandparents who haven't met Ben yet, and because we want him to continue to have those great-grandparents they won't meet him until everyone is healthy. Current estimates set that sometime in October. 2015.

Everyone got flu shots, the TDaP booster, and the other necessary illness prevention treatments, but they are helpless before the wrath of a strange toddler with pink eyes and grabby hands. (Still no autism, mind.)

And now Ben, who has been healthy since he got over the pinkeye, had his nose fill up with snot tonight and is warm. Not feverish, just warm. I suspect the cycle is about to start again...

Isn't he adorable? Wash your hands. Don't touch your eyes.

A Letter To My Son

Dear Benjamin,

We found out you were on your way the day after Thanksgiving. Your mom had been nauseous for a few days and finally took a pregnancy test. We'd been trying, in a "let's see what happens" kind of way, for two years, but it was pretty much a given that some fertility drugs would be in our future.

That morning I woke up to your mom saying "What?" as loud as she could. I walked to the bathroom and I already knew what I was going to see, and she showed me the positive test. Then she cried - just couldn't believe it - and I held her. Then I raced out to get four more tests just to be sure. I think by the time the doctor confirmed you were coming we had twenty positive tests sitting in a baggie.

We told your grandparents and your aunts at the holidays by showing them your first sonogram picture. Your mom got tackle-hugged twice and a few people got choked up. Everyone was just overjoyed.

You were kind of a big deal.

* * *

I think as far as pregnancies go you were a pretty easy one, right up until the end. I had to rub your mom's feet more than a few times, and she had to go on a special diet because you messed up her blood sugar, but there was never any terrible pain for your mom and no real danger to either of you.

Not that I didn't imagine a few. You've probably seen Star Wars by now if I'm doing my job right. Well, I understand where Anakin Skywalker was coming from now. When you're a dad you can imagine all sorts of horrible things happening to your wife and son and be scared of them, no matter how ridiculous they sound. Traffic accidents were very popular in my mind for awhile. I don't know what I would have done if your mom had still been working in D.C.

I think, maybe, I didn't quite believe it was real, even when your mom's belly got big and you were just a few weeks out and we were taking parenting classes and setting up a crib for you. I kept thinking something was going to happen and I'd never get to meet you.

But I did.

* * *

The doctors brought your mom and me into the hospital on Tuesday the night before you were born. They wanted to jump-start her labor before you got too big to handle or something else happened. They gave her drugs that bumped her contractions up from "that's happening" to "Oh my GOD OW" pretty quickly - I think the time between the drugs starting and the epidural starting was the worst.

Your grandparents came to visit us in the hospital, and while your mom was talking to your grandmom there was a little "pop" on the monitor, like you'd kicked it again, and your mom's water broke. That was around seven in the morning. After that the labor went very quickly, then stopped by four in the afternoon for no apparent reason. So the doctors asked your mom if she'd like to meet you early via Caesarian section and she said "yes", and a little over an hour later we were holding you for the first time.

I got pretty overwhelmed. Okay, I cried. You probably can't imagine your dad crying all that well, but it happened. It wasn't sad crying, it was "too many emotions hitting me at once" crying. The nurses measured you - 8 lbs, 9 oz, 21 inches long - and cleaned you up and got you dressed in a little white onesie and a pink and blue striped hat. You hated that hat, it never stayed on your head.

Your mom came in to meet you and then had to take a nap because she'd been through a lot. Then we took you up to a hospital room and you got to meet your grandparents and your Aunt Lauren. Everyone thought you were adorable.

* * *

We took you home as soon as we could and introduced you to Lina. She wasn't sure about you at first, but once she got a good sniff she accepted you. She still likes to bark when we take you out of your bassinet, but she'll get over it once you start dropping some food for her in a few months.

You've been a really good kid for this past first week. You're healthy, you eat well, and for the most part you're quiet or sleeping. Sometimes you get fussy when we don't feed you as much as you want, but I swear we're just trying to make sure you don't eat yourself sick. You love car rides and your stroller and your bouncy seat and looking out the window. You like to walk around in your dad's arms and curl up with your mom in the recliner.

I hope you get to read this one day and know how much we both love you. We waited a long time for you to turn up and we're glad you're here now.

Love,

Dad