I despise the phrase “Knock on wood.” It was only ever tolerable when sung by The Mighty Mighty Bosstones. If you’re among those in the cockpit who’ve said, “I’ve never had an engine fire or a hydraulic leak. Wait, let me knock on…” and then scoured the cockpit for wood, you may remember the courtesy smile I gave you. I detest that phrase.
I’m going to use it anyway. So far, the formula for keeping peace with a newborn has been pretty simple. I’m seeking some wood to knock on, amending my hatred for that phrase. If you’re in a place without wood, there will be no knocking—I just used air quotes. If I ever share a room with you on the International Space Station and catch you searching for some hardwood flooring after saying, “All this time and the toilet hasn’t backed up once,” I might kick you in the shins.
Forget the knocking! I’ll declare it loud and boastfully, proudly tempting fate! Keeping peace with a newborn has been straightforward so far.
When he cries, there are only a few things to fix… Sometimes I look around and wonder if there’s more to it than just changing a wet diaper or feeding him? The crib is simple. Maybe he’s upset because he’d prefer to cuddle under a few hundred thread count sheets or at least have a pillow? Having seen the inside of enough Hampton Inn elevators, I know all humans crave fluffy comforters and free waffles. These comforts make you dream of sheep. Could this be why he cries? Nope—wet diaper.
The iPod has been on repeat for a few days. Perhaps he’s tired of hearing the same “Nature’s Tranquility” tracks. Maybe the sounds of the Amazon Rainforest are freaking him out? I know some nights, when I’m between sleep and deep sleep but still upright and stumbling, those tunes make me feel like I’m in Apocalypse Now.
No, just a bottle of the same stuff he’s been drinking since birth and he’s good to go.
Don’t get me wrong—sometimes I’m tired, and the bottle and diaper change take a bit longer than I’d like. Sometimes he doesn’t roll back to sleep as efficiently as his old man. Eight and a half hours before the hotel van call and lights out for me. “Come on buddy, we’re gonna do this in three hours—it’s now or never.”
At times, I wonder if he’s been eavesdropping on NPR and pondering if there will ever be peace in the Middle East. Maybe he has the answer but can’t tell me? Maybe this is what’s upsetting him?
No, a bounce or two and a burp and then he’s off to the pillow races.
Again, so far the formula has been pretty simple. Now, let me find some wood to knock on.
It’s a pity “Stomp on Wood” lost its appeal. According to Wikipedia, it originated from early settlers who would stomp on the floor of their log cabins to ward off bad luck.