Bath time!

This was a very cool experience which started out with a lot of crying. Henry did not like us very much as this his first bath transpired, but I could tell that, secretly on the inside, he was enjoying himself. He was doing a great job of hiding it, though.

The camera did not catch the absolute funniest part. As Dad (that's me for all of you that are new to the blog) readied our bathing hero Henry, Mom was trying to get all of the bath acoutrements together. You know, spongy bear, washcloth, etc. While this was going on, the Fountain O' Henry went off, made an awe-inspiring arc, and splashed down to earth on our stalwart hero. Yep, he peed on himself. A lot. Luckily we were just about to bathe him.

After the crying, kicking, and other displays of general unhappiness, we whisked him up in a towel, dried him off, and held him tight. That was quite nice ... I enjoyed it immensely. You can see it for yourself ... he's a cute dude. Especially in a hooded towel.

No extended gushing this time over my little boy, but man is it great when he's all clean and full of baby goodness.

5 days, and we're still going strong ...

What, no picture on this post?

That's right ... but it's because Wednesday, July 6th, (and on into Thursday the 7th) was officially declared POOP DAY by the officials that declare such things. If you don't like reading about poop, skip this one ...

So, how many times in 2 hours do you think a newborn need a diaper change? The answer for Henry (so far) is three full bowel-defying movements. In the middle of the night. As an aside, the "middle of the night" for Henry is between 3:00 and 6:00. That's when our boy is the most, shall we say, active?

How many diapers can two incompetent new parents go through in 45 seconds? Answer: three. Trying to be overachieving parents, and realizing that poop probably doesn't feel good on a new baby's bottom, I whisked little Henry away at the first sign of movement and smell that something may be amiss. Got the diaper off, and behold ... THERE WAS POOP! Three seconds later, more poop was coming out. The diaper was off at this point, so I'm trying to play catcher at this point. Fastball down the middle. Curveball off the plate. Etcetera. I'm pretty proud of myself, get that diaper off of him, get the new one under him, and MORE POOP! Changed that diaper, got the third one on, and he was (finally) done. Whew!

That's probably enough poop talk for all of you ... send your poop story by clicking on the "Comments" link below.

So, why Henry?

Henry is the name of my grandfather. Papa Schmidt. That's him getting down with me at my wedding. I'm the dude that looks a bit like an epileptic fish. I'm 26 in this picture. He's 80. Dead serious .. he's 80. And he is keeping up with me step for step.

This dude's resume would make you weep, his parties would still drop your jaw, and his jumper ... alright, his basketball game is a bit of a weakness. He served our country as an engineer in Okinawa. But those things are not what endears him to me.

Papa is all class. He matriculated in the age of wingtips and boxer shorts (old school boxers), and he knows how to dance. He has always been a role model to me, and I love him dearly. Sarah and I have always tried to carry a little of (Gramma) Peg and Henry with us. That's them on their wedding day in 1945. Being "Peg and Henry" to us means being solid, timeless, and unforgettable. We have a very idealized view of them for sure, but you can't tell me any different about Gramma and Papa. Peg and Henry. Two peas in a pod.

I can still remember him spontaneously appearing at elementary school to pick us up and get ice cream. He has a wicked sweet tooth. He built a basketball hoop in his driveway so that Bryan and I could shoot baskets ... and he would join us. He taught us how to bowl, took us in his fishing boat (although I don't remember fishing much), and invited us into his workshop to help on numerous projects, from building balsa wood airplanes -- which flew -- to constructing a fuzzy robot that served guests drinks at his parties.

Henry is the man. My son has big shoes to fill.

I love you Papa ...

On the third day ... we rested!

This is the first day that we had Henry at home all day. Let the insomnia begin! Surprisingly, there aren't any nurses to whisk Henry off to the nursery just in the nick of time as he starts fussing. It's all us! The sleeping isn't like I thought it would be, though. It's not like we don't sleep ... it's more like we're trying to drink the ocean with a straw. You might want to catch up on your sleep by cashing out for 12 hours, but you only get a couple (if you're lucky).

So ... we nap! And nap, and nap, and nap.

I will resist the urge to gush for two more paragraphs about my son ... let me only say that having your newborn son fall asleep on your chest is a little bit of magic.

Hit me with some feedback in the comments section if there's anything about Henry that I haven't shared yet that you want to know.

Alright, back to sleep ...

Independence Day!

Car seat ... check. Dangly bug guys ... check. Shoulder harnesses ... check. Getaway vehicle ... check. Let's blow this joint. That's what Henry told me this morning.

With that, we announced our independence from Riverside Methodist Hospital. They treated us very well, but it was time to go home. Momma's doing well, Baby's doing well, and Daddy's still doting on our very tiny boy.

He peed all over the Pack 'N' Play today, but I blame Sarah ... too much Keystone Cops, not enough Nanny 911.

I added some more pictures ... click here to see them. Leave a message by clicking on "comments" below.

A Star is Born!



Our first child, a baby boy, was born yesterday. Let me be the first to introduce you to Henry Michael Rayo, who was born on July 2, 2005 at 1:42 PM.

Click here for pictures of Henry Rayo.

He took his sweet time coming into the world. We were watching the downtown fireworks on TV on Friday night when the serious contractions started. As an aside, we had thought about going to see them, but at the last minute decided against it! We's a not too bright sometimes. We busted to the hospital at around midnight, were admitted at around 1:30 AM, started the pitocin flowing at 7:30 AM, and started the serious pushing at 1:00 PM. Do the quick math ... that's almost 14 hours of labor in the hospital, and 2 - 3 (when do you start counting?) at home beforehand.

He came out Stretch Armstrong style (if you haven't witnessed this firsthand, nothing will prepare you -- promise). It was seriously one of the coolest things I've ever seen. After that I was running around crazy, hanging out with Baby Rayo (we hadn't decided on a name yet) then making sure that Sarah was OK. Sarah: Baby: Sarah: Baby. Everything else went pretty normally: bath went great, family came, and baby did a great job through the whole thing.

We named him Henry on Sunday afternoon, which cements the mind trip that is the transition to parenthood. Every time I say "my son" I get chills. I honestly feel like a charlatan. A sleight-of-hand expert that has fooled the world into believing that I am a father. From minute one, I knew he was mine (oh yeah, and Sarah's) and I would lay down in traffic for him, but I didn't feel all that different. Give me two months of insomnia to complete the transformation to "new parent."