“David, I have a meeting Saturday. Are you cool to look after Delmar (not his real name) for a few hours?” my wife Elise (not her real name) asked me last week. “Of course!” I replied. “Should be no problem!” The only problem was, I had to do an oil change on my BMW i3S; surely this would be fine, right?
Raising an infant is hard. Much harder than I had initially thought. They need your time — always. They’re basically little barnacles clinging to you or your spouse or your caretaker 24/7. It’s truly remarkably how helpless a four-month old baby is compared to, say, a four-month old kitten, who can climb trees and hunt mice and probably do taxes.
This all became extremely apparent during my routine oil-change session on my BMW i3S. No, I’m not talking about my ridiculous transmission IV-drip situation, I’m talking about changing the oil on the 600cc two-cylinder motorcycle engine — the range extender. That process involved simply taking off the trunk floor and engine cover, removing a drain plug, removing an oil filter, reinstalling both, then spinning on a fresh filter (with lubed o-ring) and pouring in three quarts of fresh oil. That’s it.
It’s the easiest job in the book, which is why I figured I could just sit baby-Delmar outside on his little rocker while I quickly slid under my range-extended carbon fiber commuter car; and I’d be done before he even noticed.
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When I approached Delmar and proposed my plan, he didn’t have a whole lot to say. There he sat in his rocker-chair, bouncing back and forth, eyes laser-locked on me, following me around. He was bored. He wanted me to pick him up and walk him around. And sing Elton John’s “Sad Songs (Say So Much)” to him. And dance like a fool. And do my admittedly-excellent Mickey Mouse or Goofy voices.
“Those are good ideas,” I replied to a baby who hadn’t actually said anything. “But, what if, instead of those, I drain probably-perfectly-good oil out of an engine I barely use, install a filter I spent far too many hours researching on Bob Is The Oil Guy, and then pour in some 0W-30 that I also spent far too much time researching? How does that sound?”
There he sat, bouncing, his giant beautiful eyes just wanting to hang out with me.
I took that as a yes.
And so outside into the driveway we went, him strapped into his bouncy-chair, and me quickly jogging over to my BMW i3 up on ramps. I took my BMW i3’s cargo area floor/engine insulator out, then grabbed my torx wrench and began zipping off the i3’s engine cover. I peeked around the C-pillar; Delmar seemed to be doing OK. One by one, I took out the torx screws, frusted that BMW had used some strange rubber nuts that tended to spin in the carbon fiber body, requiring me to somehow hold them in place to get the screws out. “Hey baby Delmar!” I yelled to let him know I was still there. I zipped the last few screws out, then took off the oil fill cap.
Then I slid under my i3. “Hey Delmar!” I yelled. “My cute baby boy!” Lying on my back, I looked around my rear wheel to see Delmar sitting there quietly, looking at his surroundings. “Whew, it’s going well,” I said to myself as I grabbed a 14mm wrench, undid the drain plug, and watched as fresh amber oil poured into a dirty catch-pan. “Drain drain drain!” I exclaimed to the 2.75 quarts of oil taking their sweet time exiting my engine.
I heard commotion around my rear wheel; I took a peek. Delmar was bouncing around, his head panning and pitching, his legs kicking. “There comes a time when we all need to share a little pain!” I sang aloud. “When ironing out the rough spots…is the hardest parts when memories remain!”
No change. “Oh drat, that always works!” I thought.
The oil was now dripping slowly enough for me to reinstall the plug with a new copper gasket. I tightened that, then began removing the oil filter. “Son of a bitch! Who cranked this stupid filter on with all their might? Why!? Haven’t we been through this!” I yelled. “Sunova b—”
Before I could continue my curse-therapy, I began hearing some noises coming from a certain bouncing chair-ish area. I peeked my head out from under my car.
I was on borrowed time.
“Shit, come on oil filter!” I exclaimed as I twisted the damn metal can with both hands as hard as I could. “Whichever technician did this deserves a lifetime of misfortune, Hecter Zeroni style!” Try as I might, this thing wasn’t coming off.
But it didn’t matter, because at this point Delmar was pissed. “WAAAAAA WAAA” he yelled. “BANG!” I hit my head on the bottom of my i3 as I hurriedly arose from the oily driveway and rushed over to the displeased fruit of my loins.
“Hey baby Delmar!” I said calmly as I picked him up. He immediately stopped crying. We went inside, and I placed him down on his playmat, only to see a big stain of what appeared to be 5W-30 on his forehead.
“Oh no, Elise is going to kill me!” I ran to grab some Dawn dishsoap, and as soon as I left the room Delmar started crying. Then I realized I can’t put dish soap on a baby’s head (can I? Who the hell knows) so I ran around to find his baby-shampoo. “WAAAA” Delmar yelled impatiently, probably wondering why the hell his forehead now contained a boundary layer, and also wondering what the hell I was doing.
“One second!” I yelled. “Turn ’em on, Turn ’em on, turn on those saaaad songs!” I yelled, desperately.
I grabbed the soap from the bathroom. “Oh crap I need paper towels.” I ran back to the bathroom, Delmar still crying.
Eventually I got the oil off his head, and I calmed him down. For the next two hours he held onto me like a barnacle. I played him songs, I danced like a fool, I fed him — it was a nonstop job, and an opportunity to realize just how stressful these past four months have probably been for my wife Elise as I was off at work. I couldn’t even do half an oil change; I had to be really careful handling him with my oily hands (their typical state) and I still screwed up; and when I did get Delmart to fall asleep, that little orange cat we adopted from my dilapidated Jeep Grand Cherokee in the work parking lot meowed and meowed, threatening to awaken Delmar and cut short my rest.
Raising a baby is hard, and wrenching on cars while doing it is going to be extremely difficult; it will rely heavily on the hard work of my dear wife, for whom I am immensely grateful.
stick to what most dad’s do. Play video games while watching the baby
That’s pretty funny. More so written than on the video, which shows your writing skills.
Changing “fresh” oil in the range extender of your sixth (?) car sounds like the least necessary task in your life at this particular time, but I understand. You just wanted to prove that your past, happy life of wrenching and fiddling with vehicles wasn’t completely dead. It is, for a decade or two, but you’ll adapt. Learn to work during his naps. And get him a small, friendly dog as a pal. Kids find them endlessly entertaining.
One day I a) was put in charge of my 6-month old twins and b) was under strict orders from my (ex) wife to tile the kitchen by Sunday night. So I put the twins in the bouncy seats Saturday morning, next to the tile wet saw, while the kids screamed their heads off.
Needless to say, I finished the tiling in record time.
Just gonna say that for these jobs, wearing nitrile gloves is a really great idea. That way you can get the oil off your hands instantly.
DT – welcome to fatherhood and wrenching.
One suggestion: add dog. And agree on other comments about avoiding going under the car, jackstands or ramps.
Willys, kid, dog:
https://www.oldwillysforum.com/forum/index.php?attachments/5c3f9888-a039-4f16-8c9c-590bfb07f467-jpeg.56062/
https://www.oldwillysforum.com/forum/index.php?attachments/d05c990a-a9a0-4186-aa1d-53290a76a75b-jpeg.56063/
Post 166 if the links don’t work: https://www.oldwillysforum.com/forum/index.php?threads/1964-willys-traveller.3690/page-9
Wait until he can walk.Then he can take your tools without you knowing and leave them in the yard to run over while you cut your grass.That’s a real knee slapper!!
Yup, my then toddler daughter wanted to help me replace shocks on Isuzu Trooper. I thought it was a good idea to give her a large enough wrench that I would be able to find it when she inevitably tired of “helping”. Instead, she whacked me on the head with it when I didn’t pay her enough attention. Lesson learned.
Was that lesson “anything within reach can be a hammer”?
My nephews at about 3 and 4 years of age disappeared out of my sister’s house one day. She had put dead bolts about 6 feet off the floor on the exterior doors so when things got quiet she wasn’t too worried about it. Then she came to the front door and found it standing wide open. There was a kitchen chair by the door with phone books, etc. stacked on it. They had pulled her purse out of the closet, got her car keys, built up the chair to allow them to open the dead-bolt, and got out of the house and into her car. They put the keys in the ignition and turned it far enough to allow them to put the car in neutral without starting it. It rolled down the driveway and across the street to the curb on the opposite side of the street. She came out to find them sitting in the car blocking the street.
(There may have been some culpability on my part since I had taken the oldest one for a bit of a drive in a parking lot and allowed him to turn the steering wheel and had showed him how I started the car and put it in gear.)
I wasn’t by myself, but my wife helped run the engine hoist for me while she was holding our son who was a few months old at the time and was NOT in the mood to be put down. He’s 14 now and just went to Chrysler’s at Carlisle with us (several swaps later) so I think it’s been worth it.
You’re doing good, just write a note that the engine is empty of oil.
Give the kid a 10mm combination wrench to chew on and he will be fine
Being a dad is hard. Harder than I ever imagined. You’ll find ways to cope with it and will continually shift your expectations of yourself and the world. You’ll also find hacks. My 2 year old daughter loves the water. I have determined that this love of water also extends to washing our tractor. Sure I still do a majority of the scrubbing but she has a blast helping and I get a minimally useful chore done. But, this is all training her to detail my vehicles as she gets older.
Just strap him on your chest and Alan & Carlos it. Nothing could go wrong.
While we should never neglect or abuse our precious little ones just keep in mind that babies and kids are definitely more tough and resilient than one might think. They have to be to survive first time parents.
A little diluted dishwasher detergent on a baby’s head will do absolutely no harm, and will get the oil off faster.
I will echo other commenters that even with solid jack stands you may not want to be alone under the car with the baby when doing that. That’s why I typically will use ramps under the end of the car I’m working on if the work doesn’t involve wheels or suspension.
You and Elise (NHRN) are doing fine, and Delmar will be fine.
“It’s the easiest job in the book, which is why I figured I could just sit baby-Delmar outside on his little rocker while I quickly slid under my range-extended carbon fiber commuter car; and I’d be done before he even noticed.”
BUAHAHAHAHAHAH… famous last words.
“Son of a bitch! Who cranked this stupid filter on with all their might? Why!? ”
Because oil change places, even the ones at dealers, are often staffed by low-paid, untrained idiots.
“We went inside, and I placed him down on his playmat, only to see a big stain of what appeared to be 5W-30 on his forehead.”
Well, I’d say he’s officially ‘baptized’ now… LOL
And some of them are actively angry at you and / or the next guy who does this service.
Don’t try this once he has a walker. My mom likes to repeat the story of the time my dad tried something similar and she drove home to find me joyfully in the middle of the street.
Just going to go out there and say…..don’t go under a car when you are the sole adult present with a baby, man! I don’t care if I have all the ramps and jackstands in the world under that thing. I’m not putting myself in that position unless someone else is around to take care of the baby…
And yeah, Dawn dish soap would have been fine so long as it is diluted before applying.
My kids are 6 and 4 now, but this article triggered me. Lots of memories like this. They always wait to explode until after you have oil all over yourself.
How many babies need to be pressed to get a quart of baby oil?
Depends on how big & plump they are at harvest.
Welcome to Parenthood! It is absolutely relentless.
Kids have a knack for needing attention at the worst moments. Only a few days ago, my kids start whining about needing help with their videogames while my hands are covered in raw chicken. Thankfully they’re old enough now that I can tell them they need to figure it out on their own because Dad can not help right now. Hopefully that’s a life skill…
Also, if I can make a recommendation on sleep time? Make as much noise as you usually would while baby is sleeping, it’ll pay dividends later. If you’re always desperate to be quiet and tip toe while they nap, they’re going to ALWAYS need complete silence to sleep and be constantly disturbed by regular life.
Both of mine will happily sleep through fireworks, thunder and us having loud conversations downstairs with family and I can also walk around my house without having to try and be a ninja at night.
The Not Real Name family 🙂
Is HIS name even David Tracy?
His passport says Travid Dacy.
I knew it. All is known now.
I always figured he was the automotive version of Jack Reacher…
No backpack, sling, or front pocket to carry him in? Just seemed that the was a bit far away.
Don’t forget to finish the oil change if you haven’t already.
Do they make baby sized creepers?
Do furniture dollies count?
Sounds like an opportunity for a “Will it Baby?” article!
Yes!
Get a narrow enough one and it could be used for supervised “tummy time” and maybe allow the little one to learn the mechanics of crawling without actually crawling yet.
I think that baby sling *under the i3* is the last thing that we should be advocating here!
I meant keeping the little one in the open cabin, like in the rear cargo area with the door open or similar. So he’d be right there at hand and able to sense his dad nearby, but not in the way (presumably), and still with enough airflow so he doesn’t get too hot (again, presumably).
“I drain probably-perfectly-good oil out of an engine I barely use, install a filter I spent far too many hours researching on Bob Is The Oil Guy, and then pour in some 0W-30 that I also spent far too much time researching? How does that sound?”
GET OUT OF MY HEAD
This is me, but 0W-40.
HA! Wait until they get older!
Baptism by oil. Start ’em early, I always say.
“We baptise you in the name of the Ford, the Smart, and the Hispano-Suiza. Amen.”
That’s the right attitude there. Just wait until he’s crawling. A quiet crawling or toddling baby is either sleeping or getting into something the adults thought was safe.
Yeah, it’s shocking how quickly quiet goes from being peaceful to being suspect.
The unrepentant gaze of an orange cat who is here to cause problems on purpose, I know it well
Orange cats do not cause problems on purpose. Causing problems on purpose requires brain cells, which orange cats do not possess
Cats started making more sense when I realized they’re the chihuahuas of the feline world.
Yesterday I scooped up the shattered remains of a ceramic lizard I received from a friend many years ago because my ginger dingus tried to “catch” it by hooking a paw around its tail and dropping it on the floor. I blamed myself for it being too accessible and it for looking too much like a real lizard. The cat remains blameless.
Shoving a 12mm allen key up your baby’s drain plug and trying to undo the BMW’s with a pacifier is never a good idea.
I’m not sure that putting the pacifier in the baby’s drain plug is a good idea either.