Finding Yourself a Bit Rusty at the Range?

If so, here's a handy shooter's chart to help you diagnose whatever might be wrong with your stance, your grip, or your point-of-aim. Or maybe all three:

Chapter Two: Rev. Paul's Handy Guide to Infants

So, young parental units, you've had a baby. How did that happen?  (Hint: if you don't know, maybe it's time for another trip to Joe's Bar.)

"Hi, random biker dude. Can you explain how I got pregnant last time I was here?" (Another hint: request verbal explanations only!)

Arriving Home with the Bundle O' Joy:

So you've made it home despite the 15-minute drive taking over three hours for fear of jostling the baby, not to mention several diaper changes en-route.

At this point, you can dismiss the construction crew which helped you wire the infant car seat into place, and then followed you home with blinkers on, marking your route with orange cones, and waving off other cars by using yellow vests, flashlights, and possibly air raid sirens.


Preparing the Nursery:

The nursery should have been carefully prepared, prior to the baby's arrival. The room must be decorated in the mandatory primary color scheme, and the crib is piled high with the dozens of stuffed animals which you've been given since announcing the pregnancy.

What? You didn't re-paint the room three times until settling on a dizzying array of red, yellow and blue? Go back, and do it again. Right now. We'll wait.

(pause for paint fumes to dissipate)

Okay, then. The changing table (note: not a table which changes shape or size, although that would be cool) is padded, has a five-point racing harness for keeping baby in place during any number (87) of daily diaper changes, and a safety rail for parental units to hang onto while they lose their lunch after seeing the contents of the diapers.

The first thing you should do is to toss out all the stuffed animals. Remember the baby is small, and a two-foot-tall teddy looks like a Kodiak bear to the poor kid. Seriously, what are you thinking?



Feeding the Infant:

Feeding the baby presents the new mother with choices: bottle or breast. (Bottle feeding of the parental units is a whole 'nother topic, and is covered in greater detail in my book Now That Baby is Home: Hops, Barley, Grapes, or Corn?)

Breast-feeding is widely considered the best option, and not just by random strangers at the mall. It plays an important role in bonding the mother and child ("Ow, he's biting me! Ow ow ow!"), and also presents the opportunity for creative dressing and/or exhibitionism, for feeding in public. Unless the parental units opt to never leave the house, this topic will eventually come up.

"We can't leave the house. We have a baby."

Some of the remarks engendered by public breast-feeding are

• "Oh, look, isn't he, she or it cute?"
• "Ooh, must be dinnertime!"
• "Lady, cover that thing up!"
• "Hahahahahahahahaha ... (inhale) ... hahahahahaha!"

If you hear either of the last two lines, your wardrobe choice should probably have included a towel, folding privacy screen, or tent. Or you have an exceptionally unattractive baby, in which case you should definitely have a tent. Live and learn, eh?


Caring for the Infant

The first six months of a baby's life is an unending cycle of sleep, cry, feed, poop, and sleep again. But never mind your schedule; it's time to take care of the baby, ha ha! And go through an astounding number of diapers, wet-wipes, bottles of Baby Magic, and cleaning rags. During this period, you may think that you previous existence as a bon vivant will never come again.

You're right.

But cheer up, parental units! There are compensations. For example, during this time, whenever you set the baby down, it tends to remain where you place it.

By now you're wondering why I'm referring to your baby as an "it". Give the author a break! He doesn't know if you have a boy or a girl. Or a two-headed Rigellian slimebeast, for that matter. "It" seemed the safest choice.

But the little darling is starting to notice the world around it. Live in fear! The blissful time when the baby could be left wrapped tightly in a blanket has come to an end. Now you're entering the time of shoes, socks, and wet corduroy.


Transitioning to Toddlers


For the first six months, you looked forward to a time when Baby could walk and talk. For the next 18 years, you'll be wishing he or she would sit down and shut up. Hahahahaha, sucker! The joke's on you. Remember, you wanted this.

Extensive laboratory experiments have proven that toddlers develop the ability to fold space, and can easily reach objects a considerable distance (7.367 meters) in all directions beyond the end of their actual hands. If you haven't "child-proofed" your house, you'd best get to it.*

Toddlers also explore the world by putting everything in their mouths. This would also be a good time to put the cat's litter box in the garage, if you get my drift.

Mobility:

Toddlers possess an uncanny ability to trip over dust, sunbeams, imaginary lines, and the like. They also tend to sit down abruptly, regardless of their previous direction of travel. This, in spite of their tendency to hold onto furniture, pets, TV screens, windows, or parental units at the same time. In fact, our own personal toddlers left smears, hand prints, nose prints, and various bodily substances on surfaces which we discovered as recently as 2010 when the youngest offspring was 15.

Just the same, toddlers get into, behind, inside of, or on top of everything they can reach - and some which you've have sworn under oath in court that they couldn't.

Their propensity for picking up, dropping or throwing items is in direct proportion to the value of said items. Toddlers will throw delicate, ornate glass decorations against the nearest surface, thereby discovering

• the sparkle of light as the objects travel across the room,
• the fascinating sound of glass becoming shards o' death, and
• some surprising things about Mommy's anger.

But never fear - this phase of their lives will also pass, leading directly to puberty and swarms of strangely-dressed young persons keeping altogether too quiet in your darkened basement. But don't worry. That's years away.

At least, you hope so.

Next time: High School, Hormones, and Havoc



* Hint: this is not possible, but knock yourselves out, anyway.

Rev. Paul's Handy Guide to Pregnancy

So, young person or persons, you've decided to become a parental unit and create a new life. Are you out of your mind?

Well, let's postpone that question until we've looked at some of the life-altering considerations it entails. There are several important questions you should ask yourself at this point. That statement presupposes that conscious thought has been part of your process up until now, but we'll proceed anyway.

Some of those questions are:

• Are you out of your mind?
• If the answer to that one is "no", "probably not", or "I don't think so", let's move on.
• How are you at staying up all night? For the next 19 years? If sleep deprivation is not your strong suit, perhaps you should consider alternatives like getting a dog or cat.

No? Okay, then.


Making a Baby

This Handy Guide to Pregnancy is about what happens after that bit. If you prospective parental units don't know how this happens, perhaps getting a cat is a much better idea.

It's not a complicated process, but exceeds the scope of this Guide. There are plenty of good books out there about how to make a baby; this quickly-written article isn't one of them.

It's recommended that you ask a handy existing parental unit, counselor, or random stranger at Joe's Bar for advice. ("Hi, random stranger. I'm a prospective parental unit, and need advice on how to make a baby!")

That last bit is perhaps not the best approach, and can result in pregnancy. Proceed with caution.


So, You've Created a Baby. Are You Out of Your Mind?

Oops; it's too late for that, now.  So congratulations! If you're lucky, you're on your way to producing a small life-form which will eventually resemble a human being.

The First Trimester:  young female-type person, you can now look forward to a few months (2.7, more or less; your mileage may vary) of happiness and bliss. Your body's hormones will begin rearranging themselves in order to produce a sort of euphoria to blind you to what's coming next.

Second Trimester: your clothes will be getting too tight at this point, so now's a good time to invest in some high-quality tents or store-front awnings which will come in handy during the third trimester. The hormones which made you so giddy during the first 2.7 months will now cause you to cry at the drop of a hat. In fact, you may drop the hat yourself, to disguise the fact that you're crying because it's Thursday. Or because it's cloudy.

You will also receive advice to eat more ("You're eating for two, you know.")  It's recommended that you take this advice with a grain of salt, because that second person is only baseball-sized. It's not like you're carrying a contestant for The Biggest Loser! That comes in the


Third Trimester:  those tents and awnings will come in handy now, as you have been unable to pass a chocolate display without loading up. (My own personal wife craved strawberry milkshakes during her first pregnancy, and we only just managed to avoid stopping for one last shake on the way to the hospital.)

At this point, your belly button will precede you into the next room by several seconds, and may acquire its own zip code.

As you near the end of the Third Trimester, which some believe to be as long as a geological epoch, you'll begin to experience "contractions", a nifty euphemism which doctors use to avoid the actual term "pain". Even mothers who've had babies of their own (hint: that's how one becomes a "mother") will avoid the topic, as misery loves company.

I'll give you a moment to think that over. Of course, it's too late to do anything about it now.

Your doctor, experienced parental unit, or the biker dude from Joe's Bar will have given you a "due date", which any third-grader could do by counting nine months on the calendar. You can ignore the due date by checking your doctor's calendar, as your baby will want to arrive whenever the doctor is on a European vacation or around-the-world cruise.

Hint: if you still haven't asked where the baby comes out, now might be a good time, because next comes the


Delivery

This is another euphemism for "everybody in the hospital will be looking at you while you're naked." This total loss of privacy is another thing that mothers won't tell you about, and for the same reason as before. The only thing missing from the delivery room, if you're lucky, will be the camera crew from National Geographic.

Everyone around you will keep telling you how "really great" you're doing. Meanwhile, you'll be bending the side rails on the bed, and/or your Significant Other's hand, as the "contractions" come in waves.

The medical professionals will tell you not to push yet, for a mystic reason based on the phase of the moon or something, until they finally say to go ahead. At this point, the only thing you'll want is to a) be anyplace else, and b) claw the eyes out of the stream of visitors who are apparently fascinated by your now-exposed bits, as if they hadn't seen the same thing thousands of times before.

But it's too late to change your mind, so after 28 hours of mind-bending "contractions", you'll be briefly shown a messy, wrinkly Raisinette which they'll claim is your baby, before it's whisked away to some mysteriously department where the alleged offspring is washed, detailed and buffed before being brought back to you.


Congratulations, You're a Parent! Now What?

The remainder of your hospital stay (approximately 4.3 hours, based on current insurance regulations) will be spent trying to figure out how to feed the baby. The topic of breastfeeding is best left to Nurse Ratchet or perhaps your mother, if she's stopped laughing by now.

However, the scariest part will occur when you are leaving the hospital with a newborn baby in your arms. ("Wait, what? Isn't there an owner's manual or something?") You get to take the little thing home!

For the drive home, you'll need a ride, preferably an automobile. The infant car seat is only one generation removed from the Iron Maiden, and it's recommended that you practice installing the device before trying to stuff a baby in it.

The seat comes with an internal harness, and sports multiple grooves, notches, latches, buckles, and a wiring harness for which you'll need a construction crew until you have the procedure memorized. Note that the baby must face rearward; apparently newborns are scared of driving, or perhaps they like seeing where they've just been.

For your arrival home, you'll need:

• a crib
• blankets
• quilts
• industrial tarps
• wet wipes
• 400 infant diapers (a 24-hour supply)
• Baby Magic lotion (it's the law, or something)
• aprons for yourself, as changing diapers is akin to sitting in the front row at a Gallagher performance.

Next time: Raising a Child, or Remember That Social Life You Used to Have?