Baby Steps

Today marks the second complete week of young Wyatt’s life. All in all we’ve managed these first few days of the voyage with a good deal of vitality and calm. Anna’s parents have been out for the past week, which has helped tremendously. Even as I write Papa Joe is in the background with Wyatt. Papa Joe is reading the newspaper – learning how the Western side of the US sees the world and its dramas. Wyatt lies quiet … except for the occasional grunt or murmur. A picture of domesticity arises.

True to what I said earlier, the pace and manner of our life remains largely reduced. Our hours continue to be dominated by cycles of feeding, rest and brief moments of activity and unrest. Couple this new pace with the fact that our apartment is rather small and simple, and most days pass with a sense that little has been accomplished. There are no major cleaning projects to orchestrate. And since Wyatt passes through each day disturbing little more than a few diapers and a few minutes of potential sleep, there are no rooms to restore after his curious hands have laid waste … yet.

The one significant event in Wyatt’s life recently was his circumcision, which was performed on Tuesday. Anna and I elected to pass on having Wyatt circumcised at the hospital since the method typically employed there tends to be the most painful (there are three different methods of circumcision – a fact I was unaware of until two months ago). Instead, we elected to have Wyatt circumcised by a Mohel who also happens to be an urologist and thus falls under our health insurance plan.

There was something quite bizarre and unsettling about taking our sleeping son into a sterile office fully equipped for a procedure that was sure to awaken and horrify him. This was actually a double horror for me. First of all, there was the impending reality of pain and suffering in the near future for Wyatt – a scenario that I’ve already learned is the worst for any parent. But, added to that was my own intense fear of being around anything surgical.

Now you must realize the progressive and compassionate side of California has tried to make the doctor’s office more accommodating and welcoming. So much so that Dr. Frydman – the Mohel who was to perform the circumcision – offered to let one of us stay in the office during the operation. Anna, firmly aware of how difficult this would be and also aware of her own nature to question anyone and anything, jumped at the offer and quickly denied it. She said she would be outside, leaving me standing in the room on an involuntary basis. I was left to make small talk with the man whose hands would be perilously close to altering and perhaps destroying my own son’s fate. Seemed kinda ridiculous to talk about sports or the weather, so I just went to the side of the small table where Wyatt lay as Dr. Frydman and the nurse prepared their utensils.

I got through it. Wyatt did too. Although, I was the one who almost passed out during the circumcision. Five minutes into the prep and scrubbing and restraining and clamping and cutting, I began to realize that (a) I was backed into a corner … literally and (b) I was obsessing and forgetting to breathe. I started to think back to high school anatomy and the terrible day I passed out while casually observing an autopsy on film. Breathe. I started to wonder how much longer this was going to last. Breathe. I started to focus my eyes on Wyatt’s face – hoping my attention would be drawn away from that other half of his body. Breathe.

Thankfully, I knew my limits and had the nerve to finally speak up, “I need to sit down.” At this point Dr. Frydman and the nurse probably saw how ghostly my appearance had become as they told me to put my head between my legs and breathe slowly. I didn’t see their faces though. I was intent on making five easy steps over to a chair that would save me from hitting the floor in complete collapse – baby steps for this grown man.

But, like I said, I got through it. Dr. Frydman performed his duty with deft hands, and while I can’t say Wyatt wasn’t affected by the whole thing, I can say it was a minor drama made worse by the weak stomach of his father.

Let’s hope Wyatt doesn’t have an appendicitis.

Wes