For anyone who does read this, awesome. I appreciate the fact that you’re so dedicated to our relationship that you hung in there for nearly 11 months since I first posted. That’s kinda funny if you think about it. But what’s really funny is the fact that you probably don’t even know anything about me. Sure, you know me by name. You know what I do, and you may have even been to my house or met my wife and daughter before. But that only scratches the surface.

I can only imagine what you’re thinking. This shit sounds pretty ridiculous right? It sounds like I think I’m some kind of a fucking enigma… So deep and contrived that no one could possibly comprehend… Some mystical Harry Potter shit… That’s not it at all. I’m actually pretty simple at my core. I live for my family and the friendships I keep are worth their weight in gold. I love to work and I don’t stop until it’s perfect. And then I get on it a little to make it even better. I admire intelligence and I abhor ignorance. I just have a hard time editing when you fall between the two. Most of the time my delivery sucks and the only place I can seem to edit is between File and View.

Paints a pretty picture, doesn’t it? I bet people stab me with invisible knives while I’m looking the other way. How funny would it be to get a picture of that?

Anyway…

I’ve really been doing some soul searching lately – for a lot of reasons. The most important is probably because my little girl just turned 1 (13 mos. to be exact) and she’s starting to pick up on things I do and say. Don’t get me wrong, when I close my eyes and imagine her saying things like ‘daddy i shit my pants’ and calling out all the douchebag kids at the park, I secretly laugh my ass off. But that ain’t right. She deserves better. She is better. There’s a lot of ass hole parents out there. The last thing she needs is to have one herself.

Another is for my wife. She’s awesome. Seriously… she’s the shit. I don’t know how I did it, but I really hit the jackpot when I met her. Lots of people say that about their significant other (as they should), but I mean it. People even tell me that. She’s got a heart the size of Texas and patience to match. She lights up the room when she walks in and she’s the kind of person that can be friends with anyone inside of a 10-minute conversation. Here she is, perfect, with a dude like me. WTF?

I could go on, but that would get boring. The moral of the story is this: I don’t think I’ve been myself for quite sometime. I don’t know why, but I have a couple of theories.

Theory 1: Los Angeles.
I moved to Los Angeles at the end of 2000. I just finished college, my band broke up, I lived alone, I hated my job, and I had some cash saved up. I had recently visited a friend (what’s up Jay) who had moved out there a few years prior. He loved it. He was playing in a band out there that needed a bass player so I said screw it and packed all my shit into a UHAUL trailer and headed west. I had nowhere to live, no job, and 1 friend. It was the most liberating experience of my entire life. In hindsight, it might have been a little too liberating because I landed on my feet, found a killer job, made awesome friends and ended up playing in a successful band that had me on tour for a little over a year. So what’s the problem with that? I don’t know… It made me feel invincible, awesome, untouchable… all good things (in moderation). It got out of hand quick. I was doing so well that I forgot who I was, where I came from, and everyone that didn’t come with me. I turned into that guy who left the motherland and shit on everyone who didn’t. It sucks, but I can admit that now.

Theory 2: Music (or a lack thereof)
For as far back as I can remember, I always loved music. From 4th grade when I started playing hot cross buns on the trumpet to high school when I was 2nd chair in the all-state wind symphony rocking Verdi and digging Mangione and Ferguson. All the way to 1992 when I first played the German Club in Mystic, CT and through 2005 when I got to play on the same stage as Matt Skiba and Trevor Rabin at the House of Blues in Hollywood. Am I bragging? I don’t know… maybe. Who cares? Everyone has something that, if they ever got to do it, they would tell you all about it. I guess being on stage was my something, which leads to my second theory. I miss that shit. And I’ve been pretending I don’t for far too long. It’s easy to point and talk about people who are doing something you miss – something you once did. I think there’s a name for that. Probably a bunch of names, but we don’t have to go there. Now, does that mean I’m going to bust out the bass and join a band or start trying out for open slots in bands with kids half my age? Nah… What it does mean is I can finally admit that I miss it and start to appreciate everything that came of it.

About a year ago, a collective friend from my hometown was in a motorcycle accident. He’s a good dude who was dealt a shitty hand. Some people back home got together and planned a benefit concert to raise some funds to put his leg back together. They called on a few bands that could draw some people – mine being one of them. I declined. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know the answer to that. I was full of excuses at the time and I think there might be a few people who still hold that against me, but I can’t go back and change it. I guess all I can do is admit that I should have done it and reconsider it next time. Luckily the show happened and they raised some decent cash. They even found someone to fill in for me so the other guys didn’t miss out. Just me. And I think I learned a valuable lesson here. I remember a phone call I got during the planning phase when someone busted out an H2O quote and told me ‘don’t forget your roots’. At the time I laughed it off, but I have to admit he was right. I guess that’s the lesson. I forgot my roots.

Theory 3: Don’t be a stranger
If you got this far, you know that at one point in time, I was on top of the world. I was flying pretty high. This is right about the time I met my lady. It was September ‘04 and we were playing the TLA in Philly. I was selling t-shirts to little kids when I looked up and saw the most beautiful girl in the world. She was just hanging out by the door. She couldn’t have looked less interested in being there – and that intrigued me. As it turns out, she was dragged there by a friend of hers who wanted to see one of the other bands on that tour. She wasn’t into the whole band thing, so I had to lie and tell her I was only tour managing. She bought it. To make a long story short, I haven’t stopped thinking about her since that night we met. We rolled out of town and I remember telling the guys I met the girl I was going to marry. They all thought I was nuts. Not because I wanted to marry her right then and there, but because she lived in New Jersey. I was convinced that I’d have her on the next flight into LAX and we’d live happily ever after under the palm trees. But it didn’t work out that way. She wasn’t in a position to move. So I was faced with a ridiculous dilemma – stay in LA and lose her or give it all up and move to New Jersey. I guess it’s obvious what I chose. If you ask me again now, I will say there was no decision to make. I’d do it again every day of the week.

When I got here it was awesome. We hung out every minute of every day. I wasn’t even thinking about all the stuff I left behind. It didn’t matter. That life was over. Don’t get me wrong – it still is awesome. It really couldn’t be better. We have an amazing daughter, an amazing house – a really solid life going on here. I guess what I’m realizing is that I might have left too much behind for too long and pretty much fell off the face of the earth. Sure, I still have friends from those days, but they’re all over the place. Luckily, one of them also landed in Philly so it’s not like I’m a total stranger here.

I’ve met a hand full of people here that I really like, but it’s just not the same. I’ve been trying for so long to replicate friendships from the past that you can’t even come close to. The fact that I can’t is discouraging in a way and leaves me wondering why I even bother making friends at all if it will never be like what I miss. The craziest thing is, all the while the most important friendships I’ve ever had have been there this whole time – wondering what the hell I been smoking all this time.

That’s what leads me to the reason I even decided to write this post tonight – 10/30/10. Saturday, October 30, 2010. It’s a fun date the way 30 is surrounded by 10s. It’s even fun to write and type. There’s even a song by that name somewhere. But that date means so much more than any of that. It marks a 10-year old pact made in a CT jail cell by a couple of drunken kids in the middle of nowhere connecticut. That’s something I’ll explain in another 11 months when I post again. But the highlights include no shoes, the guitarist from the deftones, and two dudes handcuffed together singing swing low, sweet chariot.

It doesn’t sound awesome, I know. I guess you had to be there. Second to my wedding and the birth of my child, it really was one of the most important nights of my life. It wasn’t the alcohol, the cops, or prison. It was everything that led up to that. It was one of those nights when you could look around you and honestly say that you would take a bullet for each and everyone you see – and vice versa. That’s the feeling I miss.

That night we all did that atypical friendship / future pact thing and decided that no matter where any of us lived, or what we were doing, we would find our way back to hang out in exactly 10 years. It was October 30, 2000. Do the math. It’s going to be awesome. I need this. Luckily, we’re all living and it will only mean a few flights and a long drive or two.

Well worth it.

January 4, 2009 – Dan, I’m pregnant.
My initial reaction: Holy shit. 10 minutes later: I’d never been happier.

After about 14 different home tests that all displayed a purple plus sign, we finally decided to call on a medical professional to weigh in on this little dilemma and help us figure out if we were expecting, or if we were the poster children for that .0000007%. Sure enough, there was a bun in the oven.

January 17, 2009 – Happy Birthday, Dan.
Pack your shit, we’re goin’ to Mexico.

I’m talking about the sunny, sandy, never wanna leave Mexico, not the shady, scummy, get me the fuck out of here Mexico. My wife surprised me with the most amazing 5 nights in a penthouse-level suite with a private pool and hot tub at Playa Mujeres. It’s an adults-only (not in the perv way), all-inclusive resort just outside of Cancun. It was real nice. The hardest part was all of the drinking I had to do. Since my lady was ‘with child’, I decided to drink enough for the both of us to really get our money’s worth. When you consider how watered down those free drinks are to begin with, you can imagine how many Piña Coladas I had. It was nuts.

February 12, 2009 – Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom and Dad
It’s all about hearts – baby hearts.

The belly was growing, but this was the first piece of real proof that there was a living being inside of there. We first heard Lucy’s little heart beating on this day. It was truly awesome. My stomach hit the floor that day. It was beginning to sink in.

March 5, 2009 – Little Kicks
Try to avoid 4D images of children in utero. It’s really weird.

This was our first ultrasound. Just like Tom Cruise, they covered the belly in hair gel and pulled out the baby detector. It took a few but she popped right up on the screen. She was dancing like Elaine from the little kicks episode of Seinfeld.

April 27, 2009 – It’s a girl.
My initial reaction: Holy shit. 10 minutes later: I’d never been happier.

I was totally out-numbered to begin with, surrounded by 3 generations of amazing women. Heck, what’s one more? I guess I’ll just have to try a little harder on the next one. I could really use another pair around the house.

July 19, 2009 – Check out the loot.
The cupcakes from Tartes made the day.

Up until now, we were pretty nervous about all the baby shit we were going to have to buy. Thanks to resourceful grandparents, friends, family and my sniper’s aim with a registry gun, we walked away with a whole bunch of stuff. It was a great day for the baby. And our bank account.

August 4, 2009 – Um… Did you know your baby was upside down?
Back rubs, incense, acupuncture, arthritic pools, and a whole lot of praying.

You want to talk about devastating? Devote 9 months to perfection. Eat all the right foods. Take all the right supplements. Read all the right books. And attend all the right classes. Do everything in your power to provide the most natural birth experience for your child. No drugs, nothing to take the edge off, and certainly nothing to speed up the process. It’s what they call a birth plan. We had one. And it was perfect. Up until we realized that the kid was in a complete breech position. In this day and age, big medicine would much rather extract a baby via cesarean than allow for nature to take its course. It’s easier on them. They schedule it. It takes 45 minutes. They don’t have to ‘deal’ with women in labor. It sucks through and through.

Anyway.. We tried everything under the sun to fix this – acupuncture, chiropractic adjustments, swimming, standing upside down… everything. At one point, I was even yelling at the business end of the belly in an attempt to get the baby’s attention and bring on an about face. Nothing worked. And cesarean was totally out of the question. It just wasn’t going to happen.

September 10, 2009 – Let’s flip this baby
One seriously determined doctor with greasy hands.

We were left with only one option – an external cephalic version. That’s just a fancy name for ‘roll up your sleeves, grease up, dig in, and re-locate that baby’. Seriously, that was it. It sounds pretty ridiculous but if you think about it, in theory, it makes complete sense. The only challenge is finding a doctor that is A: trained and B: willing to perform it these days. Luckily for us, the midwives at the Bryn Mawr Birth Center are integrated with the labor and maternity ward at Bryn Mawr Hospital. They’ve got a pretty heavy influence on the way they do things over there.

I asked so many questions. I wanted statistics, success rates, and answers to about 100 different ‘what if’ scenarios. I got nothing but ‘eh, it’s like 50/50′. We basically had to agree to the risks – and there were tons – including the need for emergency c-section. Kind of ironic how we took such a drastic measure to avoid something that could very well be a result of our action.

Dr Carlson hooked us up big time. He was amazing. He offered 3 10-second attempts, while scanning in between to make sure the umbilical cord was not ruptured. He tried 3 times and it didn’t work. Shit. Just as I was coming to terms with the fact that it didn’t work, he said ‘I think I can do this. She is really close’, and he went at it once more. Sure enough, it worked. He dug deep in, lifted the baby up with his hands and surrounded it with both of his forearms. With a little twist to the right, her head popped up, over and then down. Her body followed, and it was over. Everybody was silent for a good 10 seconds. And then it seemed like the entire room (me, my lady, dr carlson, the midwife, the nurse, the anesthesiologist, grandma) said in unison ‘it worked!’.

After the fact, I asked Dr. Carlson about it. And he told me that was only his 4th successful ECV. Crazy.

September 21, 2009 – Happy Birthday, Lucy
7lbs. 5oz., 19.5″ – and it only took 49 hours.

It takes about a little less than an hour to get from Philadelphia to Bryn Mawr. But when you do it at 2 am, it’s not so bad. Do it again that same day at 6 am, and it seems even easier. Maybe it was delirium as a result of sleep deprivation. Had we not checked into the Radnor Hotel that morning, I would be able to tell you all about a third trip out 24 hours later, because that’s around the time this kid finally decided to surface.

At the end of the day, my champion of a wife spent a grand total of 49 hours in labor. She refused medication. She needed it. Trust me. But she refused it. I’m not sure where she got it from, but she somehow found the energy to withstand the pain of being stuck at 1cm for 30+ hours. I drank all the coffee I could get my hands on, and I was having a hard time sticking with it myself.

For several reasons – mostly the amount of time she labored – we decided it best to transfer and deliver at Bryn Mawr hospital. We checked in around Noon, Lucy was born just after 5, we crashed for a couple hours and checked out at 2 pm the next day. She spent less time in the hospital after giving birth than I did when I broke my collarbone in high school. My wife. My hero.

September 22, 2009 – Help. I have shit on my hands.
And it’s not my own.

Going into this, diapers seemed to be my biggest fear. I was ready for the crying, the puking, the need to be coddled – all of it – with the exception of poopie diapers. I had never changed a diaper in my entire life. In fact, I had never even touched a diaper (aside from the one we put on the dog as a dry run). I was real nervous. I think I was afraid of getting shit on my hands. Who isn’t? I mean, who looks forward to that? Why wouldn’t I be afraid of it?

As it turns out, all it took was a quick case of shit-on-the-hands on day 2 for me to get over it. It wasn’t even that bad. Now, I actually enjoy diapers. I look at it like daddy time. She stares at me the whole time and more often than not, I can entertain her while I’m taking care of business. She seems to enjoy it too. And at the end, she feels better. And I helped. Those are the kinds of things I cherish nowadays.

So that’s it – my top 10. That was pretty tough to edit down. My original list was huge. I could have gone on forever, even though I think I did anyway. But hey, it’s my first ever blog post. Deal with it. I’ll get better. All in all, 2009 was a pretty spectacular year. If 2010 is half as good, we’ll be in business.

I look forward to making this same post 365 days from now.