"Oh Mrs T, you came and you made me a tur-key"

Posts to look forward to in the next few days include all of the topical subjects of the moment. Tomorrow we'll finish our initial house-proofing so you'll be able to enjoy a full update about that later this week. Now that SJ is sitting up and since we are a few weeks into high-chair usage there'll be posts galore coming your way.

First, I'm gonna take you back a few months to November and last  Thanksgiving to be precise, for a post that had been erstwhile neglecting in the hand-wringing that went with how long it took me to finally publish the last post.

The day itself had started with all the calm excitement that comes from knowing that the three of us were heading to friends for lunch and didn't have to stress about imminent guests. Great food, great company and no prep- result!

Since we had turkey in the house, guests or no, it seemed only fitting that we should do the done thing and cook our 14 pounder in honour of the day.

Mrs T's valiant attempts to cook the bird we're halted not once, but twice by plumes of black smoke that came billowing from the oven. Not even the sage advice of Adaptive Gram'ma that was sought  after the 1st bout of smoke, could do anything to save a repeat performance when the turkey re-entered the oven.

The first time the apartment filled with smoke SJ and I could be found in his nursery, SJ on his changing pad. As it became increasingly clear that the alarm was about to interrupt the calm tranquility of our chilled out- guest-free morning. I realized I had better cover SJ's ears from the impending racket. Mrs T ran in within a few seconds. She swept up the baby and hurried off out the apartment whilst I was left with instruction to turn off the oven and open all the windows. Fortunately, SJ despite having been lying on the changing pad was, in fact fully dressed!

After a few minutes of dashing around letting in the frigid November air, the goal had been achieved- the alarm had ceased. Mrs T and SJ returned from their perch on the building staircase.

Within 30 minutes both the turkey and the smoke had returned to the oven. Unfortunately, only the resident poultry was staying put. This time, clever-clogs over here, decided, in an attempt to rid the apartment of smoke, I should open the window on our (shared, 2nd floor) landing. Before I could get the window to budge fumes from the apartment began to fill the hallway. Within seconds, not only did our apartment alarm go off, it was joined in chorus with the bellowing tones of the building alarm. Fire engines automatically called, the building began to evacuate. Mrs T grabs winter suit for SJ and a coat for herself and out they go, ready (or not, in fact), to coyly explain themselves to our erstwhile pleasant neighbours. (Only kidding, our neighbours are lovely and were very understanding).

It must have taken 15-20 minutes to get the all-clear from the fire brigade. When Mrs T and SJ returned to the warmth of indoors, SJ was exhausted from the cold and the commotion - there was only one thing to do!

As for me - I got an earful from the fire-woman who came to see the cause of all the dramas. Confronted with the half-cooked turkey in its two disposable roasting pans (both had been found to have minute holes in),  all she said was 'Don't you think your wife deserves a decent roasting pan!'

Ouch!

Beyond the dressing-down I received from the local fire-fighting services this whole episode raised a troubling problem. When the alarm first went off, unable to carry the baby unaided, all I could do was cover the babies ears from the noise. I ordinarily use one of the stroller, the high-chair or the baby-carrier (Baby-Bjorn) to transport the baby. None of these were to hand when the alarm went off, fortunately Mrs T was. How do I get the baby out the building (stairs n'all) in a hurry, if heaven forbid, I ever have to? For the moment the baby Bjorn should do the trick- still unsure what the options will be when he gets too big for it.

"Poop it out already!"

I know its been a long time since I posted, but, fear not, you haven't missed potty training. Just in case you read the title and thought, perhaps, these words encapsulated  the kind of tactics Mrs T and I are employing to encourage our son to either get over a nasty bought of constipation or shorten his contemplative moments upon the 'throne.' Relax, SJ's only 7 months old!

I'm great at procrastination. If you asked many of my closest and oldest friends they'd all tell you just how much I like a good faff. I'm sure, therefore, that there are many people out there who innocently assumed that I'd simply had a spectacularly elongated faff and thus not gotten around to blogging in the last couple of months.

The truth is I've been dreading this post, avoiding it for what is now stretching to months. I've mentioned this 'writers' block' to a few people. A common response has been 'you don't have to write it' - can't argue with that! Except I can. Indeed, the fact that I'm persisting with this post owes much to my dear friend (we'll call him AL -for those are his initials). He helped me clarify in my own mind why I feel its important that I write this post and deal honestly with the difficulties it will discuss. I write this blog, in large part, because I hope that it can find an audience for whom it can be both illuminating and somehow useful.

A long while ago I mentioned that I was excited to find that being a father was helping me be more anal, more productive, more goal-oriented, able to get baby-care jobs done, succeeding in finding time for them. Sadly this initial surge, proved to be just that. Probably helped by the fact that, at the time, becoming a father was my sole focus. Being a dad was the only thing I was thinking about, it wasn't competing for space in my head.

Cerebral Palsy is described as a physical disability but in a certain sense, as the name suggests it is much more. In my case, CP  encompasses, amongst other things, a processing issue that makes multi-tasking a challenge, writing a  30% more time-consuming process than for able-bodied folk and my time-management and self-organization skills can be about as refined as the mental image I have of the 44 hippos crammed into a house as they 'GO BERSERK!' in one of SJ's favourite bedtime stories.

Throughout my life these are challenges I've had to learn to manage. Nothing prepared me for how constantly parenting would be difficult, frustrating and frankly upsetting, not due to my physical limitations, but because of the combination of these, less immediately noticeable, aspects of my disability.

I've made reference here before about how I have a tendency to be  both overly focused on a task and at the same time inefficient. This combines with regularity so that I end up procrastinating my way through  the one task I set out to do, unable to focus on another task at the same time.

Lets take today as a perfect example- I'm at home writing this blog post. SJ and Mrs T are out with friends. They are due back at 4. Clearly as soon as they are at home my focus will have to change to taking care of SJ. If they are early and thus I am not done with this post, I know from experience that my frustration from 1) not finishing and 2) finding it difficult to switch focus- will spill over into my behaviour. It's not that I wont do my share of helping with the baby- but I'll do it grumpily. This grumpiness is interpreted as lack of gratitude and resentment by Mrs T who then feels that I am neglecting my end of parenting, forcing her to pick up the slack and feeling as if I don't appreciate the fact that she took the baby out, sacrificing her own productivity, so that I could be at home and get things done uninterrupted.

This combination can be toxic. This is not the kind of father I want to be. This is not the husband I want to be.

There are established elements in SJ's day that are specifically my responsibility- getting him up, dressing him, taking him for his weekend morning walk, his night time story- these  I know are coming and can factor into my time. It's the frustration and annoyance that I feel when I'm trying to attend to something 'non-baby' and suddenly I have to feed him, change him, rock him in the swing, fill his bag etc that irks me. Often my sullen reaction means that Mrs T will take my apparent reticence as a cue to do the  baby care task instead- a recipe for increased resentment.

As I reflect on why this happens so often, I find myself recalling the description in an earlier post I gave of what success looks like for me. Since most tasks big or small require effort, success is getting the job done. How it gets done- the aesthetics or efficiency involved-  are irrelevant. This is, I think, why I commit so much emotional energy into getting the tasks I've committed to in my head done. Done to the exclusion and sometimes detriment of other tasks that are not necessarily any less important, that is. In the past this was an ok paradigm because there was only me to worry about, as long as I got what needed to get done completed, it didnt matter how time or effort consuming getting something done was. I could allow myself the time I needed to get it done and work later and longer to make up for it.

This is no longer a workable paradigm.It's no longer just about me.

I want to be a proactive father, able to prioritize my child's needs over my own.

Sounds simple, doesn't it...?

Not wanting to leave things on either a cliff hanger or a downer, let me take a moment on how I'm trying to be proactive about this situation.

1 - I took the initiative to get a referral to a neurological occupational therapy assistant at an out patients unit at a Boston Hospital. I did this in November. The inital appointment isn't until next month (sound fimilar, British readers)? Sigh.

2- We've also been  trying to do more of something we've always needed to do more of. That is talking through tomorrow's schedule at dinner time. This way. less elements of a day come as a surprise. As I said earlier, when a baby- care task can be pre-factored into my day, it becomes expected, its time accounted and often times eagerly anticipated.

3. I think in general, despite all I've said here, I am getting better at being more available for baby care. I think this is because the longer that SJ has a routine, the easier it is becoming for me to think ahead and predict what baby care will be needed, when.

Phew, there you go, I got it all out. What a relief, now on to the so many other entries I've been looking forward to writing but have had to take their place in line until after I got this one done.

Back soon!