What do you do at 1:20 a.m.?

If you asked me what I was doing at 1:20 a.m. about five years ago, I'm sure the answer would be much different than what I'm doing at this very moment at 1:20 a.m.

Five years ago, I was living in Lancaster, Pa., and had absolutely no revelation that I'd be getting married anytime soon. It would be a Monday night/Tuesday morning and this time of year, it would be dart league.

When I moved to Pennsylvania, my buddy Nate (one of my groomsmen) talked me into shooting darts. We played a lot at the little haunt we'd frequent for wings, games and other things, but right about now, I think you know I'd probably still be awake. In the summer, it was English darts - the kind you see everywhere. In the winter, it was American darts, a very different game with steel-tipped wood darts and the game was called "baseball." We were the Quality Inn Monday Knights. We even had our own mascot, Monday Knight Skiles, one of our friends who shot with us. I will have an American dart board in my mancave when the time comes.

Now, as I sit at my computer, talking to some people on Facebook (brother-in-law Barry included), I've just warmed up Lucy's food. She's still on continuous feeds and that means either Abby or I have to wake up and fill up the pump. This usually occurs at 1 a.m. and around 5 a.m. I say usually because I'm more apt to get up (or still be up) at the 1 a.m. refill.

We're about a week away from leaving Colorado fully. As mentioned in previous posts, Abby's dad and I drove our stuff out to Minnesota a few weeks back.

Now, all we have here is clothes and some personal things like computers, phones and mail.

So I'm now wide awake and instead of doing any work for the magazine, which I've put in a lot of time into, mainly because we also have a bustling web presence, I figured I'd do a super secret update. I don't think Abby knows I post one of these until one of her friends or parents comments on it. So basically, that's the opening you guys need to narc on me for writing at such a wee hour (especially if you're in the Eastern Time Zone, where it's well after 3 a.m.).

One thing about this apartment we're at is you have a sense of cabin fever at times. No, I'm not about to break into an episode of The Shining (although we did see the infamous hotel inspiration up in Estes Park two years ago), but we don't have much space. I'm usually glued to this kitchen table working during the day. Sometimes Abby has to prod at me just a bit to unglue my rear from the indentation that used to be a cushion.

Being a father scares me.

I think every parent is scared when it comes to raising their kids at one time or another, if not all the time. I worry about how I'm holding her right. I'm hopeful she'll just speak up and say "I need to be changed," or "I want to sit in the boppy."

At four-and-a-half months old, she's not about to break into prose. By the time some of you read this, I will either be on baby duty while Abby does some things at the office or would have just survived baby duty trying to keep Lucy from crying until mommy gets home.

Last time was an adventure. She cried for about an hour straight. Just cranky. There is no such thing as an effective manual to keep a crying infant from well, crying.

I try picking her up, walking her around, checking her diaper, sitting her in the bassonett, on the boppy, under her mat thing that has the toys dangling from above. I try sitting her on my lap ... you just don't know sometimes.

One of my biggest worries is holding her properly. With her g-tube, it has to be an unpleasant feeling for Lucy to be held the wrong way. I'm almost too slow and too meticulous trying to avoid a mistake. Abby has said I'm pretty much not able to do anything when I'm holding Lucy, that's more for fear of screwing something up than it is being lazy. At least that's what I'd like her to believe (insert snickering emoticon here).

I'm happy to get back to Minnesota. One of my friends on the wrestling message boards joked me the other day about willingly going back to Minnesota to be closer to my in-laws. Most of those in-law jokes don't apply here. I only spent 18 months in Minnesota the last time I was there and despite the bone-chilling cold, the black chunks of ice caked to your wheel wells and the mosquitoes, Minnesota is the best place I've ever lived.

I think my stress level will be reduced, as will the travel, and I too have friends nearby. We won't be on an island anymore. Having Lucy around friends and family is something important to me. I want Lucy to have the things Abby had growing up. I had some of it, but in large, there is very little in common between our family dynamics. That's not a shot by any means, it was just vastly different.

I remember complaining to my mom about going to my grandparents house because I didn't want beets and crabcakes for lunch. My grandma Eugina (mom's side) would pretty much have the same spread each time we went up. My grandma Eva (dad's side) would have a more normal spread. But even though I didn't like the hour ride up there, I enjoyed my time when I was there and I want Lucy to know her grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. My family was mostly spread out from Connecticut to Louisiana when I was a kid.

I've been on two family vacations with the Los-Bryant-Braun clan and it's been great. I didn't have many family vacations and I might have only seen my aunts and uncles anywhere from once to four times a year. Even with the issues Lucy has gone through already in her young life, having that support system close by helps relieve the uneasiness I feel. I don't want to be an inadequate father.

Sure, I'll be working a lot and I feel a lot of responsibility resting on my shoulders to bring the wrestling magazine back to relevance and prominence. But ultimately, being able to work in a field I enjoy and have the rest of my nuclear family in a happier place will make everything work out.

Plus, The Busch Family (they're like a family of my own) have a sweet cabin down in Wabasha.

So that's what I'm doing at 1:40 in the morning in 2012 ... rather than sleeping on my couch in a one-bedroom apartment in Lancaster.

I wonder how old Lucy will be when she finally asks why her name is tattooed on my leg?