Miscellaneous Musings from the Weekend

A few other random musings from this weekend:

Trying different tools to achieve happiness: As she builds up immunity to our initial basket of tricks, we've had to try new approaches - and sometimes use things we have around the house for purposes for which they weren't designed. One example is the Boppy. Originally intended as a positioning pillow to help mom and baby achieve a comfortable feeding position, we've also found that it works as the rough equivalent of Madeleine's Barcalounger.

Uncle Jimmy has an unexpected paternal side: No one would have ever guessed it, but Uncle Jimmy has a surprisingly paternal side. Within five minutes of arriving for dinner last night, Uncle Jimmy was demanding to hold Madeleine, regardless of the potential consequences to his nice black shirt.

Madeleine is too kissable for her own good: The doctor has told us, as recently as a week ago Friday, that he doesn't want Madeleine having visitors. His specific concern - during cold and flu season, he doesn't want people "sliming" her (direct quote) because people are "basically just walking germ bags to her right now" (another direct quote).

Now, neither of us ever wanted to be those parents, so we've come up with a modified policy for people who meet Madeleine.

• Look, but don't touch
• Use Purell
• Don't stick your finger (or anything else) in her mouth
• "No kisses for the time being" (another direct quote from the doctor, although daddy intends to keep this policy until she is 22)

For most people, the policy seems to work. Aunt Maria, though, is really suffering from withdrawal over the last point because, let's face it, Madeleine is very kissable. Last night, Aunt Maria got the most pathetic look when she asked if she could give Madeleine a kiss. Instead, she settled for rubbing cheeks with her, which reminded daddy of how cats mark territory. Mommy and daddy have to confess - we have also been hard pressed to obey the "no kisses" directive to the letter of the law.

Daddy is an idiot: Every Sunday from Labor Day through the Pro Bowl, the greatest football players on earth gather to compete at the highest level of the game. A few hours before their games kick off, a group of 30-40 somethings in Northern Virginia gather to play football at a not-quite-so-elite level.

For almost 13 years now, I've been playing flag football with the same core group of guys. This has been great since our skills and physiques are deteriorating at roughly the same rate, so there aren't a bunch of kids fresh out of college running circles around us.

Over the years, though, I have also managed to have a significant injury almost on an annual basis - from broken fingers to torn hamstrings to ankle sprains. Most recently, the Sunday after Thanksgiving, I managed to add another boo boo to the mix. But, stubbornly, I've still gone out and played whenever I was physically able to do so.

This was going to be my last time out during the season since we have grandparental visits coming up the next two weekends. But, I wasn't throwing caution to the wind - I woke up early, took a hot shower, stretched a lot, and made a number of other concessions to old age. So imagine my surprise when, on the first defensive series of the game, I managed to do something to my Achilles tendon while rushing the quarterback. I heard a big popping sound and a sensation in my ankle that felt as close to a gunshot as I ever hope to get. So, no more football or this season.

I'm icing it now and we'll see how things play out over the next 24 hours but a trip back to the orthopedist is probably on the docket for this week (it's a shame they don't have a frequent limper program).

But, whereas my November boo boo pretty much just impacted me, I am faced with a broader set of consequences now. First, the afternoon stroll that my wife and I had planned with Madeleine is out of the question. Second, one of the techniques we've developed for soothing the little one involves a lot of walking around the house and rocking her - also unlikely in the near future. Finally, this episode has underscored to my wife that I am, in fact, an idiot who should probably not be trusted around our child.

Perhaps, as Hannah and Grandma Mary have been telling me for years, I'm getting too old for this ****.