Choppers

I looked at the clock this morning. It read 2:58. 2:58 a.m. is not the kind of time you ever want to see on a clock. Especially on a Thursday. OK, maybe it's not that big of deal on a Saturday when you've come home from a big night out and you've had a great time and what not.

But 2:58 a.m. on a Thursday when you have to get up for work in a few more hours? Well, to describe it in scientific terms, it basically sucks. If you compound this crazy time of the night with your child constantly crying due to teething pain, it really sucks.

So Finn is getting his teeth in now. He already has two on the bottom, but there must be more coming in, and coming in with a vengence, because he is by no means happy. Last night was pretty bad. A consistent wailing for a good hour and a half. This sound cuts through your sanity and frays a parent's already fragile nerves.

Heather and I will lie in bed listening to this cacophany. Each silently praying that the other will be the one to get up and go to soothe the poor kid. It's kind of like a parental "Showdown at the Kiddie Corral", which plays out mentally between the two of us kind of like this:

"Hey pardner, this bed ain't big enough for the two of us"

"Yep, one of us varmints is gonna have to get up to take care of that baby"

"Well.....who's it gonna be pardner? Who's it gonna be?"

"It ain't gonna be me varmint, I'm using the fake snoring tactic to try and fool ya"

You get the idea. I think we each got up at least 5 or 6 times in the end though. This teething business is hard.

Our pediatrician told us that in some very, very rare cases babies will be born with a full set of teeth. A full set of teeth straight out of the womb??? While it's a pretty bizarre concept, the reality is that you would never have to deal with teething pain. What a score that would be.

ANYWAY, so we were up all night. He finally settled down around 4-ish I guess, and when we went in this morning to get the boys dressed for the day, that little bugger Finn was sleeping. I have to say I took a microscopic fraction of delight in waking him up. But you know, unlike my grumpy-ass self, when I woke him up the first thing he did was smile at me. Darn babies, they know how to work you.

The incredibly sobering afterthough of all of this is that Lachlan hasn't started getting any teeth at all yet, which certainly means we will have to go through all of this again very soon.

Ugghhh........one coffee please. Large.

What's this????

In the immortal words of Edie from Absolutely Fabulous:

"Le quois, baby spew?"

Right. So the picture isn't that great, but I put this shirt on yesterday and went about my business. After a few hours I looked down on my shoulder to see this awfully bizarre looking ....stain.

Well, what could that be I thought? Indeed, upon further inspection, it was crusty chuck-up courtesy of one of my sons and their subsequent belching.

That's my life. Trying to be cool and punk rock in my mid 30s by still wearing "edgy" band shirts, but being brought right back down to earth by what amounts to essentially partially digested baby food.

Rock on man. Rock on.

Andy....

It's strange to look at this name in the post title.

It was my brother's name. He was 28 years old, and he died on this date five years ago. He would have been 33 now. So strange. So damn awful. I don't even like to think about it most of the time.

These types of "anniversaries" are things I can do without, and yet here it is. For the past couple of years I've somehow sailed past October 17th without giving myself over to mulling over the event of his death. I think about my brother everyday, and I usually don't subscribe to the idea that I should choose to feel rotten on this date if I am not already predisposed to doing so. It's almost like feeling bad for the sake of it.

But today, on this date, on this anniversary, I do feel it's edge more than I did in the previous years. I know it is because of the birth of my sons. With their births I am reminded of what has come before, and what will never be. The absence of this person, my sibling, is pointedly apparent this year.

Andy is gone, and I sometimes have moments where I think "Was he ever really here?". It feels like something that happened to someone else, and I am only an observer. Passively absent from it all.

But then, I have also had moments where the light will catch one of my son's face in such a way, or the angle is just so, and I will see my brother in that face. Looking back at me from some place I never knew existed, but full of joy that it does.

So yes, this year I feel the loss more than I have done before, but it is only because I now see that he lives on in some way through my own children.

Andy would like that. I just wish I could tell him, or better yet, let him see it for himself.

This is not to be though, and so I must remain content with the reminders.