Playmat Pooper

We at the west coast Siemers annex call it the playmat poop. What is this "playmat poop" you say? It seems whenever our little hero is feeling the need, he'll be on his playmat, throw his legs in the air and the grunts ensue.

He thinks he's fooling mommy & daddy, but the eau de poo poo that lingers in the air moments later doesn't fool anyone. It took us a few days to figure out this was Cap'n Quinn's new routine. Daddy realized it first, and then mommy started thinking herself...hmmmm...I think you're right daddy. As far as the basics of what baby does, pooping has never been one of Quinn's top three. It seems we are always trying to coax it out of him by trying a little juice here, a little karo syrup there. So it seems the karo and the playmat are Quinn's Metamucil.

So folks next time you just can't get it going, don't reach for the fiber, try laying on the floor and kicking your legs in the air.

--Mommy

Squeak TV

Since we're on the subject of Quinn's singing (Please read Mommy's post below), here's a few YouTube clips of the wee Cap'n Quinn belting out his favorite song: "The Squeak Serenade."

Mommy's going to post one

Last week, our big boy turned the big 3 -- 3 months, that is. He is still fitting into his newborn outfit and we think he may get one more month out of it.

Our little man is changing everyday sometimes for the good and sometimes a little for the bad. Like waking up several times a night again, making Mommy and Daddy zombies. His newest thing is "singing" for us. It seems he has found his voice, and we think he will be the next American Idol Season 23. Think it will still be on??? He even woke up at 4:45 am, singing Monday morning. Hard to be mad when he's talking to himself and not crying himself awake.

Quinn loves to look at himself in the mirror and will spend a lot of his playtime talking to himself and making us laugh. He's making many changes and we are loving them all, even the getting up 20 times at night. We both know that someday we'll have to drag him out of bed, and no longer will he let us plant 20,000 smooches on his head.

Here are some more of Quinn's 3 month photo shoot and other pictures:

`Valentimes Day'

Cap'n Quinn and Daddy today are on an mission: buy Mommy a Valentimes Day gift.

(We know it's actually Valentine's Day. Spelling it wrong just feels funny. Good funny.)

We're thinking something like ... a new car ... a sports franchise ... a record contract ... two weeks all expenses paid to Tahiti ... or something in the $30 range. Mommy's worth it all, plus what Daddy can afford. Quinn's been saving dimes, but I told him that's for college. He's got to save his dimes. Daddy'll float him a loan.

We've had a busy week. Quinn saw a surgeon, who said the thing he might have to have fixed might not have to be fixed, which is good since we really didn't want to have to fix it.

We've switched our little hero to a soy diet. He seems to eat it better and we get the bonus of having a baby that smells like "potato flakes," as Mommy says.

Grandma Smith arrives today for a few more days. Quinn likes hanging out with his Grammies. Plus, Grandma Smith said she'll watch the little dude while Daddy takes Mommy to see her favorite American Idol star -- the bald guy from last season -- on Valentimes Day.

It should be fun. Fun like eating potato flakes on Valentimes Day.

Since Daddy's been lax on the bloggin', here's a collection of pictures and a video to make up for lost time:

Real big with the Amish

Capt. Quinn and Mommy are back from their trip to Pittsburgh, and the results are in.

Quinn's a hit with the horse-and-buggy crowd.

Yes, our little hero was a tiny celebrity with the nice Amish folk that live near Grandma and Grandpa Smith. The rest of Mommy's family and friends also rated him "four stars" in unofficial polling.

Even little Emma -- she who belongs to Aunt Penny -- found Quinn exciting. She also apparently thought he was a girl. But that happens sometimes. Right?

The wee captain also proved to be a decent traveler. But the real rewards go to Mommy for enduring the challenge.

Here's a few of Quinn's Greatest Hits from Pennsylvania

Hangin' with Great-grandpa Crissman:










Hangin' with Great-grandma Crissman:










Hangin' with his hand:










Hangin' in the sink:










Hangin' curveball:

Bachin' it.

Back when Daddy was a little fella, and Grandma Siemers would go off to work, Grandpa Siemers would say we were "bachin' it." As in, a coupla guys in temporary bachelorhood. You know, "bachin' it."

Well, I'm bachin' it. With Dexie the Wonderdog at my side.

The wee Cap'n Quinn and Mommy have flown the friendly skies back to Pittsburgh to spend a week with Grandma and Grandpa Smith. Already our little hero has shown his almighty fussiness to much of Mommy's family, many of which offered their own theories on why he's so adept at showing his almighty fussiness.

Nonetheless, it will be a good trip for Mommy and Quinn. Daddy, however, who was, admittedly, looking forward to a few days on his own, misses Mommy and the wee captain already. Sure, Dexie is good company. Great company, actually. She never leaves Daddy's side. But the house seems too empty without a fussy baby within crying distance.

I should have recorded him before he left.

We found out this week that little man has surpassed the 10 pound mark in weight. And, as you can see from the picture above, he's becoming a little man o' the world. In this photo, Quinn shows his leisurely side as he lounges in his hot tub. ("Excuse me sir, but where is that mojito I ordered?") It's what Daddy calls the 7 o'clock bath. You remember the 7 o'clock bath, right?

You should try it. It's way more fun than "bachin' it" with your dog.

Today's picture (which is actually a week or so old) I call, "Green makes me sleepy":

Happy Two-Monthday!

It's our wee little man's two month birthday today. Not that we'll get in the habit of celebrating all these increments, but this one is particularily noteworthy for several reasons.

For starters, the dude's getting huge. Just look at the pictures to the right, a comparison of him on his first month birthday and from this morning.

Tired of getting kicked around at the beach? Want to be a lean, mean muscle machine? Then we've got the diet for you. Try lactose-free infant formula, 4.5 ozs. every three hours. Look what it did for Quinn! He can lift his own head AND!!! flip himself around onto his stomach. Nobody's kicking sand in his face!

Yes, the good captain now looks big enough to lead a gang of street thugs. Or at least play one in West Side Story or Grease or The Outsiders. You get the point (Star Quality!!).

Along with his growing girth, Capt. Quinn has reached some other milestones. On Saturday, during Tummy Time© -- You remember Tummy Time©, right? -- Quinn, while remarkably fussy, was able to turn himself over from his stomach to his back. It was an amazing feat of strength, on par with lifting the Empire State Building or Daddy hoisting all the grocery bags from the car in only one trip. On varying degrees of scale, naturally.

Our little hero is also learning the fine art of slumber. After taking a long, luxurious nap -- You remember the long, luxurious nap, right? -- Quinn played a while before going back to bed at 9 p.m. He didn't wake until ... wait for it ... 4 a.m.! (This is where you hear the chorus of angels ringing down from Heaven. -- You remember the chorus of angels... oh forget it.) This is the little dude's longest one-time increment of sleep since his arrival two months ago today. Here's to hoping it wasn't a fluke.

Today we're off to the aquarium with Uncle Dwight, Aunt Carmen and Cousin Axel -- also known as the East Albuquerque Annex of the Smith Clan.

It should be fun. I just hope our muscular little man doesn't scare the sharks.

Today's picture I call, "Dexie clean and shorn":

This burrito is spicy

You know how they say miracles come in small packages?

Ours came in the mail.

It's called the "Miracle Blanket," and it turns our wee little captain into a wee little burrito.

The Miracle Blanket is a baby straight-jacket. More kindly put, it swaddles him better than Mommy or Daddy can. Our little hero doesn't like it much. He'd rather have his arms free, ready to fend off any evil-doers that may find their way into his crib at night. But, little does he know, those arms are also his worst enemy -- his arch-nemeses, flailing about so much that they keep him up all night.

Now, with the Miracle Blanket, he actually sleeps more than 20 minutes at a time. On a good night, we'll get four hours of sleep before he wakes up for his middle-of-the-night feeding. He's still fussy. But he's a fussy little man that sleeps more. Which is better than the alternative.

Today we visited a potential daycare provider. So far, so good. It's a little out of the way, but, despite that, it seems like an ideal situation. It's less a daycare than it is a babysitter-for-rent. But that's what we need for the one day a week where we can't be home with him.

Though it may be hard to tell by the pictures, the good captain is getting bigger every day. He's growing out of his clothes, which is to be expected. Tonight, during his 7 p.m. bath -- you know the 7 p.m. bath, right? -- we noticed that he's almost outgrown the sink. He's gone from a tiny turtle in a terrarium to King Kong in a birdcage.

Or something like that.

He's our little miracle. In a package that's not so small anymore.

Today's picture I call, "Cute babyyyyzzzzzzzzzz........(snore)"

Saying hi to the grandmas

The cute and the restless

It's a new year here at the New Mexico branch of the Siemers family, and the wee Capt. Quinn has some new food.

The lactose free milk is working wonders so far, and Quinn isn't fighting nearly as hard to avoid restful slumber. And he's getting cuter than ever, as the picture to the right proves.

Meanwhile, Dexie the Wonderdog is lobbying for a move to the Arctic, having fallen in love with our unexpected allocation of snow.

The video below should speak for itself. I call it, "Why do those white balls disappear?":

New Mexico. Land of 10,000 ... er, wait ...

There's a reason I ditched my snow shovel when I moved to New Mexico. It doesn't snow here.

That was a dumb idea.

Tonight, as Minnesota basks (relatively speaking) in 40 degree weather, the New Mexico Branch of the Siemers family is snowed in. Highways are closed. Cars are getting stuck outside my house. And I used a broom to clear my driveway.

Capt. Quinn remained indifferent and sleepless, despite our best efforts. He slept a few hours in his swing while the backyard became encased in snowdrifts.

Dexie the Wonderdog, meanwhile, seems born for the snow. So, since Quinn can't really enjoy the snow, here's a few images of Dexie (Ok, and one of Quinn) to tide you over:


Gimme the ball





















"Daddy, I think I shall ponder this snowfall for a moment longer."

Merry Christmas. When do we eat?

Capt. Quinn enjoyed his first Christmas with a newborn's indifference to anything but breast milk and shiny things.

This was to be expected, which is why the only thing we bought him was a superhero cartoon to enjoy when he's about 3. The rest of his presents, save for a few, will likely get wrapped up again for his first birthday. Or next Christmas. Or as a pacifier should we find no other way to pacify him. And if hard liquor doesn't work.

I kid. The liquor's for Daddy (and the Grandmas. Shhh...).

Despite our wee hero's general malaise -- and mild fever -- it was an eventful day at the New Mexico branch of the Siemers family. Or the Albuquerque West annex of the Smith clan. Whichever side you choose.

Daddy was spoiled with another iPod (the video kind). Mommy got some new software to make everyone fancy cards, along with some clothes, jewelry and a creme brulee maker to make Daddy fat. Dexie got a new ball, to drive all of us nuts. Every one else got lots of stuff and things and other miscellany which I shan't describe here since this is merely a summary.

We ate ham, which seems to be the norm. Daddy ate corn and oyster casserole and gets the most enjoyment out of everyone else gagging in astonishment at its mere mention. Quinn ate Mommy© Brand Milk and some stinky formula, passed gas several dozen times and slept.

He woke up at about 3 a.m., never to sleep again.

Christmas is indeed over.

We move on now to think about the New Year and the challenges ahead. Like sometime around June, when Quinn finally goes back to sleep. Until then, don't call.

Daddy's using the earplugs again.

Since it's Christmas, there won't be a picture of the day. There will be several. Enjoy:

Learning about sleep and Rondell White

Tonight, as part of a new routine, Capt. Quinn gets to play in the hours preceding his 6 p.m. bath.

You know the 6 p.m. bath, right? Everybody has a 6 p.m. bath.

Playtime consists of sitting on a pillow and looking around. To promote neural stimulation, this practice also includes a bit of conversation, albeit one-sided. In tonight's episode, Quinn and Daddy talked about some of the most important news of the day. Here's a synopsis:

The Twins signed Rondell White to a one-year deal. It's expected that White will play left field, while Jason Kubel will be the primary designated hitter. Brad Radke retired this week, ending his 12-year career with the Twins due to his over-worked shoulder. The Twins are talking with free agent Sidney Ponson about joining the rotation, an iffy proposition considering his form in recent years. But he could prove to be a valuable veteran presence on an otherwise young pitching staff.

Like I said -- important news.

The biggest lessons being learned this week, though, are happening with Mommy and Daddy.

Besides learning that our the wee captain has passed the 9-pound mark, the visit with Dr. Good on Tuesday also revealed that our hero is "over-tired." To which I say, "No #%@#@%." And exactly how do you cure this "over-tired" disease? More sleep? Genius. As if we've been getting up every two hours just to test our endurance.

If a baby is over-tired, yet shows no signs of wanting to sleep, what is a parent to do besides contemplate sharing a bottle of whiskey with the little fella?

What we did was buckle down. Our procedures for rocking him to sleep have been streamlined. There's been a crackdown on the captain's access to pre-sleep visual stimulation. A daily itinerary has been set and followed to the letter.

In other words, there's a new routine. So far, it's working just fine.

Now, if only we can get him working on that curveball. Maybe we won't need Sidney Ponson after all.

Todays picture I call, "Not. Funny. Grandma.":

Happy First Month-day

Quinn is a month old today.

Funny, because it seems like six months.

That's not to say, of course, that we're tired of the little guy. No. Not at all.

We're just tired period. The U.S.S. Fussy Britches, you see, is full steam ahead these days.

The wee captain is turning out to be a generally unhappy little man. Here's how Mommy describes his routine over the last few days: "Eat. Look around. Fuss. Cry. Sleep. Repeat."

Clearly, it's tough being a month old. I always though the teenage years were the most angst-filled. Turns out being the new guy on the block isn't all it's cracked up to be.

We haven't figured out the exact reason why he's so discontent. Feeding him isn't always the solution. Rocking him isn't always effective. I've tried singing, but -- well, you just have to hear me sing to know why that wouldn't work. He could be colicky, but how do you really know?

The most unique answer -- and possibly the most logical -- came from Uncle Dwight and Bill, one of Daddy's co-workers: It's a high pressure system wreaking havoc on our little hero. But high pressure systems probably go away after a while. This fussiness, it seems here to stay.

We're open to suggestions. At any time, even. It's not like we ever sleep.

To be clear, we're only mildly frustrated. Which, I'd think, is to be expected from first-time parents. He's still the most amazing little man ever to grace this planet. And I'm sure that, some day, our wee captain will sail on to conquer the world in his own way.

Because if there's one thing we know about Quinn, it's that he's got a lot of fight in him.

Today's picture I call, "Big Britches":

Wonderment

Studly? Yes he is.

The picture to the right, an image of my desk at work, poses a serious question: Will the wee captain someday win the Heisman Trophy? More importantly, do I care?

Say in the year 2027, or thereabout, I find myself sitting in the New York Hilton, staring up at Quinn as he and two other nervous young men wait to see if they're to be crowned the greatest player in college football that year.

Yeah, then I'd care.

But otherwise, no. Not really.

Certainly, every dad hopes, perhaps secretly, that his son can be a triumphant athlete -- usually because they were never one themselves. On that same note, dads might also hope to see their sons follow in their footsteps. For example, friends, knowing my fanatacism toward the Minnesota Twins, often ask me, "What happens if Quinn isn't a Twins fan like his daddy?" My response: then he's a Pirates fan, or a Dodgers fan or -- God forbid -- a Yankees fan.

I deal with it, and get back to cheering for the Twins.

But I can't help asking myself similar questions. Will he play soccer? How about the trombone? Will he be a writer? Or an X-ray tech like his mommy? How about a chef? Will he play first base?

I'm careful not to want too much for my son. In much the same way, I'm reticent to force childhood characters like the Sesame Street gang, Winnie the Pooh or Spongebob Squarepants upon him in the hope that he can somehow make his own choices when the time is right.

These are some of the emotions I'm encountering in these first weeks of parenthood. Suddenly I'm pondering the future of someone other than myself. I'm also finding myself sensitive to the criticism of other parents. Not that it's happened. I'm merely bracing myself for that moment when someone questions our methods -- if you can call them methods -- only to profess their own rock-solid, foolproof ways of mastering this inexact science.

We must be doing something right, though. The good Capt. Quinn (as a side note, I'm also considering the nickname Sir Cries-a-lot. Chew on that a bit.) has now surpassed 8 pounds and is likely nearing the 9 pound threshhold as we speak.

He's a big, tough fella. A linebacker maybe?

I've got to stop that.

He does have one thing his dad doesn't . A wiseacre editor named Phill was kind enough to point it out on a sticky note he placed next to Quinn's picture on my desk at work. It's written as if it's coming from Quinn's mouth:

"Too bad my dad's not as studly as me, dude."

I'll give you that one, son. You certainly are studly.

Today's picture I call, "A good mommy":

Breakthroughs

Quinn turned his head tonight.

I know. Not exactly inventing fire, but the little guy is only three weeks old. Not spitting up is a milestone at this point.

No, the wee little man, napping on his belly, gathered the strength to lift his head up from one direction and turn it the other way. It's quite a feat, considering most newborns have shoestrings for neck muscles.

It's been nothing but breakthroughs for the good captain. He handled Dr. Good's snip-snip procedure last week like a champion, as if to say: "What? That's it? What else ya got?"
I thought for a minute that he'd already learned to talk before I realized that it was just an AM radio frequency coming through his baby monitor.

Daddy could use some more rest.

He's getting fatter by the day. Quinn and Daddy, that is. But it's more noticeable on Quinn. Grandma Smith is noticing that his legs, which earlier looked like they'd been stuffed in a bag three times too big, are now filling out. He's got chubby cheeks, too, though Grandma Siemers says all babies have that.

Dexie the Wonderdog, meanwhile, endured her own kind of pain last week. The Doggie Doctor removed her broken tooth, leaving a series of stitches to dangle from her upper jaw like loose strings on an old raggedy doll.

Mommy, too, has recovered nicely from her own snip-snip, stitch-stitch procedure that brought the wee captain into our world.

Looks like Daddy's the only one not to receive anesthesia in the New Mexico Branch of the Siemers family.

It doesn't sound so bad, really. I could use the sleep.

Today's picture I call, "Captain Fuzzball":

That lovely noise

A little snip-snip and some snow

Grandma and Grandpa Siemers arrived from Minnesota on Monday night. By Wednesday morning, snow came to New Mexico.

Coincidence?

It's Capt. Quinn's first brush with snow. Not that he cares. He's probably more concerned with all the attention being directed at more intimate parts of his wee body.

Dr. Good handled Quinn's little snip-snip procedure masterfully yesterday. Quinn was a trooper, making Mommy and Daddy proud. He only cried while being restrained, which makes sense, considering he was strapped to a table while a strange man in a white coat took a scalpel to his you-know-what. If that happened to me I'd start learning Kung-Fu.

I've come to believe that grandparents have cast some kind of spell over babies. Quinn's wails could register on the Richter scale while being held by Mommy and Daddy. But Grandma Smith just waltzes in his general proximity and it's like someone hit the mute button. Grandpa Siemers, too, has this talent. I'm convinced the magic spell is written in code on the back of AARP cards.

Quinn's big surgery is over. Now it's time for Dexie the Wonderdog to go under the knife. Come to think of it, I'm not sure there is any cutlery involved in pulling an absess tooth. So, I guess she's more likely to go under the pliers. Nonetheless, our furry friend is having a tooth pulled tomorrow, so here's to hoping that doesn't suck.

Today's picture I call, "So there's snow on the ground. Big deal. Put down the camera and throw me the ball."

That warm feeling

Quinn laid in my arms, his wide little eyes staring back up at Daddy's. That's when it hit, that warm feeling, the sensation all new dads feel when holding their baby boys.

Yep, he peed all over me.

Through five layers of clothes, no less -- two of which were mine.

Before Quinn was born, he already had enough clothes to dress him through junior high. Now I know why. He goes through more wardrobe changes in a day than the cast of a Broadway musical. They don't pee themselves, though. At least I hope not.

After one change today, Aunt Carmen and Grandma Smith dressed him. Which was my first mistake. He came downstairs with an octopus on his head. It may have looked cute, but the little captain didn't seem amused.

He doesn't ever look too amused, though Mommy swears that she sees him smile now and then. I can see what she's talking about. But I think it's just gas.

As I type, Grandma Smith is grimacing over in Quinn's room:

"Ohhhh. I just changed him and he's making noises. I think he's filling 'em up."

See. She's getting the warm feeling, too.

Today's picture I call, "Who's great idea was this?":