Alas! The first entry in the Isababy Blog! This Blog will shamelessly explore issues of fatherhood, infancy, and other completely unrelated issues–sometimes in excruciating detail–solely for the delight of Isa’s parents. Isa is my baby’s name. Eduardo is his father and Palma is his mother. His name is pronounced “EE-sah” and it is the Arabic form of the name Jesus (more on naming and the named later).
If you do not care to be brought into the intimate world of a new baby with its rapid shifting from sublime revelation in the baby’s expressions to projectile unleashings of poop and urine then read no further. If you are grossed out by the spit-up and vomit of a newborn; if ear-piercing bouts of crying bother you; and if you would rather do without the endless dissection of the meaning and significance of a particular cooh or cry then move on. If you would like to jump in Tigger-style into the fray, then we welcome you into our little corner of the Bronx where we are raising our first child.
I work at Big Internet Company and I have stayed late today to set-up the first post. I was late this morning to B.I.C. because poor, exhausted Palma gave me Isa at 6 or 7 in the morning so that she might catch a wink of sleep. Isa prefers to sleep on my, or Palma’s, or any of our guest’s chest, generally eschewing the boxy comfort of the baby co-sleeper for a more intimate snoozing surface. His Little Grumpiness fell asleep on my chest, his mouth and cheeks redolent of his endless feedings at my poor woman’s sore breasts, passed out like a drunkard kept from further binging only by shear exhaustion. Now I must go back up to the boogie-down to go join my family already in progress.