15 Things You May Have Missed While Mommy and Daddy Played Russian Roulette With the Baby Bottle

Well, there you have it. It's been nearly seven months since I posted on Luke's life. Er...Luke's flailing on playmats while wailing at milk ducts. And now it's time to post again.

For, he has a competitor.

Little, adorable Luke has a little, adorable timecapsule playdate. And Mommy has a stomach ache.

Somehow when I began reading the Bible with Luke I didn't have the foresight to realize I almost literally wouldn't be able to stop. It's like that crazy colored merry-go-round the big kid from two grades up starts pushing once you get on. You contemplate the sloppy joes you ate for lunch and instinctively assume it would hurt more to jump off than clutch the side rail and ride it out.

Ok it isn't too much like that.

But I swear parenting could use side rails.

Or possibly a sign saying don't jump on the crazy colored merry-go-round when fat kids are present.

Instead, while others were whispering phrases like "family planning" and "is this a working emergency exit?" in hushed tones on other sides of rooms we entered, Daddy and Mommy were just carefreely playing away at the russian roulette game in the corner with the baby bottle.

And now, (croaks) ...

 

 

There. is. another. Demsick.

Yes, approximately two months after Luke's first birthday, another Demsick will gasp, cry, and fall asleep in two hour intervals. And we will begin again.

Though--I'll admit--I've neglected to post our little fun misadventures for seven months, our somewhat less little parenting miscalculations, and our downright not-at-all little mischievous infantary, I have continued to read to Luke.

Translation: Luke has read almost the entire Bible before learning to pee discriminately and not call the long-haired one, "Dad."

So, in the spirit of sharing or learning or something more productive than post-apocalyptic fat kid sighting signs--in order--I figure I'll bring you up to speed on the last seven (ish) months:


The 15 Things You Missed This Year

1. Tinkling on the wall. Sprayin' right across the paint.

2. Rolling onto stomach. Crying at being on stomach.

3. Emergency room. $$$. False alarm.

4. Rolling onto stomach. Flailing in failed attempt to move. More crying.

5. Baby food. Mess. Bath.

6. Emergency room. More $$$. False alarm two.

7. Dad cutting off Emergency room visits.

8. Crawling.

9. Crawling off side of bed. Mom says Dad's fault.  ...

10.Saying first almost word, "Da..."

11.Repeating first almost word, "Da..." endlessly at Mom. :)

12.Pulling oneself to standing.

13.Standing. Sitting. St--sitting.

14.Crawling after Dad as he leaves for work. Heartbreak.

15.Clawing at Dad's legs. Personifying cuddliness in miniature, huggable form.


There you have it.

Nearly seven months of knee-high variety misadventures. But ages since a heart fell in love with wonder bottled in little blue eyes.

Makes it a whole lot easier to jump in for another spin at the roulette game with the bottle in the corner.

The one, I know this time, we won't lose.

The one I wouldn't want to for all the world.

Not too long ago, I told Luke I am his father.

Very soon he will get the chance to reply-- "The Spirit runs strong in my family. My father has it. I have it. And...my sister has it."

Very soon.



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Day 1: June 13, 2012- In the Beginning

This is the beginning. I have a son!!!

"Unto you a son is given..."

At 10:38 pm, on June 12th, 2012, Luke Israel Demsick was born.

And thus began our journey together.

Today we began reading the Bible together (more me than him), just as we began our lives together as father and son.

Today we started at the beginning.

And the beginning is God's Word. The beginning is God's plan. The beginning is every thought He's ever had for every person (as the sand of the sea shore) for all time, culminating in a glorious love story of God for mankind, of danger and loss and escape and daring rescue, of life stolen and then returned. Of priceless worth found and then fought for.

One cannot acknowledge the love of a father for his son without the love of the Father for all of his.

This is where it begins.

The pages of this book are enthralling. The plotline, captivating. It is the most beautiful, epic, romantic story ever written. And it is true.

Humankind finds itself at a place not too different from my son's. Full of expectation and desire, but helpless to save itself.

Ang feeding Luke

It is a journey we all must begin.

This year my son and I will share it one day at a time.

Listen as we read for fifteen minutes or so each day and experience it with us. Drop in and come alongside friends. Watch God's vision from the beginning.

Today, my son's life has begun. I am the happiest parent alive. I wonder if God feels any different?

It is a discovery worth dedicating a lifetime. We'll take it a year at a time.

Oh, and I won't say it.

Ok, I'll say it.

Luke, I am your father.

---



Day 1: June 13, 2012- In the Beginning


Video of our first reading and Luke's first day of life

Listen or download for listening on a mobile device or ipod on the go:



And, if you'd like, read along:

http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%201:1-2:25;%20Matthew%201:1-2:12;%20Psalm%201:1-6;%20Proverbs%201:1-6&version=NLT

This is yesterday's post. Today's should be up later tonight.

The First

My son is now negative six days old. Ish.

According to the man with the stethoscope and a lounge chair with paper that sticks to people's butts and frighteningly awkward stirrups.

The preparations are being made. His first Bible is on the way. Apparently, though, my son does not
yet have a first name. This is a problem his mother is most keenly aware of.

She has made me aware of it, as well.

I vaguely recall hearing mention of this at times before. Now, in a strange twist, it is being repeated again and with a frenzy.

It has even been circulated that it would be in the best interest of the parties involved to see that he has a name before he reaches zero.

I don't quite know what that means.
But the dull glaze over her eyes when I refer to Boy Demsick could be a clue.

I, myself, am wholly excited about the world of possibility that is within her.

My boy is inside.

An adventure lies on each side of his walls. One out here, I can't wait to show him, of cowboys and tents and living room forts. Trails through forests and sunsets and sails.

On the other, a person is quietly growing, with a glow in his eyes uniquely his own. A passion that will someday become a man's, who will set his own sail to the oceans that rise and fall in his eyes. And the compass in his heart.

These things call to me. They beckon who I am. They bring me to my son.

Who will he be? Will he someday look forward, as I am, immersed in his own self-awareness of what it means to be a Demsick, yet captivated in wonder at the next generation? Will his heart draw him back to the one that came before?

Father. Son. Demsicks. Men.

This legacy of wonder we pass along to our sons.

Though I know but little, I am certain of one thing. This boy is my son. When he grows into a man he will be a fearsome thing.

And he will have a name.

Whether this is the product of a dull glaze over the eyes or frightening stirrups remains to be seen.

In the meantime, I'll go back to preparing his sails and try to ignore the frenzy when it returns.

It is possible that it may pass over in time.