When I got Junior, I lived with a woman who loved parrots and her two birds; but shortly Junior and I found ourselves on our own. That time surely started with some troubles — for the first three months it was just the two of us, Junior wouldn’t come out of his cage to me. He clearly missed his first mom at first, but soon we bonded and were hardly apart thereafter. For the next dozen years, I worked mostly for myself and was at home all day long most days; Junior helped me at my work, hanging out on my shoulder or roosting on my lap as I typed. Sometimes, for a break, he’d perch on a wall and caw back at the crows, or up and walk down then driveway and say hello to neighbors as they walked past:

It continued outside of the daytime, too. For fifteen years there was hardly a dinner I didn’t cook with Junior on my shoulder, looking on, or a pile of dishes I didn’t wash without the same kind of assistance. He’d stomp around the bed every morning as I got dressed, and, before that, perch on top of the shower door as I washed.

Yes, he loved to play with a q-tip, he’d run it through his beak, hold it in his claw, and delicately remove the cotton.

And, of course, there were tons of cuddles: there’s little a cockatoo loves as much as being held closely and stroked softly. He’d make little clacking noises with his beak and whisper sweet words like “good” and “pretty bird” and “gimme a kiss”

The story obviously is: we spent a ton of time together, which a super-social, attention-hungry bird would love. And we were blissfully happy. He fell in love with my bride from the first time he met her, and he even loved her little pup (sadly, not reciprocated). When we got married, the new family suited him well.

But then I got a new job, full-time at an office, and we got a new pup to be friends with the first one. Maybe, in retrospect, I can see Junior getting a little less happy back then. There were a few cranky mornings when he didn’t want to come out and help me shave and brush my teeth, and a few evenings when he just would rather be in his cage than feed the dogs or do the dishes. I didn’t think of it at the time, but I also didn’t find any extra time for the bird.

Nonetheless, when we moved to the new place, we seemed happy. The whole house was in some disarray for a couple of weeks after we started the move — a very last-minute thing undertaken with an 8-months-pregnant wife, as we belatedly concluded that our little bungalow wouldn’t fit a family of three — so the bird actually boarded for about three weeks around the move. With everything barely under control, I’ll admit to having had some nerves picking him up: Junior is a high-maintenance animal and I was worried that a brand-new schedule in a brand-new home would hardly accommodate him.

But he came home, and I thought we’d fallen in love again. I couldn’t believe how happy I was when we hung out, and he seemed to have good times too. Unfortunately, the honeymoon was short: soon the baby came along and I began to neglect everything except him and his mother. (In fairness to myself, I’d anticipated this and took delivery of a wide variety of new toys for him, to try to keep him happy until I figured out this kid thing and made him a priority again.)

Sometime in that, Junior stopped eating. You could tell he was sad: almost every day he seemed to want to be left alone. I’d coax him out of his cage, and we’d hang out, but rarely was it party time like it had been before. For six weeks I neglected him; then I suddenly noticed how skinny he’d become. And then I changed my ways. Every night we hung out, watched a TV show just us two, alone from the family. I made sure he joined me in every dishwash and every cook. We’d cuddle again and again. Even his days alone got fuller as I discovered that he loved Nick Jr. (I’d tried some “just for parrots” DVDs on him before and he’d hated them; I figured he didn’t like TV. Boy was I wrong!)

These were great times. The cuddles were adorable and Junior seemed happier. But he still wouldn’t eat. So we gave him fruit galore; a banana treat with one of us was fun, or a bite of apple, but a half an apple left in his cage would sit untouched until the flies found it. And he got skinnier, until you could feel his keel bone. That’s how you tell a parrot is skinny — if the keel bone sticks out. Never in 15 years had I felt Junior’s keel bone, but now it felt like a blade as I touched his belly.

One Thursday morning I noticed him shivering in what was already a warm day. He was clearly too skinny, and he was only getting skinnier. It was time to do something, to put him in a safe situation in which he might eat more and, at the very least, wouldn’t starve to death. We made plans to send him to a safe home. My lovely wife took responsibility for the baby for the weekend, and I was able to make those days all about Junior and me. We hung out constantly and did everything — washed the cage, took showers, had dance parties, did all the things. And then we were done; there was nothing more special that I could do to make the most of the time we had together. We’d done it all, and we had for fifteen years. It was time for him to go live someplace new, someplace great.

So we drove up to his vet, Blue Cross Pet Hospital in Pacific Palisades, and dropped him off in a nice big cage in a pretty room with a window. The Sammy Foundation is taking care of him now, and he’s put on plenty of weight and is doing great. He’s looking for his forever home I wished I could give him but didn’t. If you are thinking of a bird, or know someone who is, they couldn’t ever do better than this guy, my best buddy, Junior Bird.

Obviously, with no Junior Bird there can be no juniorbird.com. As I said earlier, the story has changed; and now maybe the site has changed too. This will be the last story here, ever. It’s a sad goodbye for the site, to go with the sad goodbye for the bird. But this plot line is done, and fortunately there is a new one to go on to. I’ll be back in a bit with a new site, about new stories. See you then, I hope!

The post An Unexpected End to the Story appeared first on Juniorbird.com.

Of course, you’d have to be a newborn too. Everything’s got fine print.

Declan put some big weight on — we just went to his 2-month checkup today, and it’s astounding how big he’s gotten. From the little cricket who was swimming in his size Newborn clothes, he’s come so far. Now his weight is solidly on the chart, his height is getting there, and his head — well , his head is a good standard deviation and a half up the growth chart from the rest of his body.

I think it’s safe to say that this boy has gotten some of his body shape genes from his mother’s side of the family, all a bunch of cheery, chatty Micks with big, round, barely-balancing-on-your-neck Seth McFarlane-style heads.

The trick is apparently to feed them what they want, whenever they want, without forcing any extra food down their throats and gorging them. (Said gorging leading to the dreaded spit-ups, of course.) I highly recommend this technique in your life. You’ll move your head up the growth charts by at least a standard deviation in no time!

The post Growth Strategy appeared first on Juniorbird.com.

My lifestyle has changed, in that now I spend hours a day doing nothing but watching TV. No watching TV and doing my e-mail, or watching TV and paying bills: I’m just straight watching the TV. Oh, and holding my son. We’re watching TV together and sometimes he’s even eating. See, I’m not the one who’s productive anymore.

My life is very much about waiting for whatever Declan needs. Starting on something while I’m waiting for him? Not a good use of my time; I’ll just end up interrupted and won’t finish. Like this blog entry, for instance — I started it yesterday and was interrupted by a feeding. I can see my boy starting to stir right now and I know in a minute or two he’ll be awake and need a changing and a bottle again, and this entry won’t be finished until tomorrow.

So tonight I won’t get my very important tasks, like putting a couple of extra screws in that old Barcalounger so that it doesn’t fall apart. But I sure will sit in that Barcalounger, rickety as it is, and feed my son a bottle while we watch some great TV together. My to-do list will remain untouched, but Declan will practice his eating and his stretching and maybe, if we’re both lucky, his head-lifting. And it’s his to-do list that’s important now not mine.

The post Time’s A-Waistin’ — Productivity (or the Lack Thereof) and Parenting appeared first on Juniorbird.com.

I’m not sure if it’s the jaunty ’60s-style theme; the made-for-middle-America 8th-grade sexual suggestiveness; the discovery that everyone in a family looks and acts exactly alike; the straight-from-the-90s euphemisms for bodily parts and functions; or the brilliant game design that has a successful family heading home with a big, big $900 payday; but this show is great. For instance:

There’s nothing like coming home from work, brain fried, to Steve Harvey time. It’s all family-friendly; at least, it’s friendly to this family.

(And, Joey Fatone: good job on the announcer gig, getting paid for saying one line a day is a great dream for all of us.)

The post Family Indeed appeared first on Juniorbird.com.

It all started Friday. I thought I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but, as the day went on, I could feel it — fever, cough, general misery. I kept up a brave face at work and tried not to cough on my co-workers. All day, I thought: what will I do this weekend to avoid getting Declan sick? Do I get a hotel room? Do I wash my hands every five minutes?

I didn’t get a hotel room, but I did wash my hands every five minutes. I’ve spent my days in the garage and the nights in the guest room. It’s not so bad, since all I want to do is sleep. The problem is: all my poor wife wants to do is sleep too, but she’s got every feeding, every changing, every single thing until I’m well enough to be allowed to touch the baby. The best I can do is wash my hands, grab a paper towel, put on my surgical mask, and give Declan a pacifier he dropped. That’s not much parenting.

Unfortunately, there’s no heartwarming end to this post. Hopefully I’ll be well enough to start carrying my weight soon. I’m miserable now, which is sad; and I miss my son, whom I can only see through the monitor.

The post Exile appeared first on Juniorbird.com.

I noticed it the very first day I went back to work: I felt like I was wasting my time on unimportant things. Have a meeting? Design a new product? Keep the team moving? Nah, I might be behind on my nipple-washing.

(Side note: use of the term “nipple-washing” in non-dirty way is itself a big sign that things have changed.)

For the first couple of days, I nearly had to drag myself through my work. It wasn’t all bad — I was quite productive, knocking off one task after another in the hopes of clearing time to do my childcare. I was also bad at knowing when to say “no” to go home when I’d promised, but, hey, one worry at a time.

The reality is: right now, if Declan were awake, I’d choose hanging out with him over writing this blog or having a snack or meeting friends or any possible activity. But, at the same time, he makes me appreciate the time to write this blog or have a snack or meet friends more.

It’s great, all of a sudden all of my priorities are more precious. Just, some are more precious than others. Specifically, the odd new ones that mostly have to do with poop and spit. Ain’t it romantic?

The post Priorities, Priorities appeared first on Juniorbird.com.

Declan wouldn’t go down; the poor pup’s schedule wants to go 12 hours off everyone else’s. Through his angry screams, I quietly comforted him until it was feeding time. Then I comforted him continuously until the next feeding time, three hours later. Well, not continuously; I tried putting him down, which worked well until, stepping away from his bassinet, I whacked my toe on the chest at the foot of our bed:

The second-smallest toe is supposed to be that color, and as big as the next one up, right?

I was very careful to not scream or otherwise wake the baby, which was of course futile because he could smell my fear or something. So I also tried other soothing techniques, like shushing and rubbing his tummy, which seemed to be working well until the dog woke him with an incredible retching sound. I finished pulling the vomit-stained blankets out of the dog’s crate just in time for Declan to start crying again. Baby under my arm, I shooed the dogs out to finish throwing up outside.

Declan was crying because he’d leaked through his diaper. He did it again the next time I changed him, and the time after that as well. Later, I discovered that, in my exhaustion, I’d been accidentally tucking his t-shirts down the back of his diaper, creating a little capillary action conduit for pee.

But, despite the toe pain and the screaming baby, I’d managed not to wake my wife somehow. Which was great, because she let me sleep in the next morning, until she yelped when she took the cover off the crate and found the two dogs covered in poop. And then, tired and unable to figure out where the spigot is at the new house we’re renting, I washed the crate out by hand with Formula 409 and paper towels.

My wonderful wife let me go back to sleep afterwards; and, best of all, I only stubbed that toe one more time getting that crate clean.

The post Just Like on TV appeared first on Juniorbird.com.

When we saw the gauze and vaseline we both teared up a little, thinking of our days-old boy home fresh from the hospital, and how much things had changed since then. And he’s only three weeks and a day old! Just a couple of days ago the last of his umbilical cord fell off, and now we’ll never see him with a cord again.

My friends all told me: enjoy your son’s every moment, because everything will fly by. I believed them, but I also thought: isn’t that the kind of nostalgia that waits until your child is a verbal, interactive toddler? My doubt has been proven wrong; these tired, long, late, loud days also are filled with a joyous padding of moments we’ll treasure. It’s amazing, and it’s amazing how far we’ve come already.

The post Nostalgia, Already appeared first on Juniorbird.com.

Today you smiled at me, and it was the greatest thing I’d ever seen. Now, you’ve been around for not quite three weeks, so I rather suspect that this wide, joyous smile was actually an uncoordinated movement of your face as you tried out your new muscles, but it was sure awesome to look at nonetheless.

It was actually a pretty big day for you. You’ve been a great boy so far, only crying when you actually have something to say; you seem to be particularly irked by a dirty diaper. Oh, and when you’re mad you’re furious — you’re truly your mother’s son, as the line between a little cry and a choking, coughing, beet-red-faced brow-furrower of a scream is as fine as the soft hair on your head. But it’s hard to object when you communicate so consistently!

You’re a bit of a night owl at this age. I’m kind of happy since I get the night feedings around here and appreciate it when you’re up and take a bottle well, but also kind of vexed since I get the night feedings around here and would like to put you down shortly after you’ve finished eating. Hopefully we can help you move to a more daytime schedule.

And there are signs that you (or us? are we that good?) are doing that already. For the last two afternoons and early evenings, you’ve had your eyes wide open for hours at a time, quietly observing the world around you. I wonder what you think of what you can see? At any rate, keep it up; I’d love to see you exhausted at your bedtime, ready to sleep quickly and quietly.

You’re still eating well, which is great — I’m really excited at how fast you’ve been growing, up to an ounce a day now. You’re starting to fill out your newborn clothes!

Every day with you is an adventure, and I can’t wait to see what developmental milestone you hit next.

Love,

Dad

I used to have this regular feature on this site,

The post Dear Declan, Day 20 appeared first on Juniorbird.com.

Yeah, we’ve been doing the finding-childcare thing lately. I love paid family leave, but at some point the wife and I will get off what I’m pretty sure conservatives call Welfare and get back to work, so we need to find some options for Declan.

We’ve looked at the nanny thing, and we’ve looked at local daycares. Naturally, having already had our baby, it’s far, far too late for us to look for daycare at the most prestigious places, like the place we visited on Wednesday with the two-and-a-half-year wait list. I felt a little silly looking at their infant rooms… but not as silly as the nice couples with two-year-olds on the tour must’ve felt. Enjoy your month in daycare before first grade, kids!

I’ll admit, I’m a little confused about how any infants get into a program with a two-and-a-half-year-long wait list that requires a confirmed pregnancy to get on it. But we’ll move past that for a moment. Beyond the waiting list, was there anything I took away from my daycare tours? Yes, in fact, there was:

• It’s important to have children in your daycare when you offer tours; no matter how cutting-edge your prestigious daycare is, it looks cold and, frankly, silly without kids in it.
• Your tour should be given by someone who can sell, or a teacher who obviously has the personality to connect with kids, not by a cold, efficient administrator, no matter how skilled that administrator is.
• If you have a good daycare, you have a long waiting list; almost nobody with a good daycare is trying to grow to absorb more of their waiting list. A kingdom of riches probably awaits someone who can figure out how to scale the provision of daycare services.

So I think we’ve chosen which daycare to apply to. Which is great, because I’m excited about the place. It reminds me of the caregivers who showed me love when I was growing up, and if Declan does half as well he’ll have a wonderful start to life.

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