Five weeks into our son's life, Lauren and I were starting to wonder what all the fuss was about. Ryan was sleeping relatively soundly through the night, keeping his projectile vomiting to a minimum, and had taken to the boob and bottle with equal aplomb. Things were good.
Until this Tuesday, that is.
Up to that point, Ryan hadn't really done any crying without some obvious genesis to his complaint. With infants, it's typically pretty simple: if they're pissed off, they either need to sleep, eat, or be liberated from the pile of shit they've been sitting in for the past thirty minutes. Hard to blame 'em.
But on Tuesday evening, Ryan let loose with an unprovoked crying fit that would've risen Michael Jackson from the grave, had that hadn't already occurred three days after his death. Wait...what? You say MJ hasn't been resurrected and taken his place at God's right hand? Are you suggesting his measure as a man may have been grossly overstated in light of his early death? Balderdash, I won't hear it.
Anyway, the kid didn't stop for four freaking hours. Nothing helped: not the pacifier, not a feeding, not the highly acclaimed "Five S" technique. He just screamed and screamed and screamed, regardless of what we did. If you've never been fortunate enough to have been exposed to this type of relentless, high-pitched wailing, I assure you, it's excruciating on the ears. Try to imagine a chimpanzee playing a violin...with a diseased cat. All. Night. Long. By the third hour, I was pondering the benefit my impeccable police record might have on any sentence I'd receive when I snapped.
This scene repeated itself on Wednesday evening and into the wee hours of the night, so Lauren and I paid a visit to the pediatrician Thursday morning. The diagnosis? Ryan was "fussy." Now, describing what I witnessed as "fussy" is akin to labeling Adam Lambert as "slightly effeminate," but she's a doctor and I'm not, so what are you gonna' do.
That night, Lauren and I nervously awaited the inevitable eruption, but it never came. Ryan was back to being his well-behaved, rational self. You'd think we'd be pleased with that, but in a lot of ways, the damage had already been done. We were left with the knowledge that our kid has this in him, and that's a terrifying thing. Every time he cries for the next few years, we're going to go into a panic, wondering if it will last five minutes or five hours. Thanks for that, buddy.
To reward the boy for pulling it together, we thought it was time he get out into the wilderness for his first hike. We opted for the Hunter Valley, since we could park up high and avoid some of the more precarious climbing and descending that could potentially cause a tumble and leave me forever disowned by my inlaws. From our chosen start, it's a rolling hike through a pristine valley; a perfect place for my son to get his first taste of the beauty the mountains have to offer.
With Ryan strapped squarely to my chest, Lauren was responsible for Maci and the photographs. Here's an idea of the landscape:
Lauren reconnecting with her first child.
The Hunter Creek.
Wildflowers are in full bloom.
Lauren, Maci, and some more wildflowers.
Maci's not used to being on a leash in the wilderness, but she did pretty well.
On the return hike, you get a killer shot of the Elk Mountains, in all their splendor. 
We hiked for an hour, then loaded up the car to head into Aspen for the Saturday market. Here's a shot towards Ajax from Red Mountain road.
Back at the house, Lauren and I got to work on readying for the upcoming Nitti family field trip to NJ. Maci? She had other plans.
Until this Tuesday, that is.
Up to that point, Ryan hadn't really done any crying without some obvious genesis to his complaint. With infants, it's typically pretty simple: if they're pissed off, they either need to sleep, eat, or be liberated from the pile of shit they've been sitting in for the past thirty minutes. Hard to blame 'em.
But on Tuesday evening, Ryan let loose with an unprovoked crying fit that would've risen Michael Jackson from the grave, had that hadn't already occurred three days after his death. Wait...what? You say MJ hasn't been resurrected and taken his place at God's right hand? Are you suggesting his measure as a man may have been grossly overstated in light of his early death? Balderdash, I won't hear it.
Anyway, the kid didn't stop for four freaking hours. Nothing helped: not the pacifier, not a feeding, not the highly acclaimed "Five S" technique. He just screamed and screamed and screamed, regardless of what we did. If you've never been fortunate enough to have been exposed to this type of relentless, high-pitched wailing, I assure you, it's excruciating on the ears. Try to imagine a chimpanzee playing a violin...with a diseased cat. All. Night. Long. By the third hour, I was pondering the benefit my impeccable police record might have on any sentence I'd receive when I snapped.
This scene repeated itself on Wednesday evening and into the wee hours of the night, so Lauren and I paid a visit to the pediatrician Thursday morning. The diagnosis? Ryan was "fussy." Now, describing what I witnessed as "fussy" is akin to labeling Adam Lambert as "slightly effeminate," but she's a doctor and I'm not, so what are you gonna' do.
That night, Lauren and I nervously awaited the inevitable eruption, but it never came. Ryan was back to being his well-behaved, rational self. You'd think we'd be pleased with that, but in a lot of ways, the damage had already been done. We were left with the knowledge that our kid has this in him, and that's a terrifying thing. Every time he cries for the next few years, we're going to go into a panic, wondering if it will last five minutes or five hours. Thanks for that, buddy.
To reward the boy for pulling it together, we thought it was time he get out into the wilderness for his first hike. We opted for the Hunter Valley, since we could park up high and avoid some of the more precarious climbing and descending that could potentially cause a tumble and leave me forever disowned by my inlaws. From our chosen start, it's a rolling hike through a pristine valley; a perfect place for my son to get his first taste of the beauty the mountains have to offer.
With Ryan strapped squarely to my chest, Lauren was responsible for Maci and the photographs. Here's an idea of the landscape:
Lauren reconnecting with her first child.
Dad playing the role of sherpa, short lining Ryan along the trail. It was 80 degrees and sunny as hell, so we kept the boy adequately shaded.
The Hunter Creek.
Wildflowers are in full bloom.
Lauren, Maci, and some more wildflowers.
Maci's not used to being on a leash in the wilderness, but she did pretty well.
On the return hike, you get a killer shot of the Elk Mountains, in all their splendor. 
We hiked for an hour, then loaded up the car to head into Aspen for the Saturday market. Here's a shot towards Ajax from Red Mountain road.
Back at the house, Lauren and I got to work on readying for the upcoming Nitti family field trip to NJ. Maci? She had other plans.
