9 Months

Movin' on up!

2007-02-24T10:13:00.000-05:00

We are back in the blog world. Not only will I be leaving posts, but Trac will also be leaving updates and stories as well. And as soon as CT learns to type, he will be leaving messages. Right now, he just drools on the keyboard.

We can now be reached at :

http://calvinthomas13.blogspot.com/

Please stop by for a visit for the latest news on Calvin, and to a lesser extent, his parents.

I'm 4 months old now

2007-01-16T19:19:00.000-05:00

Epilogue: The End of a Blog

2006-10-03T12:38:00.000-04:00

A very stupid man once uttered the words “bring on the chaos”. That stupid man was me. Caring for an infant is MUCH harder than I anticipated.

Before the baby arrived, the phrase “feed the baby” meant simply, to give the baby a bottle. This, in fact, is a gross over simplification of the truth.

“Feeding the baby” actually means – checking the baby’s diaper pre-feeding to make sure he is not sitting in a soiled diaper while eating. Preparing the bottle, possibly with one hand if he is crying and mommy is sleeping. Administering the bottle in small half-ounce doses, burping him at each break to minimize spit-up, which usually happens anyway. After the bottle is empty, sitting still for 30 minutes keeping him upright, again in an attempt to minimize spit-up. In that time, it is a safe bet that he will have devastated another diaper so it’s back to the changing table before he can go to sleep. After the fresh diaper is in place, it is a good idea to remove the dribble-soaked bib and most likely get him in a new shirt. In total, it proves to be, at the very least, an hour long process.

Thus, I will no longer have the energy or brain cells to continue frequent posts and a good blog cannot survive on scant once a week updates. It is hard to believe I started this thing 10 months ago when we first were informed little Calvin was a mere flickering dot on the sonogram screen, the size of a piece of rice.

On behalf of Tracy, Calvin and myself, I want to thank everyone for coming along for the ride. Your comments, suggestions and helpful tips have been much appreciated. I will continue to browse your blogs and we can be reached at DerekM13@comcast.net & TracyM13@comcast.net so please keep in touch with us.

Good day and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Reinforcements have arrived

2006-09-28T17:10:00.000-04:00

Before Calvin arrived, I remember telling my wife how lucky she was being able to stay home for 12 weeks and lounge around all day. She laughed and asked me how much free time did I really think she would have. In all honesty, I thought it would be a lot.

News flash. Infants are a lot of work. I had my first horrible peeing accident today. While changing a diaper, I thought had his lu-lu thoroughly covered. I looked away for a split second and the Fountain of Calvin had erupted. This warm pee bath must have triggered another reflex because the poop started flowing. He looked like a tube of toothpaste being squeezed.

Today my sister, a mother of two small children, flew in to see the baby and offer some support. Tomorrow I go back to work. Ha! Work. Try caring for a week old child for a couple of days. Now that is work.

His first game

2006-09-26T11:34:00.000-04:00

Hey Calvin - What did you think of your first Patriots game Sunday night?

Yeah. Me too. They stunk.

Home Sweet Home

2006-09-25T06:36:00.000-04:00

We are finally home from the hospital. Last night I got two hours sleep. Which is good. That is about an hour more than the previous few nights. I think I have stopped seeing hallucinations but the blurred double vision is still there. When does this get easier??

Trac is feeling better. Still in plenty of discomfort but she is up and moving around. Walking on what used to be her ankles, but have since swelled to what looks like minature tree trunks.

For those who haven't been able to visit him yet, here are a couple more pics.

Say Hello To My Little Friend!

2006-09-22T15:10:00.000-04:00

Once again, I give you Calvin Thomas Medwid.

Finally!

2006-09-22T01:30:00.000-04:00

After 40 weeks of preparation and torture, I am proud to relay that we have a new member of our family.

Mr. Calvin Thomas Medwid! (We also accept Cal or C.T. for you Real World lovers)
He was born at about 10pm, weighing 7 pounds and 8 ounces and measuring 19 1/2 inches.
We pushed for two solid hours. Tracy gave it a Herculean (sp?, it's late) effort but little Calvin refused to come out so the doc went in and got him C-Section style.
Mommy is resting comfortably. She just had her first bonding session with Cal.

I haven't eaten in nearly 24 hours and there is a good chance I won't even make it back to my hospital bed, probably collasping in the hallway somewhere.

Pictures and a final word coming soon. :-)

Quick update

2006-09-21T10:14:00.000-04:00

We are checked in. Doc already started the Petocin (sp?).
Our nurse, a lovely lady from England, estimates time of arrival between 5pm and 7pm. Trac still hopes it will be more like lunchtime.
Water will be brokoen around noonish.
All systems go...

THIS IS NOT A TEST!

2006-09-21T06:26:00.000-04:00

I repeat. This is not a test.

The President has raised the baby alert level to code Purple, which stands for “scared shitless.” Sound the alarm…AaaahWooogaaah!

Time to boil water or boil peanuts. Boil something. This is what we have been training for. Remember your breathing techniques. Hee hee…Hoo hoo. Or is it Hoo hah…Hoo hah?! Christ, I can’t remember.

Let’s run some red lights. We are on our way to the hospital. (Ok, there is no need to rush. We have a scheduled check-in time for 8am, but dammit I want to run at least one red light!)

We will bring you live team coverage as events unfold. There is a computer room downstairs in the hospital. I will have Tracy occasionally hold off on pushing so I can provide updates.

Until then, this is the soon-to-be daddy signing off.

4 DAYS LEFT!

2006-09-18T21:28:00.000-04:00

Today started with another unexpected visit to the doctor’s office. For the first time since we became pregnant, I decided not to go in with Trac to the see the doctor. Instead, I opted to sit outside and read my book.

While reading, I observed a young couple, apparently early in their stages of pregnancy. She looked nauseous. He looked indifferent, blabbing away on his cell phone. Shortly after, I noticed she was sitting on the ground, cupping both her forehead and stomach. Ah, memories of the first trimester. How sweet it was. I continued reading only to be interrupted by cell phone guy barking at his wife/girlfriend;

“Get Up! Will you just get up! You are sitting in your own puke. That’s disgusting.”

Yep, she was. And he’s going to make a fine dad some day. Anyway, they worked out their issue and I attempted to keep reading, secretly hoping in some small way that Tracy would emerge from the office with our child in hand. “The doctor said it was ready so she just yanked it out”, she would say as she hands me little D’Brickashaw.

Alas, nothing of the sort happened. We are still on target for a Thursday inducing (or would it be induction?) though we could go earlier because, as the doc put it, Tracy is a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

We got lots of helpful hints for ways to kick-start the birthing process.

 Do lots of walking – “lots” is a relative term when you can only walk .03 miles per hour. We left our house at lunchtime and reached the end of our driveway by dusk. (meaning we were walking very slowly, not that we have a really really long driveway)
 Spicy foods & castor oil – seems like urban legends but we tried neither so I cannot confirm nor deny the effects.
 Adult relations – um, I never thought I’d say this but, I pass.
 Clean the kitchen floor on hands and knees – Now this one seems practical. You help speed up labor and you get a cleansed floor. Of course, if your water does break, so much for the clean floor. This method, as with the spicy food, was not tested.
 Rubbing the breasts – I rubbed mine all day Saturday and nothing happened.

And so, the wait continues.

Always Use Protection

2006-09-16T23:06:00.000-04:00

Here is an item every new father should own. It is a Daddy Bib.

For those men who cringe at the thought of being coated by drool and spit-up, this bib combines all the protection of those sissy burp-cloths, with the sleek stylish look of shoulder pads.

You can wear this bib around the house all day, and it just looks like you are getting ready to go play football with the guys.

(Hat and sunglasses sold separately)

6 DAYS LEFT!

2006-09-16T22:58:00.000-04:00

One good thing about being pregnant - it allowed us to watch the entire Season 2 of Lost in 9 days.

On a related note, if the child is a boy his name will now be Mr. Eko Hurley Medwid. If it is a girl...same thing.

8 DAYS LEFT!

2006-09-14T21:33:00.000-04:00

I know what you are thinking. Derek, you can't add. Or in this case subtract. Just yesterday, it was 12 days left.

Today we went for what should prove to be our final ultrasound. We got a few more good close-ups of the spine, heart, feet and head. And we could see the little mouth moving. He/she appeared to be chewing sunflower seeds.

They also estimated the weight. This little bugger is huge. Something like 24 pounds already. When it comes out, it is going right into the 2nd grade. Anyway, the doc has scheduled next Thursday for Trac to be induced. And me to be sedated.

That means one way or another, D'Brickashaw will be here within a week. Good lord.

IT'S A BOY!!!!

2006-09-13T23:04:00.000-04:00

My friends just got new puppy and it is a boy. Nice for them. As for us, we are still without our new child. Any day now.

I have started nesting. I sprayed the kitchen with bug spray. Is that considered nesting or just responsible home ownership?

We purchased yet another infant necessity. Actually, we exchange our current baby sleep positioner for the top of the line model. This is the crème de le crème of infant sleep aids. The top of the line. If baby sleep positioners were gay cowboy movies, this one would be the Brokeback Mountain of them all.

It has like 9 different positions so the baby never sleeps on the same side of it’s head. I think you can even leave the baby alone for a weekend on this thing and it will periodically rotate and, I assume, feed the child when needed. It is that good.

Big day tomorrow. Big big day. Our final Ultrasound. I may have important news by tomorrow evening.

13 DAYS LEFT

2006-09-12T23:21:00.000-04:00

We’re still here.

Today’s topic – Breastfeeding vs. the bottle

If you tell someone you aren’t sure if you are going to breastfeed, you will undoubtedly get a look of unconditional contempt. They’ll probably shake their head in disapproval and in extreme cases, take a swing at you. As if the alternative to breastfeeding for a child, is Jim Beam and cigarettes. Shortly after you mention the word bottle, they will don their medical caps and explain why you should, nay you must, use the breast.

Now, you can tell me that one should breastfeed for many reasons. The nutrients in the milk; the benefits for the mother; even saving money on formula. All valid points. But don’t tell me you need to do it because that is how you bond with your child. I’m not sure I buy that one.

You just carried this creation around inside you for 40 weeks; you brought it into the world; you hold it, feed it, change it and make googlely-eyes at it all day long. After all of that, if you need to breastfeed in order to bond with your child, I think you may have other issues.

Anyway, I’m not saying we aren’t choosing that option. I just resent being told what to do. But there have been many a healthy children who were bottle-fed. If I recall correctly, I fall into that category. And I haven’t had a cold in 3 years.

Intermediate Update

2006-09-12T09:36:00.000-04:00

No baby yet. I apologize for the lack of posts.

Full report tonight. Looks like it is coming soon.

16 DAYS LEFT

2006-09-09T23:48:00.000-04:00

In what may have been my last Saturday without the responsibilities of being a parent, I spent my time watching 7 episodes of Lost - Season 2, as well as Scary Movie 4.

Times are tough.

17 DAYS LEFT

2006-09-08T22:51:00.000-04:00

POKEY MOM

Trac’s strides are getting shorter and her right leg is looking a little puffy. The doctor said the only way to get rid of the puffiness is to have the baby.

It’s funny. Now when we leave work for the weekend, people are sort of giving that look like they might not see us for a while.

Other women, who have been pregnant along with us, are starting to have their babies. They are dropping like flies.

When someone tells me his or her due date is in October or later, I can only laugh.

18 DAYS LEFT

2006-09-07T22:44:00.000-04:00

As a person who will wager on almost anything (baseball, football, hurricanes, Presidential elections), I am surprised I didn’t think to start a baby pool. But it completely slipped my mind. I think I was always assuming the baby would come early (and healthy) and I wouldn’t have time to worry about the actual day.

I had a guess as to when she/he would arrive but tonight I changed my mind. I now know when it will be here. Thinking back to when we got pregnant, we had been trying for a bit of time and finally decided not to stress about it anymore. As a way of not stressing, we book a trip to Dublin (Ireland, for those geographically challenged). Immediately after the trip was booked, D’Brickashaw was conceived (thank you New Year’s Eve).

I don’t ask for much these days but I am not ashamed to admit I am looking forward to opening day for the NFL this Sunday. I plan to watch the 1pm game, 4pm game and then at 8pm flip between Family Guy and the evening football game. Which means Brick will be here this Sunday morning. Probably around 12:50pm or so. I can just see the conversation –

(Opening kickoff moments away)

“Honey! I think my water just broke!”

“Are you sure? Maybe you just spilled some water in your lap.”

“Um, no. It really is time now!”

“Didn’t they say something in class about how it’s best to wait a few hours before actually driving to the hospital after your water breaks?”

After that, I only see me getting hit by a shoe. My guess: Sept 10th, slightly before 1pm.

19 DAYS LEFT

2006-09-06T22:53:00.000-04:00

We have 19 days until the due date. Within the next 19 days (hopefully no more!) our child will be here and thus, this blog will go the way of the dodo and cease to exist. While I will be sad to let go of this forum, I will be more excited to move past this pregnancy stage and on to new challenges.

With that in mind, I am resigned to chronicling the final 19 or so days as they occur.

This evening we attended another parenting class. Infant CPR. It’s basically the same as regular CPR except on a smaller scale. I dozed off during some of the lessons. If I recall correctly, when a child starts choking, you just hold it upside down by the feet until the food is dislodged. I may have to confirm this with Tracy.

And today we had yet another doctor appointment. They are weekly now. I am proud to say I continue my streak of perfect attendance at these appointments. I do little more than hold Trac’s purse while she is being weighed but I consider that a very important job. Tracy also has perfect attendance.

Exciting news! The doc informed us that the head has dropped further down and the cervix has thinned out! Brick is on the move. Several years ago, a chiropractor told me my right leg is 4 centimeters shorter than my left leg. A woman needs to be at 10 centimeters before she can give birth. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

How I Spent My Labor Day Vacation

2006-09-03T22:46:00.000-04:00

At our last doctor’s visit, the nurse estimated the baby’s current weight at 6.2 pounds. Yesterday, we ate dinner at Sweet Tomatoes and after my salad, two bowls of soup, 3 slices of pizza, 2 dishes of pasta, a brownie sundae and some apple cherry cobbler, I felt like I had a 6 pound child inside of me. I feel I can now, in some small way, empathize with the likes of a pregnant woman of 37 weeks. I couldn’t move.

I see Tracy and I understand the simplest movements are such a chore. Rolling over in bed is a 5-step process involving several stages of shifting the body and the rearranging of multiple pillows. Trying to get up from the sofa unassisted is an exercise in futility. She looks like little Randy Parker from A Christmas Story; that kid that couldn’t get up because he was layered in excessive snow gear.

So when Tracy asked for help shaving her legs, I thought it best to acquiesce. Apparently she doesn’t trust me with a razor, so she purchased a product called Veet. Just slather it on, wait 5 minutes and wipe the hair away. Sounds simple.

But this was not some 9½ Weeks-like sensual practice in spousal bonding. No sir. I realized that when I read the directions and in large bold letters they make it clear to remove this product from the skin within ten minutes or you’d receive horrible 3rd degree burns worthy of a subsequent visit to Nip/Tuck plastic surgeons. Jeez, no pressure.

They give you a small tool that looks like a miniature windshield ice scraper, which you use to remove the Veet. I was surprised that the hair was actually coming off. I mean, she was no Sasquatch, but the little scraper wiped the leg clean. She seemed happy with the results and I realized two things. First, people weren’t kidding when they said life would never be the same after we became pregnant. And second, yes Veet does work on men too.

Waiting is the hardest part

2006-09-01T13:01:00.000-04:00

The last month of gestation sucks. It rivals the first month and dealing with the morning sickness. There is nothing to do. It’s boring. You just wait and wait. It’s like waking up every day and being told you have to stand in line at the DMV all day.

The new frontier of becoming pregnant has been explored. The baby’s room is ready. Our hospital bags are packed. I have assembled the stroller and installed the car seats. And I know everything there is to know about the cervix.

And I don’t want to hear how I should enjoy the peace and quiet now because things are about to get hectic. Hectic is good. I welcome the frantic, confusing and chaotic. Bring it on.

At this point I wouldn’t mind getting hit by a car just to break up the monotony. Not sustaining any crippling injuries. Maybe just the kind of accident where I see the car at the last second so I have enough time to jump up on the hood and my back cracks the windshield but I am still coherent enough to turn to the driver and shout “Stop this damn car!” through the glass. Then he jams on the brakes and I roll off the hood and tumble forcefully to the ground.

Yes, I am that bored.

Rock you like a hurricane

2006-08-30T07:40:00.000-04:00

We’ve survived the storm, in case anyone was concerned.

Other than dying of boredom, Tropical Storm Ernesto was of little threat to us. It was a real dud. I’ve created greater wind velocity passing gas. While we did have several strong false labor pains last night, D’Brick remains comfortably inside the womb with 26 days to go.

Hurricane Baby

2006-08-28T09:00:00.000-04:00

In lieu of the approaching hurricane, if the atmospheric pressure drops significantly causing Tracy to go into labor, and we end up having a boy, it would be fitting that we name the child Ernesto Medwid.

As of the 5am advisory this morning, the National Hurricane Center says “These conditions would favor the possibility of Ernesto becoming a category 2 or even a category 3 hurricane before making landfall along the Florida coast.”.

Keep your fingers crossed for us.

The Final Countdown!

2006-08-23T22:04:00.000-04:00

We have only 33 days left until our due date. My medical training tells me that we aren’t going to make it that long. According to many unsolicited opinions, D’Brickashaw has dropped. She is carrying lower. We are experiencing Braxton-Hicks contractions. (Do I know my terminology, or what?!) It is time to secure a plan in case we start to dilate.

With just about a month to go, here is the scoop:

 I am drained. I feel like I just finished the Iditarod and I was one of the dogs pulling the sled. There is no time to rest right now. If you aren’t working or sleeping, it is a safe bet that you are doing something baby related. Only 18 more years of this to go.

 I started reading to the baby. Some pregnancy guides say it’s a good idea for me to talk to the child so he/she gets used to hearing my voice. Yes, that sounds a little strange but I figure it can’t hurt. The book I have chosen is Nick Hornby’s “A Long Way Down”. It is the story of 4 people who meet, by chance, on New Year’s Eve on the rooftop of a London building. Each has shown up there intent on committing suicide. Ok, so it’s not Dr. Seuss but at least I try and censer any F bombs while reading.

 Pampers or Huggies? I am still not sure.

 We almost have our hospital bags packed. First, we had to wash some of Brick’s new clothes. We had to use a detergent specifically designed for infants called Dreft. Or Drift. Or something like that. I don’t know what is so extraordinary about it but considering this special detergent and the bottle warmer and the diaper genie and the baby wipes warmer, I am wondering how our parents ever survived without all this stuff.

 This may be the final picture posted of Tracy with a belly.

A letter to Graco

2006-08-19T13:46:00.000-04:00

Dear Mr. Graco:

I am trying to install your infant car seat. 15 minutes into this ordeal and I am already annoyed. For someone who rarely travels with infants, I would think one of the most obvious questions is - where do I install this thing? Forty-three pages later through your an instruction manual, and I am still unsure. I thought it would be on page one. I was wrong.

On page 17, you made sure to tell me “Never Leave Your Child Unattended”.
Well, duh! Thanks a lot, you child caring whiz. I guess the manual should also include such parenting gems like “Remember to periodically feed your child” and “After a bath, do not use oven to dry child”.

There is only one paragraph that mentions infant seat positioning. It reads as follows; “Whenever possible, secure the infant restraint in the center position of the seat directly behind the front seats. An adult should ride in the rear seat to watch the child. If the driver is the only other adult in the car, a child may need to ride in the front seat but only if there is no air-bag”.

What the hell does whenever possible mean? How do I know if it is possible? And if it is not, are you telling me the only other place to put the child is in the front seat? But I have an airbag there. So now what? I guess the next line of that paragraph should read;
If it is not possible to secure the child in the center and you do have passenger side airbags, then you should not have had a child.

Forget this unnecessary car seat contraption, I am just going to hold my kid on my lap. Brittany Spears does it and she has to be a good parent because she is famous, right?

Frustratingly yours,

Derek

Credit where credit is due

2006-08-18T12:32:00.000-04:00

“She's short and skinny, but she's strong. Her first baby...come out sideways. She didn't scream or nothing.”
- Owen from Planes Trains and Automobiles

I have heard some horror stories about how my wife is going to behave in the final trimester. It has best been described as a lose-lose situation. I’ll get yelled at for being home, cursed at for not being home and pretty much anything I say will be wrong and irritating.

I may be jinxing myself but so far I have yet to see that side show its ugly face. She has been terrific. The worst incident I can recall happened a couple of weeks ago. I received a phone call from Tracy at work.

She asked, “Where did we go after the hospital on Saturday morning?”

“We drove down Glades Road to..”

“No. That’s not what I mean. I am missing my folder. Where did we go after the hospital?”

“Well, we drove past the Pediatrician’s office and then by Rag Shops..”

“NO! (louder, this time) That’s not what I am asking!”

“Um, honey. I have no idea how to answer your question.”

“Fine. Forget it.” (click)

All things considered, I think I am getting off extremely easy in the raging hormones category.

It's a Deluge!

2006-08-15T09:51:00.000-04:00

Well, they are finally over. We had more showers than New Orleans during Katrina. So many gifts from so many generous people. I am so appreciative of all the support from family, friends and co-workers. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Which says a lot, coming from a guy who used to own a T-shirt with the words "I Hate People" printed on the front and "I Hate You" on the back.

We may have to put our house up for sale and find something bigger. You'd never know this was all for one child. You would think Tracy was giving birth to the Partridge Family. Here is what my living room now looks like:

And of course, my favorite gift. I sampled it this morning and it seems to work well.

Deliverance

2006-08-12T00:05:00.000-04:00

“Is it possible to just request a C-Section?”

It was about halfway into our 3rd parenting class when I asked the teacher this question. She looked at me peculiarly as if to say, why would anyone want to do that? Suzanne, the teacher, then told me she has seen it done, although it is fairly rare.

At this point in class, she started discussing a vaginal birth and all of its gruesome details. The intense pain. The poking and prodding. Sticking a needle into your spinal cord (but not too far, like you have ample room to maneuver in there) just to help ease the discomfort. Dilating to 10 centimeters! We saw what 10 centimeters looks like. It looks like no picnic.

And that is just the beginning. How about an episiotomy? It is better to be cut than to tear naturally. That is a sentence I should have never had to hear in my lifetime. During delivery, you’ll get medication for nausea but it may not suffice. You still might puke. Not to mention, I just read that it is not unlikely to have a bowel movement during the process. They never showed any of this when Elyse Keaton gave birth to Andrew on Family Ties!

I’ve heard enough. C-Section it is.

With thirty minutes to go in the class, Suzanne pops in the C-Section DVD. The video shows a woman who pushes for 3 hours before she is taken for a Cesarean. As they roll the woman to the operating room, I am compelled to ask;

“Are they going to show everything?”

“Yes. Of course.”

And like the proverbial train wreck, I couldn’t look away. It was like watching the Blair Witch Project. I was terrified but still peeking through my hands, which were shielding my eyes. The knife slices her open. Suddenly, there is a head. The doctors are holding the head while someone is using a blue, what looked to be a miniature turkey baster, around the infant’s neck.

“Good Lord! What are they doing to that child?!”, I couldn’t help shouting. I think someone answered me (it may even have been Tracy) but I do not recall what was said. The baby comes out and other stuff follows and if I never hear the word “discharge” again, it’ll be too soon. We were both woozy after this session.

Ok, so vaginal is out. C-section is out. I am praying there is an option #3 I haven’t read about yet.

A Beautiful Mind

2006-08-08T19:03:00.000-04:00

A quote from page 447 of my Mayo Clinic pregnancy book reads, "Sometimes women become more forgetful or absent-minded during pregnancy. You may have trouble concentrating or feel like you are in a fog."

I am living proof that this ailment also impacts men. By the third trimester, your mind is so overloaded with baby stuff, you start to feel like Leonard in the movie Memento, where the only way you can remember something is to tattoo it on your body.

You wake up in the morning and, try as you might to focus on something else, your thoughts inevitably end up sounding like, "I really need to weed the baby walkway because baby people are coming to baby visit this weekend and if I baby don’t do it today baby baby baby baby…, what was I saying?"

And this ends up interfering with simple daily activities. Sure, it starts out insignificant. The other day I put ice in my glass, completely forgetting to add the water, and when I went to take a sip, the ice cube clanked off my tooth like a puck of the goal post. Ha-ha, dopey me.

Then it progresses to things like this.

This is actually what my fridge looked like after I unloaded the groceries. Can you guess which item doesn’t belong? No, we generally don’t keep an unopened box of Cheerios in the refrigerator.

A few days ago, this disease migrated to the next level. I pulled into my driveway, shut off the radio and gathered my belongings. Simultaneously, I started thinking about what day would be best to assemble our new crib. Well, a funny thing…I never put the car in park. It was still in drive and I was about 1.24 seconds from lifting my foot off the brake and introducing the front of my car to my garage door. Thankfully, I caught it just in time.

The most recent incident, and certainly the most troubling, occurred yesterday morning. When I finished showering, I began toweling off as usual. Starting with my hair, then my face and so on, saving for last, the areas of your body, how do I put this delicately, the areas that should be toweled off last. I live in south Florida where the current daily temperature is over 90 degrees and the humidity off the charts. Your eyelids sweat when you blink. So you have to make sure you completely dry those dark hidden places on your body.

As I vigorously worked to make sure these areas were dry, my mind began to wander. "What if we have a boy and I am asked to umpire one of his little league games. If my son is up at bat, and there is a close pitch, do I call it a ball and risk people thinking I am playing favorites or do I call it a strike and risk pissing off my kid…"

As soon as this obscure thought faded, I snap back to reality to the abhorrent realization that I am once again drying my face. And it occurs to me that this towel, which is now draped all over my head, just came from an area of considerably less visibility. Dammit! Back in the shower!

Crashing my car is one thing but this was too much. Hopefully this absent-mindedness will end once the baby arrives. I mean, once the kid is here, there is much less to worry about, right? RIGHT?!

A Word of Advice

2006-08-05T23:21:00.000-04:00

When a women who is 33 weeks pregnant tells you to do something… you do it!! The proper response to the statement -

“Derek, don’t forget we have parenting class tonight.”

is not,

“Aw man, I hate that class. Can we skip it?”

You wouldn’t think a petite 100-pound woman could hurl a ceramic bowl with such velocity but I have the bruise to prove it!

For the remaining 51 days, my vocabulary is limited to two words – “Yes, Dear.”

Christmas in August

2006-08-02T22:40:00.000-04:00

“Have a good shower. Use soap.” So said Tom Hanks in the comedy classic Bachelor Party. He was referring to a bridal shower but I am here to discuss a baby shower. My co-workers threw me a surprise baby shower with surprise being optimal word.

I walked into the conference room and the look on my face portrayed a combination of shock and uneasiness. Probably what Mel Gibson looked like right after he got pulled over. But unfortunately for me, I was not loaded.

The meeting request on my calendar said DM luncheon. I was told it stood for divisional managers or something along those lines, never connecting the dots that my initials are, obviously, DM. I even stumbled across my friend, who also happens to be the co-worker that planned this whole shindig, in the grocery store a couple of days before the shower. I noticed she had like 7 bottles of soda in her carriage but Sherlock Holmes here could only deduce, in a comment later made to Tracy, that “Terry sure drinks a lot of soda.”

Sure enough, there is a table positioned in the front of the room. Cameras are flashing like the paparazzi at a movie premiere. (It may have only been one camera but it felt like dozens.) The entire room gawks awkwardly at me like they are expecting me to say something clever. “Let’s eat!” is about all I am able to muster.

After a delicious lunch, it was time to focus on the mountainous stack of presents resting patiently to my left. One by one, I opened each gift and thanked the appropriate person. There were lots of great presents in the pile but not a single video game or power tool in the bunch. In fact, come to think of it, nearly every present I opened was for the baby. Still, it was quite a gesture from these people and I was very touched.

Now that his/her room is nearly ready and we have another whole room stacked with infant gifts, our house is starting to really look like we have a baby on the way. 54 more days! Enough said.

Southwest Sensations

2006-07-30T22:19:00.000-04:00

Yes, I know. I went to great lengths to explain why I wasn’t so keen on the idea of a “theme” for the baby’s room. So it is with a moderate degree of hesitation that I admit we did in fact pick a theme for this child’s room. Not knowing the sex of the baby makes it a little difficult. If we decorated in butterflies and then had a boy, he may turn out like Tyler on the Real World. Of course, by that I mean self-loathing and bitter.

In keeping with the décor of our home, we went with a southwestern theme. What we didn’t realize was that we, along with only about 4 other couples in the country, have chosen this theme. Locating southwestern decorations for a child’s room has been tediously difficult. (Big props to Sue for actually finding southwestern crib bedding!)

Here is a sample of the wall stencil that took 4.5 hours on a ladder and cost me two leg cramps and all feeling in my right shoulder (which still hasn’t fully returned).

Now, while we are working towards deciding on a traditional name for the child, I am thinking we should come up with a secondary Native American name. Something catchy. Something like Topper Harley’s Indian name in HotShots:

Commander Block: “Topper Harley?”

Topper: “Once perhaps. Now I am called, Tooka Chinchilla.”

Commander Block: “What does it mean?”

Topper: “Fluffy Bunny Feet.”

Yes, something like that. Any suggestions?

The Tooth Fairy is not real!

2006-07-27T12:04:00.000-04:00

It started out as such a cute story. A friend of mine was telling me how her little girl just lost her first tooth. And, after explaining the concept behind the Tooth Fairy, the little girl decided that, not only did she want the loot, but she would also like to keep her first tooth. (I can only assume it would be to sell it on Ebay and make double the profit.) So she sat down with her mom, and they wrote a letter to the Tooth Fairy, asking politely if she would kindly leave the cash and the tooth. How dear.

This friend then explained that while she intended to leave $5 under the pillow, neither her nor her husband had a five dollar bill so instead they left a sawbuck! Yes, $10 !!

What..what..what??! I had no idea the going tooth rate had escalated along with the housing market. I’m pretty sure as a kid, the underneath of my pillow only saw whatever loose change that my dad had in his pocket. I am going to have to explain to my child that, with interest rates being so low, the Tooth Fairy was able to increase her dollar per tooth output; however most experts are predicting the bicuspid bubble will soon burst and prices will fall drastically.

And speaking of losing teeth, what do you do with the teeth after you swipe them from the pillow? Throw the out? Pour Coke on them and watch them decay? Make a little molar mobile? Maybe they will explain all this in Parenting class tonight.

Comfortably Numb

2006-07-24T22:18:00.000-04:00

Over the last month or so, I have become more relaxed. More at ease. As each day would begin, I pretty much knew what to expect from my wife and from myself. That was, until the other night when Tracy said;

“Honey. Don’t forget. We have Lamaze class tonight.”

“Great! Who is Lamar and what is he teaching?”

“Just be ready to leave at 7 o’clock.”

The actual name of the class is Childbirth and Parenting and we were told to bring 2 pillows and a blanket. The class begins and I am immediately unnerved as I look around the room at all of the protruding paunches. Adding to my anxiety, the teacher asks us to greet the couple to our left and introduce each other. I quickly realized that any thoughts I had on how this evening would go were severely misguided.

I pictured that we would arrive in class; a few pleasantries would be exchanged, the teacher would smile and answer a few questions, perhaps bring me some tea and a cinnamon scone. Boy, was I wrong.

First off, she hands us a stack of literature that could choke a brontosaurus. Magazines, pamphlets, leaflets and handouts. We even received these bra sponges you use in case your boobs leak. I kid you not. This starts to overwhelm me and I can feel my nerves fraying one by one.

Next, the couple to my left starts having these snickering fits every time the teacher says the word breast. Um, guys. You’re having a kid. Shouldn’t you be past the “hee-hee, the teacher said a naughty word” phase of life?

And then, it gets worse. Considerably worse. Less than an hour into class, the teacher has already popped in “the video”. This was not on the syllabus! I was figuring the video wouldn’t be shown until the last class. And I planned to ditch that day. I just met all of these people 45 minutes ago and suddenly we are all huddled together watching a placenta heaved from some stranger woman’s vagina?! (Better not say vagina in front of the giggle twins)

At this point I am visibly shaken. I took our blanket, the one we were required to bring, and wrapped it around my shoulders for comfort as I tried to find a happy place inside. The video progresses into describing a series of unsettling medical terms. I know a “mucus plug” is, in fact, actually a plug of mucus but can we not come up with some euphemistic description? Something like, I don’t know, squishy baby stopper would be a little less graphic-image inducing. The squishy baby stopper sounds like a little saturated foam pillow keeping the baby in place. Ah, nice.

I tried to repress these images but one in particular keeps replaying over and over like when Marsha Brady got hit in the nose with the football. (Ow, my nose! Mom always said don’t play ball in the house). They showed this woman in mid-push looking down between her legs to see the baby’s head, while the rest of its body was still inside her. Good Christ! I can’t even look at my elbow if I scrape it playing hockey. With any luck, I’ll contract an unexpected case of scurvy or whooping cough so I can be excuse from this week’s class.

Where's Waldo?

2006-07-19T19:57:00.000-04:00

When you are expecting a baby, not only does it disorient your life and mind but also, undoubtedly, your home will need rearranging before the child’s arrival. Although we have made some progress there is still much work to be done. This is what our kitchen table currently looks like. Try finding your keys on that bad boy! Come to think of it, this table is pretty symbolic of how my brain feels.

We have our first baby class Thursday night. I am not sure what we are going to learn. Possibly that whole “hee-hee-hoo-hoo” breathing technique.

Pictured in the photo from left to right: Mom-in-Law, D’Brickshaw, Mommy-to-be (with less than 10 weeks left!) & Dad-in-Law.

So much to do. So little time.

Sunday, Bloody Good Sunday!

2006-07-17T13:12:00.000-04:00

“My karma ran over your dogma”
- from a bumper sticker we saw in Sedona

Sunday was a very strange day. Have you ever had one of those days where everything seems to be going wrong? For me, that is just about any day with a “Y” in it. But yesterday…was different.

It started first thing in the morning. We were out of peanut butter chips, so I could not make my world famous “peanut butter chip pancakes”. (Go ahead. Ask about them next time you are in Yemen. They know. ) Instead of eating in, we decide to go to the local bagel café. We are lucky enough to grab the last available booth. Shortly after our arrival, a couple enters toting a young child. We hear them tell the hostess they will wait for a booth, rather than sit at one of the less comfortable tables. Tracy and I decide to move to a table, and inform the couple they can have our booth. They are very appreciative and thank us abundantly. Upon leaving, they once again say thanks before heading out. Our waitress then comes over and tells us they picked up our tab for breakfast. Sweet! Free grub.

On the way home from breakfast, I make it through a traffic light I NEVER make. Seems like a small matter but this light haunts me like rolling balls haunt Bill Buckner. She’s a funny thing that Karma.

We had already designated Sunday a house-preparing, errand-running day. With only 10 weeks left, time is ticking away. One of the many items on my “to do” list was replace the master bath shower head with a new one and move the one from the master bath to the guest bath. Water values and heavy duty glue were involved so this was surely a recipe for disaster. At the very least, I figured Rodnetta was going to learn some new 4 letter words. I am happy (thrilled actually) to say I managed to complete this task without flooding either bathroom or epoxying myself to any tiles (or to other parts of myself for that matter). Granted this was not rocket science, but the results were unprecedented in my home improvement history. Oh Glorious day!

And the day just kept getting better. We have been trying to sell a dresser for months. Yesterday, we receive a call inquiring about the dresser from our ad on Craigslist.com. Less than an hour later, the dresser is in the back of some guy named Kaz’s pick-up truck on its way to a new home.

After we sold the dresser, it was time for another stop at…(gulp) Home Depot. We had decided to try a different size air filter in hopes that I could forcibly squeeze the new one in place. So there I was, standing in the air filter aisle, looking at all of my options, when I notice a brand new box of filters that match the exact specifications I need. I may be mistaken but the box seemed to be glowing as I heard a chorus-like “ahhhhhhh” echoing in my head. Truly something divine was happening.

Our final stop on the errand trail was a craft store for paints and fabric. As we left the store, Tracy notices they only charged us for one yard of fabric. Free fabric! Sweet. At this point we are both a little spooked. I was half expecting to drop dead right there on the spot from some massive embolism. The punch line to this cosmic joke.

But alas, no such fate awaited me. It was just a great day full of green lights, free stuff and tremendous accomplishments. Rodnetta’s room has been prepped so let the decorating begin!

Movin' on up!

2006-07-12T17:04:00.000-04:00

Today we received a little more good news. That pesky placenta has moved out of the way of the cervix. I am becoming proficient with all of these medical terms. I'm starting to think I could deliver this baby myself.

By the way, little Elizabeth currently weights in at a robust 3.4 pounds.

Pour some sugar on me!

2006-07-11T12:50:00.000-04:00

Great news! We just heard back from the doctor’s office. We passed! Blood sugar levels are fine so no follow up needling will be necessary. Tonight we shall celebrate with some ice cream for dinner. And for dessert…more ice cream!

Although I am not sure why, the doctor did say she needs to do more ironing, which sounds kind of odd to me.

Oh, wait. My bad. I have just been informed that the actual diagnosis was, Tracy’s iron level is a little low so she needs to increase her iron intake. This means we will be purchasing some supplements and apparently my shirts will remain wrinkled.

Home Depot sucks!

2006-07-07T13:19:00.000-04:00

Yes, I know I said that before but it deserves to be repeated. Here I am trying to be a good father-to-be and once again that forsaken place leaves me with nothing but grief. With less than 12 weeks until baby, it is time to step up preparations.

My first item to purchase was paint for the wall stencils we’ve chosen. I need small quantities of several colors but they do not sell anything smaller than a bucket of paint. However, given the type of store, I should have known this and won’t really hold it against them. In the end, no paint was purchased.

The second item on the list was a new air filter for the A/C unit. Apparently, these nifty little objects should be changed more than once in a great while. Now, you would think they would just build all units one size. They do not. And in this case in particular, size does matter. My filter needs to be 19” X 18” X 1”. Home Depot carries 1142 versions of the 18 inch filter and another 752 variations of the 20 inch one. Not a single 19 inch filter in the bunch. In baseball terms, we were 0 for 2.

Finally, we had recently discovered that our water filter, which should be changed yearly, has not been replaced since 2003. (My apologies to all those who’ve had a glass of H20 at my house over the past 3 years). We hit the water filter aisle and the selection is sparse. A couple of different types from mainly the same brand. Naturally, none of which match my specifications. In a store this massive, you would think they should have more. So I ask the nearest employee;

“Excuse me. Can you tell me if these are all the water filters you carry?”
“Um…I’m not sure. I think so.”

You think so?! You think so?! Well, I think so too. That is why I asked you. I was hoping you would know so. Isn’t that part of your job? Shouldn’t you people be required to receive at least a basic training of the store’s inventory? So customers can get something more than, “I think so”… end of conversation. One of the inanimate lighting fixtures in aisle three could have provided me with equally as much information. And now thanks to you and your store, little D’Brickashaw will have to suffer by breathing filthy air and drinking tainted water. I hope you are happy!

I didn’t really say all that but I oh so wanted to!

More random grumblings

2006-07-05T22:23:00.000-04:00

Here is all the pertinent information up to the minute.

* I am tired. Perhaps these 28 weeks are starting to take a toll on me. More likely, it is because some jackass was shooting off bottle rockets until 1am last night. Happy 4th. Here's hoping he suffered at least one second-degree burn on some body part. However, the realization that we have a little less than 12 weeks until our due date is uplifting. Compared to the once mammoth total of 40 weeks, this number seems doable.

* The kid’s soon-to-be room is finally cleared out. Every other room in the house now looks like Sanford and Son’s front yard, but at least we can begin Operation Baby Room Makeover. We recently found out that I will be the only one painting in the room. Apparently, paint fumes aren’t good for the baby. Why do I get the feeling that this child’s first words are going to be “Um, Dad... you really suck at decorating.”

* Our little spud is kicking like a German striker. The tiny gymnast moves all over womb and occasionally I am forced; nay, I want to, feel some protruding lump in the belly. Is it a foot? Is it an elbow? Who the heck knows, but can I please remove my hand?!

* We are moving closer to our final two names for the child. These names will be revealed shortly after little Agamemnon or Shanaynay (not actual names) has entered this world.

* And finally, Thursday Tracy will once again be gored with a needle. This time, my little pincushion will have her sugar tested. The test consists of drinking some Sunkist-looking drink, although I am willing to bet it tastes much worse, and then giving blood to see if we have good blood sugar levels. (No gestational diabetes.) If we pass this test, everything is hunky-dory. If the results falter, you have to return for some ridiculous follow up test where they take blood every hour for like 42 hours straight. We are hoping to avoid this experience. Keep your fingers crossed!

Go ahead...Make my day

2006-06-28T08:00:00.000-04:00

The time had arrived for a trip to Babies R Us so we could amass items for our baby registry. I am not big on receiving gifts but I do enjoy running around a department store with scanning gun. I am Jack Bauer and the President is being held hostage somewhere in bedding. I have only 24 minutes to find him. Truth be told, this was one of the pregnancy activities I was actually looking for to. It may even be one of the top 3 reasons I agreed to have a child in the first place.

After an hour in the store, this adventure proved to be not nearly as fun as I had initially hoped. Sure, there were some enjoyable moments. Like when we would walk by a fellow shopper and I’d point the gun at his or her ass, zap it and say, “Hey Honey, I just put that lady’s ass on our registry.” This may have been funny the first 3 or 4 times (probably less for Tracy) but the novelty soon wore off.

Then it was time to get down to business. And when faced with a row of strollers to choose from, spanning a distance equal to a football field, we did what any sane person would do. Walked back up to the front counter, tossed the clerk our registry gun and went to get ice cream. We needed a game plan.

Flash forward one week and we are back in the store, this time armed with sufficiently more knowledge. Well, Tracy had more knowledge. I was still as clueless as a Lost viewer. We had productive conversations like;

“Sweetie, do you think we should put a boppy on our registry?”

“What’s a boppy? Is that like a binky?”

“No. It’s a pillow.”

“We have pillows at home.”

“Nevermind. What about the diapers? Do you think Pampers or Huggies?”

“Are you serious?”

I am still not exactly sure what a boppy is, but gosh darn it, it is on my registry. After roughly 3 hours, a few realities started to sink in. Readily used words in my vocabulary like cocktails and party, would soon be replaced by such words like swaddle, binky and boppy. (A friend, who shall remain nameless, also suggested I remove “fun” from any part of my vocabulary. His words. Not mine.)

But seriously, it wasn’t all that bad. With only 89 days left until the due date, we are definitely almost, somewhat, sort-of ready…

The Invisible Man

2006-06-20T13:10:00.000-04:00

Ok. It has happened. I have officially ceased to exist in the eyes of others (except for my wife). If people do engage me in conversation, it is merely a way to get to the only true question on their mind… “How is Tracy?”

At this point, I bet I could walk down the hallway at work with an 8 inch shard of glass protruding from my forehead, as blood squirts from the wound like water through an open fire hydrant, and as I pass people in the hall, I would probably get –

“Hey, Derek. Um, how’s it going? So….How’s Tracy?”

“Tracy? Oh, she’s fine. She is feeling much these days. Only 98 days left. Yep. The doctor says everything is moving along swimmingly. Don’t mind this huge piece of glass jutting out of my head. Really. It doesn’t hurt as much as it may appear. I don’t think it has hit any major arteries or anything. I am sure I can drive myself to the hospital. Hopefully I won’t pass out. I should be ok. My eyes sting a little from the blood, but if I keep my left eye shut, I might be able to see clearly enough to get me there. I should probably get going now because things are starting to get a little blurry. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Ok, tell Tracy I said hello.”

What's your name?

2006-06-11T22:03:00.000-04:00

Naming a baby is a lot like choosing a tattoo. You want to be very particular because each is mostly permanent. With that in mind, the name D’Brickashaw has officially been shot down like a Scud. While we both agree that Brick and Shaw are worthy nicknames; that alone is not enough to keep the name in the running. 1,400 miles away, my mother is letting out a sigh of relief. (Although I am not counting it out as a middle name)

This past weekend we went out for an upscale dinner and followed that with a trip to the beach. We brought along a blanket and our respective lists of baby names. It was time to compare notes. We volleyed a few suggestions back and forth before the first official rejection was handed out.

Tracy offered the name Claire and I immediately broke into The Breakfast Club dialogue. “Claire?! … It’s a family name….No. It’s a fat girl’s name…Thank you…” (and so on). I loved The Breakfast Club but I don’t want my child to remind me of Molly Ringwald. Or Emilio Estevez for that matter.

Tracy had similar feelings about the name Fletch. And while we both adored The Negotiator, my recommendation of Samuel L. Medwid was also put on the “probably not” list.

After 45 minutes on the beach, which was all our 2 quarters, a dime and a nickel would allow for in the meter, we are still without a name. But we feel we have made significant progress. We each have some suggestions for the other to mill over and then we have proposed to reconvene to see if we can agree on something. For now, we’ll have to stick with Sally/Dennis/Zoe/D’Brickashaw/Elizabeth.

Clean-up on Aisle Six

2006-05-25T13:13:00.000-04:00

A disturbing thing happened last Sunday morning and it has taken until now for me to be able to write about it. I went to Home Depot. I hate this store. I hate this store like Tara Reid hates sobriety. If becoming a family man means frequent trips to Home Depot, the world will become a much darker place.

Sunday morning, 7am. My alarm goes off so I can get out early and beat the crowds.
Sunday morning, 8:30am. I get out of bed. Damn you, snooze button!

I will not bring my little Elizabeth into this world filled with weed-strewn walkways, rusty gate hinges and mulch-less flower beds. So off to the Depot I go.

Home Depot immediately gets off on the wrong foot as I begin pushing my cart and realize the back right wheel is stuck. As I wander the isles, hopelessly looking for my items, my carriage is letting out this horrific squealing noise, similar to the noise I made when Kathy Bates stepped out of the that hot tub naked.

There is no rhyme or reason, as far as I can tell, to the layout of this store. Robert Langdon himself would get lost looking for “liquid nails”, which I wrongly assumed would be in the nail isle, but instead are curiously positioned in the paint department.
And don’t look to the employees for guidance:

“Can you tell me if you have any more of these shower heads?”
“I’m not sure. I’d have to get the ladder and check those boxes up on that shelf.”

(I stand there waiting for this action to occur and he stands there looking at me like, “I gave you my answer. What more do you want?”.) So I say thanks and walk away. Tracy does not get her new shower head.

One thing I am fond of is the self checkout. However, I have three large bags of mulch so I ask the girl sitting close by if I am able to scan these large bags myself. She doesn’t answer me but instead rolls her eyes, gets out of her seat and waddles over to my register to activate some supplementary scanning feature. I was within mere seconds of insulting her by commenting on her laziness and more than ample ass, but instead I choose to just laugh and say thank you.

In the end, as a sign of personal protest against this hideous store, after loading my stockpile into the truck of my car, I flipped the noisy wheel-impaired carriage on its side and, just for good measure, gave it a swift kick. That’ll show em. Hopefully Elizabeth doesn’t receive too many “some assembly required” gifts.

**It is our last vacation for a while this weekend. A visit to see family and some friends. We have scheduled visits with Spike, Go-Go, Dinky & Zippy. And although that sounds like we are going to Fraggle Rock, they are actually real people all living in the New England area. Happy Memorial Day.

A Tale of Two Bellies

2006-05-23T21:56:00.000-04:00

I'm embarrassed to show mine :-)

Tra's Anatomy

2006-05-21T20:54:00.000-04:00

There are 206 bones in the adult human body. There are 5402 things that can go wrong during a pregnancy. Lots of little things like nosebleeds and varicose veins and lots of not so petty things that we thankfully have not encountered thus far. After the initial war against morning sickness, we have had relatively smooth sailing (knock wood).

The regular visits to our baby doctor have become predictable. Strong heartbeat; ask any questions; see you in a few weeks. Piece of cake.

As previously noted, the amnio came back with banner results. Our follow up with the amnio doctor this week was a mixed bag. Mostly positive information sprinkled with a couple minor seeds of concern. If an ice cream cone represented all that was good, some random jimmies scattered on top of the butter pecan was the bad. We were able to see D’Brickashaw via another ultrasound. The baby’s vitals are all strong and we found out he/she now weighs 15 ounces. We were treated to some great shots of the head, hands and heart, and were able to see him/her moving its mouth. It looked like he was either chewing or singing karaoke.

But when you are told something isn’t exactly as it should be, even the slightest imperfection can send a parent into a whirlpool of worry. First, the nurse told us the baby is in a breech position. She said we should not be concerned and of course, I was. I thought a breech birth meant the baby comes out feet first. And once, while on a whale watch, I saw a double breech, which entailed two whales simultaneously vaulting out of the water. That is the extent of my knowledge of the word breech.

Later, the doctor told us the placenta is over the cervix. He said we should not be concerned and of course I was. I know Tom Cruise wanted to eat some of Katie Holmes’s placenta and I have no idea what a cervix is. That is the extent of my knowledge of those two words.

Once home, we had time to pull out our trusty parenting books and investigate these maladies. Turns out the doctor and nurse were correct. No worries. Babies usually turn themselves around into the proper, opposite of breech, position (I am sure there is a word for it), and the placenta usually knows to get out of the cervix’s way.

Anyone for a bowl of ice cream? Hold the jimmies.

Are we there yet?

2006-05-15T13:25:00.000-04:00

I have noticed a drop in the frequency of posts lately. I can attribute this to two things. First, Tracy can stay up later now which has limited my free time in the evenings. More quality time with the wife means less time to wander my halls looking for ways to entertain myself, like tackling a 1000 piece photo-mosaic puzzle of Homer Simpson’s head. That is 32 hours of my life I will never get back.

Second, and probably more importantly, nothing much happens during the middle of a pregnancy. Everyday life becomes routine again. The shock and awe of the initial “we’re pregnant!” discovery has since subsided. The numbness in my head has waned as feeling slowly returns. The overwhelming suspicion that we are not prepared to care for a child has also eased to a certain extent. Meanwhile, the actual due date (September 25th) still seems far enough in the distance that there is no immediate rush to make hospital arrangements, sign up for Lamas class, paint the room, buy diapers, practice reading Fox on Sox, and so on. So you play the waiting game, as these middle weeks lumber forward with all the pace of a Lars von Trier movie.

Instinctively, most of your daily thoughts are consumed by baby planning. If you and your wife are not discussing baby issues, friends and relatives are asking questions or making comments. Although I have noticed that, while friends who already have kids show great interest in our daily goings-on; friends without kids have stopped talking to me almost altogether. A typical kidless friend conversation now goes like this :

Kidless friend – “Hey. How’s it going? How is Tracy feeling?”

Me – “Fine.”

Kidless friend – (after a brief pause while he/she thinks of some other baby question to ask but can’t think of one) “Great! Tell her I said hi.”

On an unrelated note, we did receive our first two pieces of baby furniture. A car seat, if you can call that furniture, from one couple (thank you Paula and Jamie!) and a changing table from my cousin, which looks curiously just like a regular dresser. I was told it is called a “changing table’ because it is flat and you can change the baby on it. As if a standard dresser is pointy on top like Snoopy’s doghouse. The good part about being one of the last people we know to have kids is that everybody already has everything and they seem willing to give it all away. If we could have only convinced one of them to give up one of their kids to us, it would have made things a heck of lot easier. But no such luck.

This week we have two doctor visits. One with our regular OBG Wan-Kenobi doctor and the second is a follow up with Needlebelly. Apparently we are having another Ultrasound and we have been encouraged to invite others along. It’ll be interesting viewing my child up on the monitor to a standing room only audience crammed in the doctor’s office. And so week 21 rolls on.

It's Halftime!

2006-05-08T07:38:00.000-04:00

Pregnancy is not a sprint. It is a marathon. You need to pace yourself. A marathon is 26 miles. This weekend marks the halfway point of our pregnancy. In jogging terms, we still have 13 freakin miles to go.

But maybe I am looking at it the wrong way. If a doctor told me I only had 20 weeks to live, that would seem like an infinitesimally short amount of time. I’d barely have enough time to get my travel plans in order. On the other hand, if someone told me I’d be forced to watch Andrew McCarthy movie for the same duration, I’d sooner hang myself.

I guess we just have to be patient. Little D'Brickashaw will be here soon enough.

Surprise!

2006-05-03T13:29:00.000-04:00

Late last night I had another horrifying thought. My fear of becoming a parent has been well documented. When I would see other people’s kids, while acknowledging that they are very cute, sweet, adorable and whatever other adjective properly describes children, it still didn’t fill me with any sense of urgency to become a father. But I took some solace in being repeatedly told by everyone that “it’s different when it is your own”.

And last night it occurred to me….what if everyone is wrong?? Everyone has been wrong before. Everyone told me the American Idol was a good show. Come to find out this is not true. Everyone told me I would like the book The DaVinci Code. And I did not. (I mean, it was ok but I can’t see why it would be on the best seller list for 700 weeks) So what if little Charlotte shows up and I am ambivalent towards her presence? I hate when thoughts like this seep in.

Anyway, speaking of Charlotte, we have elected not to find out the sex of the baby. This, to my surprise, has actually aroused anger from some people. One person went so far as to say, “Fine. Then I am not getting you anything for the baby shower”, as if this idle threat would scare me into changing my opinion. My cousin asked for our doctor’s number so she could find out for herself with the stipulation that she promised not to tell us. Um, no.

However, others do applaud this “old school” approach of waiting until it pops out. Where is the fun in knowing ahead of time? That is like seeing a long preview of a movie right before you watch it. Would you have wanted to know that Verbal Kint was actually Keyser Soze in The Usual Suspects? I think not.

In the meantime, we are making a list of both male and female names. After watching this weekend’s NFL draft, I have come up with the name if it is a boy. (Although I haven’t cleared it with my wife yet)…. D’Brickashaw Medwid! What a great name. Unfortunately, my Italian grandmother may have a little trouble with that one. Instead of Derek, I think I was referred to as “Ricketts” for the first 10 years of my life. I can only imagine what D’Brickashaw will end up sounding like.

THIS JUST IN...

2006-05-02T20:06:00.000-04:00

This evening I received the following phone call:

Caller: “Hello, may I speak to Tracy please?”

Me: “I am sorry. She isn’t home right now. She should be home any minute. Can I take a message?”

Caller: “This is Carol from Dr. Needlebelly’s office. I have the results from the amnio for her.”

Me: “Oh great. We have been looking forward to hearing from you. This is her husband. I will give her the information.”

Caller: “I am sorry. I am not allowed to give you that information. I don’t have the signed authorization to do so.”

Me: “Are you kidding me? You do realize that baby is half mine!”

Caller: “I am very sorry. Does she have a cell phone?”

Me: “Yes, but I don’t want you giving her bad news while she is on the road. I won’t tell anyone that you told me.”

Caller: “I really can’t.”

Me: “I tell you what. If you cough now, I am going to assume it’s bad news. Ok?…..…..You didn’t cough.”

Caller: “Let’s just say you have nothing to nothing to worry.”

Me: “Thank you! Her number is ***-****.”

And shortly after our conversation she called Tracy to inform her that everything is perfect!! I think I speak for both of us when I say, “Whew!”

Episode 2: Attack of the Hypodermic

2006-04-27T20:01:00.000-04:00

Enter the doctor. He is a pleasant man with a friendly demeanor. Tracy chats with him as I eye him suspiciously. Does this man have what it takes to properly care for my wife? I conclude that he does and allow him to continue.

To refresh; during an amnio, the doctor puts a needle through the patient’s abdomen and retrieves copious amounts of fluid, while carefully avoiding poking the baby. The patient is conscious during this, as is hopefully the husband, and there is no local anesthesia because the pain from the anesthesia is apparently worse than the amnio itself.

As the doctor readied himself, Tracy closed her eyes and drifted away to her happy place. I was fully prepared to look away and resume reading my book, in hopes that I would not break in to a cold sweat and hit the floor like Apollo Creed after Drago leveled him in the charity boxing match. But something came over me. My desire to make sure Tracy and Charlotte were in good hands was stronger than my aversion to all medical procedures and the embarrassment of passing out.

The 32 inch television screen for the sonogram was still functioning. It is mounted directly in front of us so, if we choose, we can see the baby as the doctor sucks the broth. He pushed on Tracy’s belly and you could see on screen, Charlotte moving in response to this pushing. He created a safe pocket to shoot for and quickly readied the needle. I felt a little better once I saw its size. I expected some bazooka looking utensil that required three nurses to hold it steady. In reality, it was more like what you would see when giving blood.

As soon as the needle pierced the naval, you could see it on the monitor. The doctor took great care to make sure there was always ample distance between the baby and the syringe. I watched, giving telepathic coaching tips like “move it a little to left”. I am confident I helped in some respect. Yellow fluid flowed in to a tube at a rapid clip. Before you could say, “get that friggin needle out of my stomach!”, it was, and the worst was over.

Following the amnio, you are condemned to 48 hours of bed rest in hopes of minimizing any of the possible side-effects like cramping, bleeding, and other things I don’t care to mention. Tracy was a good patient and obeyed the doctor’s orders. Results take two weeks so now we wait patiently with confidence that everything is progressing perfectly.

The end.

The Amniocentesis

2006-04-24T22:06:00.000-04:00

Episode 1 : Return of the Ultrasound

I never thought I would say this but having your stomach pierced with a needle was not as bad as it sounds. I was expecting a serious belly wound. I figured Tracy would be experiencing the kind of agony Tony Soprano went through when Uncle Junior put a bullet in his paunch. But the whole procedure was relatively innocuous.

The session consisted of two parts. First, they bring you in the back to chat with a counselor. Our counselor took some information from us, drew us a rudimentary picture of our family tree and then proceeded to go over the risks involved. After assuring us how safe it all is, we are asked to sign a waiver guaranteeing we will not sue them for malpractice. Um, ok.

We sign the papers and are then escorted back to the waiting room to wait (obviously) until we are called for the sonogram and amnio. The nurse comes to retrieve us and we follow her back to the examination room, which is kept at about 11 degrees Fahrenheit. I supposed they are not concerned that the doctor will succumb to a sudden shiver while brandishing a very sharp object. As we enter the room, the nurse asks Tracy for her blood type and without hesitation Tracy replies, “A positive”. I stand in the background quietly impressed that my wife readily knows such information. Beyond the color red, I’d be hard pressed to provide any additional details about my blood.

We were excited for the sonogram because we haven’t seen any pictures of the baby since it was the size of a dried wasabi pea. And, my oh my how little Charlotte has grown. We saw the four chambers of the heart; a spine; the head; and arms and legs with 10 fingers and I counted at least 7 toes. Good enough.

From the traditional black and white sonogram picture, she changed to some different high tech scanner, which was in color. As she navigated around the womb, we were treated to glimpses of an eye socket, the bump of an ear and a half of the face. (The other half was buried behind the placenta like a person hiding its head under a pillow trying to keep the morning light out.) She then panned downward and I was given a brief start:

“Whoa! It looks like we have a little Dirk Diggler growing in there!” I gloated.

“Don’t get excited. That is just the umbilical cord.”

A common mistake, I would surmise. The nurse told us that everything looks great, the baby is growing wonderfully and she printed out a few pictures for us to keep. And then Dr. Needlebelly entered the room…

To be continued.

We've been tagged!

2006-04-19T12:55:00.000-04:00

Don’t worry. That is not a bad thing. Our new friend and mommy, Kristin, has sent us a mission. Tracy is to report on 6 strange or interesting things about herself. After careful consideration, here is what she came up with:

1. A beverage of choice when I was, oh about 12, was milk and pancake syrup, mmmmm!

2. I can’t eat the ends of hot dogs. Tom, my brother, used to tell me that, the reason the end of the hot dogs were pinched closed like they are, is because pigs poop them out. I still, to this day, cannot eat the end of a hot dog.

3. I loathe the song “I will survive”.

4. I cannot make decisions to save my life. I can be in the grocery store in one isle debating between Wonderbread or Pepperidge Farms, while my husband is done with all our shopping, in and out of the check-out lane and ready to go. (Should I include this one as one of my six? I can’t decide.)

5. All 5 of the companies I’ve worked for in the past have gone out of business.

6. I’ve thrown up on my husband a couple of times now and he still married me. The first time was on our first date. He took me parasailing for my birthday. (Derek here – this is true. We are soaring 50 feet in the air overlooking the majestic skyline of downtown Ft. Lauderdale when she suddenly starts spraying like New York City fire hydrant. And, of course, I am shackled to her directly behind her so there was no place to hide.)

*One final note - the most interesting thing (some may think it’s corny, but it’s rare in this day and age). Fairy tale love is real. After being together with my husband for approx. 8 years, I still cherish every moment I get to spend with him!!!!

(Me again - I swear I didn’t pay her to come up with that one!)

PS - We had the Amnio today. Everything went fine! I full report to follow.

Pretty Woman

2006-04-17T20:57:00.000-04:00

When I think of “things that are not fun”, several come to mind. For example;

Christmas shopping the week before Xmas on a Saturday afternoon at a mall in Boca Raton. Not fun. Watching any Julia Roberts movie. Not fun. Having a white-hot sewing needle jabbed through your eyeball. Again, not fun.

And now I have to add to this list; getting sick while being pregnant. As if women don’t have enough to worry about with potential month four issues that include - nosebleeds; anemia; elevated blood pressure; dental problems and the list goes on. Now, if your head becomes a phlegm receptacle, you cannot take any medication to combat it. Apparently, unborn babies are not fond of Airborne and Nyquil.

It is quite a nuisance. Saturday we were at the in-law’s house watching a DVD and between Tracy’s hacking and their dog farting (reason #134 not to have a dog), it was very hard to hear the movie. But I digress as this is not about me and my problems. This is about poor Tracy. And poor little Charlotte. She must be in that womb being jostled like a bingo ball, wondering what the heck is going on.

So we now enter week 17, full steam ahead like a giant wad of mucus hurled from the mouth after a productive cough (sticking with the illness theme). 17 out of 40 weeks breaks down to 42.5%. And with this number I am waffling between a sense of suppressed optimism that we are nearly half way there, or feeling widely despondent because we still have 23 weeks to go.

This week marks an important week in the itinerary that maps our pregnancy. We are scheduled for the gut-wrenching (pun intended) amnio on Wednesday. If things continue as scheduled, Tracy will have the amnio Wednesday morning and be banished to bed rest for the duration of the week. There is still some discussion left to be had so this is not etched in stone. Even if we cancel the amnio, we may still be looking at a series of blood tests as the alternative.

Neither choice is very appealing. It’s like being told that when you walk out of your house today, you will either be kicked in the crotch or hit over the head with a bucket of shit. Take your pick.

Bring on those dirty diapers!

2006-04-13T22:27:00.000-04:00

Twas the night

2006-04-12T12:20:00.000-04:00

Twas the night before yesterday and all through the house,
Not a creature was nauseous, not even my spouse.

The Zofran sat in the cupboard, it stashed,
In hopes that the worst, of this sickness had past.

For days we had gone, without any issue,
No medicine was needed, nary even a tissue.

Then yesterday morning, I heard a strange din,
I awoke with a start, from the bathroom within.

When what, my listening ears, should I hear,
The sounds of Tracy heaving, that was all too near.

Up granola bar, up grilled cheese, up chicken noodle soup,
Up popsicles, up sherbet, and the rest of her fruit loops.

Afraid the morning sickness had returned, I lay on my bed,
Under a mountain of pillows, I buried my head.

But in the end, I was relieved at what I was told,
No returning bout with the morning blues… she has just caught a cold.

And to all, a good night.

The Tool Man

2006-04-10T22:36:00.000-04:00

The day is rapidly approaching when I need to start thinking about preparing the baby’s room. Get some sort of game plan together. Boy, where to start with this one. I am to Home Improvement what cousin Oliver was to the Brady Bunch. It’s just not a good fit.

I am dreading this; partly because I suck at it and partly because I get no joy from this sort of activity. Doing "house stuff" is about as much fun as watching NBC’s Deal or No Deal. Or as I call it, opening random suitcases with Howie Mandel. I’d rather read a book than work on landscaping. I’d rather watch a movie than construct a backsplash over the stove in the kitchen.

However, it must be done and it isn’t very sporting of me to delegate this task to Tracy. What kind of husband would I be if she were climbing up on ladders to paint and stencil butterflies or footballs on the walls, while I am sitting in the other room sipping Starbucks and watching Jarhead?

Without going hog-wild with research, I casually flipped through some magazines only to find that people really go nuts with decorating. Rooms actually have themes. Complete themes like those cheesy adult motels have. Checking into the Tarzan suite, Mr. Smith? The room comes with a complimentary loin cloth and a continental breakfast. Of course, the kid themes are much more kid friendly. Ponies and rainbows and whatnot.

Everything must match and be color coordinated. I’ve got to be honest. If it takes me more than a few seconds to find matching socks; I am out the door with a blue one and a black one. Trying to get a whole room to match is a monumental task. I am going to have to make sure the color of the giraffes on the sheets matches the border around the ceiling, which has little flecks of the same color from the carpet, which is a good secondary color to the crib? Yeah, right.

So I ask you…why? Does anyone remember the room they had as an infant? The first decoration I can remember on my walls was a Samantha Fox poster and I am pretty sure that was put up well beyond my infant stage. Are there scientific studies that show a baby in a cowboy-themed room will grow up to be successful, while a baby in a plain room will be the next Ted Kaczynski? Sounds like flimsy conjecture. In reality, we decorate the room for ourselves. And to impress everyone that comes over to see the room.

Not me. If I try, I’ll just end up screwing things up. The lesson here is, never try. (I need to write these nuggets of advice down for when the kid get older).
A crib, a changing table and one of those dangling things that hangs over the crib and possibly plays music. Done.

Trip Report

2006-04-06T22:43:00.000-04:00

1755 miles – distance traveled.
784 – number of BBQ’s we passed along the way.

We are back from our road trip and if there is one thing I Iearned on this trip, it is that the south really loves their barbecues. Every few miles it was another billboard. Sonny’s; Maurice’s; Dustin’s; Big Daddy’s. One billboard actually looked like pig mashed between two halves of a bun. And not a cute pig like Babe or Charlotte’s friend, but one that looked like it was sent through the meat grinder a couple of times. At one point, after listening to the dulcet sounds of James Blunt crooning over the airwaves about a beautiful girl on the subway, the DJ followed up by reminding us that we were, in fact, listening to WBBQ. I swear I am not making that up. We ate pizza all weekend.

Our first, and probably only, pregnant vacation was by most accounts a huge success. Our major concern was Tracy’s ability to cope with an abundance of travel time in a car. I am happy to report she handled it very well. The only major difference from past road trips was her newfound ability to sleep for long periods of time. While happy she was able to rest, it did leave me with lots of alone time in car. But I combated that by making up little games for myself like,

Try and change lanes without hitting the reflectors in the road.

Or,

What just hit my windshield? - That was a dragonfly!

And the ever-popular,

Guess which muscle will cramp next! Will it be the neck? Perhaps it will be the calf.

Unfortunately, the one thing that can dampen a road trip is traffic. Leaving Florida, there was a stream of cars and trucks floating along the two-lane highway like platelets through a major artery. And of course, half of the time I am stuck behind Bobby Brake-A-Lot. You know, the guy who feels the need to hit the decelerator repeatedly, like he senses a squirrel is about to dart in front of him at any moment. But even Bobby couldn’t break our spirits.

We enjoyed North Carolina. I actually found myself saying a couple of times, "we’ll have to come back and visit here with the kid". Probably the most enjoyable thing about the state was the people. While visiting friends, I asked if we were just lucky or are people really this nice? He confirmed they are indeed very friendly. For example, he explained;

"You can be at an intersection and in a lapse of attentiveness, not realize the traffic light has turned green. The car behind you, instead of honking, cursing and giving you the finger, will sit silently, patiently waiting for you to realize you have the green light."

"You are kidding, right?"

"No. They’ll even sit there just pondering, ‘I wonder what that person in front of me is thinking about’?"

That is wonderful, if not a little too passive. I want to learn how to do that. I have become one of those mother-cursing finger flippers and that is not something I want to teach my child.

Anyway, over the weekend we entered week 15. Things look pretty much the same as last week. Tracy is maintaining a healthy weight. I, on the other hand, ate too much pizza.

Worth a thousand words...

2006-04-05T19:00:00.000-04:00

Yep, we are really pregnant. And back from vacation. Details to follow.

Random ramblings

2006-03-30T22:21:00.000-05:00

Last week we had another visit to the doctor. Nothing wrong, just a routine check up. We both entered the examination room and Tracy sat up on patient table while I casually thumbed through my book, pretending not to be uncomfortable. The doctor made her appearance and asked some basic questions. Then she slathered the Smuckers on Trac’s stomach and prepared the Doppler. (For those not paying attention, that is the device used to hear the heartbeat.)

It was within these next few moments when something happened that hit me like a side of beef smacked upside my head. The doctor shifted the Doppler and we all sat eagerly awaiting the thump-thump of little Zoe’s ticker. Nothing. She repositioned it. Nothing. At that very moment, my own heart sank. What if…

I didn’t want to appear concerned so I sat there silently. Stoic. My eyes focused purposefully on the doctor’s face to see if I could discern any hint of fear in her expression. She was stone-faced. Time stood still while the doctor continued to wiggle the Doppler around Tracy’s belly like kid using a video game joystick.

When Zoe’s heartbeat finally broke the silence, I think I let out an audible gasp. The little washing machine was chugging along as strong as ever. The doctor’s first words were "everything sounds perfect." I don’t even remember what happened during the rest of the visit. When my kid gets as much as a paper cut, I am going to be a complete wreck.

As Matt Lauer would say; on a much lighter note, I tasted my first Preggo Pop today with no weird side effects. It was relatively tasty. And we got one more bit of good news. Our blood sugar levels are all hunky-dory. Results showed Tracy aced her test.

So now we are off on vacation. We are embarking upon a 6 day, 4 state road trip from the Mountains of Asheville, North Carolina to the beaches of Saint Augustine, Florida. Bon voyage!

The name game

2006-03-28T21:31:00.000-05:00

A girl at my workplace recently gave birth to a baby girl named Hannah Rose. So I was thinking; what if Hannah Rose married Darryl Hannah and they got divorced and she then married Beau Bridges; then they got divorced and she ended up settling down with Eric Bana (from the movie Munich). Her name would be Hannah Hannah Beau Bana.

And this is what I do in my spare time now.

WEEK 14

2006-03-27T22:53:00.000-05:00

We have arrived at the beginning of week 14. Only 26 more weeks to go. Ouch. I’m no math major but I don’t think we are even half way there yet. As for information on the baby, I read that our uterus is now the size of a melon! (Why is it when I read these books I always end up hungry?!) The baby is about 4-5 inches long and has begun to urinate (gross). The mother’s appetite should be increasing along with her sex drive. (Um, yeah, that hasn’t happened yet) And the belly’s growth persists, inspiring one jokester to remark about the possibility of twins. Prompting me to forthwith kick him in the shin.

But Tracy continues to feel better which has lead to this week’s planning of a pregnant vacation. No, that isn’t the latest installment in the Chevy Chase Vacation series (thank god). We are actually going to take a road trip to North Carolina and St. Augustine, FL. It is about a 10-hour drive, 11 when you factor in the pee breaks, to Asheville from here. The plan is to just take a ride, relax and get away from the house.

I could use a break from the house. Sunday, while Tracy combed the mall desperately trying to find some pants that would fit, I became the Tasmanian Devil going from the kitchen to the bedrooms to the bathroom on a mad cleaning frenzy. I started easy with some vacuuming and unloading of the dishwasher. Simple stuff. Then graduated to 200 level tasks such as cleaning the layers of dust behind the toilet and along the crevice between the wall and refrigerator.

The coup de grâce came in the master shower. In this shower, we have a plastic foot suction-cupped to the shower floor. You sprinkle some soapy substance onto this foot, which is equipped with hundreds of little bristles, and when rubbing your own foot over this device, it is supposed to create a soothing pedicure-like feeling. Of course, fixed to the shower floor, it is prone to all of the normal shower unpleasantries, like mildew and soap scum. So there I was, cleaning in between the toes of this foot massager shower accessory. Mind you, I rarely clean between my own toes.

When it was finally over, the house sparkled like Emerald City and I was exhausted. Of course, it wasn’t a totally testosterone-free day. The college basketball game was on every television in the house, I was drinking beer, and I made sure to spend ample time burping and scratching myself like a man. And I did come up with a great use for the untouched portion of our vacation fund for this year. Next time, I’m calling a cleaning service.

To Amnio or Not to Amnio

2006-03-23T22:06:00.000-05:00

That really is the question. Since it is not proper to divulge my wife’s age, let’s just say I am over 35 so it has been suggested that we consider an amniocentesis because of her, I mean, my age.

Women are tough. Whoever implied that men might have the tougher role in a pregnancy was an idiot. Knowing the pain my wife is scheduled to endure over the next several months, she has little sympathy for any of my ailments. After I banged my hip on the bed the other day, I lay writhing in pain on the bedroom floor.

"What happened to you?"

"I just whaled my hip on the bedpost. I think I ruptured my uterus."

"Boo-hoo. I have to be gored with a needle through my stomach in a couple of weeks. Get up. And by the way, you don’t have a uterus."

I looked it up. She is right.

Now, in case you do not know what an amnio is, remember in Pulp Fiction when Vincent plunged Lance’s needle into Mia’s heart to resuscitate her? It’s just like that; only the needle goes a little lower into the abdomen. Basically, you become a human shish-ka-bob.

Just looking at the cartoon drawings of this procedure in my pregnancy books made my knees buckle like Joe Thiesman’s leg. So why would one subject themselves to such agony?

Without going into any detail, there are benefits and risks involved and the benefits seem to have an edge over the risks. Even though it sounds dreadful, the pain is supposed to be relatively minimal. In the meantime, as we make our decision, I am going to coach little Zoë on the art of ducking. Just in case.

WEEK 13

2006-03-20T16:05:00.000-05:00

I am starting to feel like I am in a boxing match. And I am losing. Pregnancy is Mike Tyson and I am every opponent he faced prior to Buster Douglas.

Congratulations! You are having a baby! Body blow
Your wife is going to be completely miserable. Left…left
And you can’t help ease her pain at all. Body blow…right
Daycare costs more than buying a Porsche. Jab…jab…Upper cut
And now I realize, once the baby is here, I’m expected to know how to care for this child.
He’s down for the count.

When a person experiences grief, they go through 5 stages. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. With the pregnancy, I hit 3 of the 5. First, denial. We are having a what?? Followed by a brief spell of depression and finally acceptance. I can handle this.
(I did bargain for a kitty but my “kid for cat” proposal was about as popular as a David Spade movie.)

Starting the 13th week, I actually began to settle into the changing routine. I can handle this. But just when you feel like you’ve got it under control, something else comes along to kick you in the butt.

This week’s butt kick comes in the form of the startling realization that - I know nothing! Here I am learning about breast tenderness, something which I am unlikely to ever experience, and I have no idea what to do once my kid arrives.

What’s the difference between a cry from a wet diaper, a cry for food or a cry that means something is really wrong? Do infants sleep on their back, side or front? How long before we potty train? 2 weeks? 2 months? What is the proper burping technique? Was it considered good parenting when Steve Irwin dangled his youngster in front of a live alligator? When do their teeth sprout? Fallout? How much does the tooth fairly leave these days? Do we still believe in the tooth fairy? Is there any other kind of fairy I should know about? If my kid asks me a question and I don’t know the answer, do I tell her/him I do not know the answer or do I just make shit up like Calvin’s father. How severely should he/she be punished for failing home economics? What if they choose acting school over an accredited college? Coke or Pepsi?

This is not going to be easy. Raise the alert to code Orange. Take us to Defcon 3. But don’t worry. I can handle this!

You are now free to move about the country

2006-03-16T15:34:00.000-05:00

Ha! And everyone said that once we have kids our traveling days will be over. It would be Disneyland or nothing.

“Might as well buy a season pass now” joked a nearby goatee-wearing co-worker.

Over a discussion about travel yesterday, Tracy and I decided to plan our first post pregnancy trip. We will be going to Las Vegas in January 2007. The grown-ups Disneyland. We’ll enjoy shows with freakishly agile acrobats; shows with quirky Blue Men; shows with Australian hunks (for the ladies); dancing at the Ghost Bar; throwing craps with Ben Affleck; and much much more.

After nine months of growing a toddler, and a few more getting acclimated to life with child, we will be ready for some quality adult time. No? I figure four months, September through December, is adequate time to prepare little Zoë for her first slumber party at the in-laws.

Any bets on if we will actually make it? If we make it there, we can make it anywhere. I give us about an 80% chance of following through.

A name by any other name

2006-03-14T14:52:00.000-05:00

Naming a pet is tough enough. Try naming a child. You don’t want anything too plain. Or anything too fancy. Or anything that rhymes with puke. Since we are not finding out the gender, we need to come up with an option for both. Or one that would suit either outcome, like Shane.

And I’m not sure the remaining 6 months is enough time to decide. Neither of us are good decision makers. We can spend 20 minutes in Starbucks debating the pros and cons of a white chocolate mocha versus the holiday favorite pumpkin spice. Do we really need to have a name ready by the time it’s born?

I was just told my niece has some helpful suggestions but based on her age, I may be looking at calling the child Littlefoot or Ducky.

Using vacations as inspiration, we recently traveled to Sedona and Jamaica, which led to the ill-fated submission of Schnebly (after a hill we climbed) and Marley (after Bob Marley). Schnebly Marley. But since most people couldn’t pronounce Schnebly, saying Schmedly instead, we scrapped that idea.

From the entertainment world, the lead character in my most recent novel was Ignatius and the protagonist of my most recent movie was Melquiades. We obviously have more work to do.

After looking at what we’ve come up with so far, Ducky may actually be the leading contender.

Zofran-tastic!

2006-03-12T23:34:00.000-05:00

Flowers are blooming; birds are singing; rainbows appear out of every window in our home. That can only mean one thing. No, I am not high. Rather, this Zofran stuff really works. Who was complaining about the price? Not I. $370 for 2 ounces?! Heck, it would be a bargain at triple that price. Nary a heave has been heard within these walls for almost four days.

And recently, Tracy’s face has changed. The month long perma-frown has become inverted. The two invisible weights hanging from strings epoxied to each corner of her mouth have been miraculously lifted. Putting these symptoms in WebMD, I discovered this is called a smile. I must say, I like this “smile” thing.

So begins week 12 with renewed hope. (Although Dr. Quinn took it upon herself to skip a dose last night so she was feeling slightly worse this evening.) We are chasing down the end of our first trimester. Which brings us to our latest development. Saturday morning, we congregated in the kitchen to make pancakes. Pleased that the tsunami of nausea continued to recede, we paused the mixing of the batter for a brief, yet firm embrace. And then it hit me. Literally.

“Good christ woman! What is that thing poking me?!”

“In case you haven’t noticed, detective; that is my belly.”

We have a belly. This thing is huge. (And I don’t mean huge in a derogatory “you look huge” sense, but more of a “where there once was nothing there is now very much something” connotation. Where the hell was I? Since she won’t let me take an actual photo, here is an artist’s rendering of what it looks like:

Doesn’t she look great?!! The rest of the weekend we were actually able to focus on positive baby topics. With only 6 months to go, there is still much to be accomplished. First on the list was thinking of a new cute pet name for my wife. My initial two attempts of “Chubbs” or “Halle Belly”, were both met with abundant disapproval.

Pucker up

2006-03-08T23:48:00.000-05:00

Well, on the Suck meter, with 1 being mildly sucky and 10 being total suckfest, so far week eleven rates about a 9.2. I realize that having "mildly sucky" as the optimum rating on weekly gage can seem rather glass half-empty but right now our glass has more cracks than a plumber’s convention.

Nothing works. Sprite, crackers, water, Popsicle’s, Preggo pops, big meals, small meals, no meals, going to bed early staying up late, setting the alarm for 3am to wake up and have a snack, ginger tea, ginger ale, ginger snaps, watching Ginger Rogers on TV, taking the prenatal pill at different times, skipping the prenatal pill, moving slowly in the morning, milkshakes, having me say "just try not to think about it". None of that worked.

Today we took evasive action. We sought a savior and Zofran be thy name. This is what the doctor prescribed and it is apparently some heavy-duty stuff. At $370 for 2 ounces, it better work wonders. I kid you not about the price. And I thought a shot of Grey Goose was expensive. At this price, the prescription should come with a guy that wakes me up in the morning and makes me waffles.

Cross your fingers. I can’t tell you how happy we will be if this helps. Well, I can give you an idea. To paraphrase Chevy Chase, I’ll be so f**king happy, I’ll be whistling zippity-do-dah out of my a**hole!

Week 11

2006-03-06T11:56:00.000-05:00

“Wake me up, when September ends.” - Green Day

It is Saturday morning and I am perched on my comfortable patio chair, a hot cup of coffee at my side and a pregnancy book in my lap. The breeze off the lake, once refreshing, becomes decidedly unsettling. There is an eerie silence about. I half expect to look up and see Haley Joel Osment telling me he still sees dead people. Something bad is about to happen. And then I read the words; “in some cases, morning sickness can last throughout the entire 40 weeks”. Oh my. If that should be the case, please heed Green Day’s message and wake me when it’s over.

Week 10 ended on somewhat of a sour note. Tracy’s condition remains shaky, to put it mildly. We attempted to leave the house for a brief spell. We made it to Macys but once there, I spent most of my time loitering outside the woman’s restroom. Judging from some looks I received, women are a little uneasy around men who choose to hang out by their bathroom. Then, after a nearly fainting in Borders (her - not me), I knew it was time to get back home.

I also became a little depressed last week. I think I figured out part of what is scaring me. The major consensus from women is, life with kids is great and life pre-children was inconsequential and thus should be forgotten. Women adore kids like Kirstie Alley adores cheeseburgers.

At a recent work function, part of the opening ceremonies included an exercise in getting to know each other. We went around the room introducing ourselves, along with our title and other various scraps of information including our hobbies. To a man (or woman), nearly every female with child said they had no hobbies; they only enjoy sitting around staring at their child. This frightened me. I once heard a female so excited because her child ate a Cheerio. Big deal. This morning I ate a whole bowl. I even cut up my own banana and no one seemed even moderately impressed.

On the flip side, the male reaction to kids, with a few notable exceptions, has been more gloom and doom. Maybe they are just trying to scare me but then again, maybe not. My concern being, life was really good before and I hope we can once again achieve that level. But if the wife is utterly consumed with every piggy-toe wiggle, that isn’t going to leave much time for the husband. Or will I become equally enamored with such happenings and consequently won’t mind the reduction of affection we show towards each other?

But I do not want to sound all negative because I have made great strides with my attitude. It was just a rather tough week so forgive me. It has truly been two steps forward and one step back. And that is a 50% rate of progress, which I can live with. Among the positives are; I have a list of potential names, I have made mental plans for rearranging rooms, and I am wondering how small a size they sell Bruins jerseys and which player’s name to have ironed on the back.

Oh incidentally, we have a new fruit. One of the books called it the size of an apple. I am partial to the Fuji.

What I have learned

2006-03-01T23:23:00.000-05:00

The transitory name Sally has been retired. I now refer to the child as Dennis. (as in ‘The Menace’). It may be mean but right now it's fitting. The cause of nausea, headaches, dizziness, fatigue, blurred vision, etc. But I don’t say it to him. At his age, I am not sure he can appreciate the finer points of my sarcasm. Only happy loving positive comments directed at the belly. Good karma.

I have a new job this week. I offered to read weeks 9-12 of a pregnancy using the plethora of books we have accumulated. So if you happen to hear someone running past you screaming uncontrollably, don’t worry. It is probably just me.

Thus far, I have learned a lot in my sparse research. Some stuff is helpful. Other information is downright ghastly. An example of the helpful stuff; that microphone thingy used to hear the baby’s heartbeat has an actual name. The technical term is not thingy but, in fact, it is called a Doppler, named after Dutch Biologist Henri Doppler (or so I just made up).

Further supporting my salamander claim, our baby, unbeknownst to me, recently had a tail. According to the Mayo Clinic, that tail has now gone. I have mixed feelings about this. While a kid with a tail sounds fun, he’d probably be in for a world of beatings in grade school so it’s probably for the best that the tail shriveled away.

I also discovered that at this stage of development, the baby’s brain is producing 250,000 neurons per minute! 250,000 of anything per minute is pretty amazing. Although I suspect my child is producing more in the 300,000 – 350,000 range. Is it too early for parental pride? Hey, if this kid has Tracy’s brains, looks and personality along with my…um, my ability to remember state capitols (South Dakota is Pierre), we are unquestionably looking at some kind of wunderkind.

And finally, I learned that "Bedbug" wasn’t kidding in his comments about gas. I don’t mean I experienced it first hand, I mean I read about it. Yes, there is an increase in gas but thankfully it doesn’t harm the baby at all. In fact, it may be comforting. The baby can actually hear the bubbling gurgle noises around it. Think along the lines of an electronic waterfall you would keep by the bed. Same soothing effect. Although maybe not so soothing for the husband. (I’m probably not going to be allowed to read anymore after this post!)

I will spare you the details of some of the more frightful matters because you either already know about them or don’t want to hear about them. Peeking ahead to next week, if Dennis is really a Dennis, his little manhood will begin to form. If Dennis is actually a Denise, her girl stuff starts to take shape. This is all very exciting. Stay tuned!

Doctors visit - #2

2006-02-26T22:47:00.000-05:00

Week 10: Day 70 – Still sick.

Thursday morning was our second trip to the doctor’s office. The plan was; I would accompany Tracy, listen to the heartbeat and then hightail it to the waiting room before any medical stuff could transpire. Apparently the nurse girl, who probably has a more formal sounding title on her business card, had a different itinerary. She informed us that the first item of business was to take blood. I decided to gut it out and stay. Tracy had no such choice to make.

Nurse girl inserted the needle and took a vial of blood. And then another. And another. By the third vial (or should I say, vile), it was a race to see which one of us would pass out first. Knees were weakening. We were like the final contestants in Fonzie’s dance marathon demonstrating all the stability of a Weeble. Yes, we were wobbling but these Weebles do fall down.

Luckily, the blood sucking stopped. She removed the vials from the room and allowed us a moment. Tracy leaned back to rest, reading the comics strategically tacked to the ceiling. I took a deep breath, scratched the recently grown Chia Pet on my chin, collected myself and I was back in the game.

The doctor came in the room and, with tape recorder in hand, we were ready.

Doctor – "How are you feeling?"
Tracy – "Terrible."
Doctor – "Excellent. That means the baby is healthy."

Did she just say excellent?!
In an Ally McBeal moment, I imagined myself springing from my chair and grabbing the doctor in a viscous choke-hold like Homer Simpson on Bart... Why you little…. If being sick means having a healthy baby then we are growing our own Gunner Peterson. I mean, this kid is going to pop out doing Billy’s Tae Bo Boot Camp.

I snapped back to reality to see the instrument placed on my wife’s belly. It was an amazingly simplistic procedure to hear the heartbeat. I’m not sure what I was expecting but she just placed in on the stomach and presto! - there was noise. At first just a gentle ticking. Then the doc repositioned the microphone and little Sally was loudly chugging away full steam. Strong like bull. We both agreed it sounded like she was doing a load of laundry.

For a moment, as we listened to this delightful sound, I saw the green of sickness wane from my wife’s face replaced, albeit briefly, by a smile that clearly said, "Ok, this makes it worth it." And for me, that look on her face made it worth it.

Working for the Weekend

2006-02-25T23:09:00.000-05:00

Saturday evening:
I took a nap around 5pm to get ready for my evening. Awake and refreshed, I bounded to the fridge and chugged a Yoo-Hoo. Screw Michelob; weekends were made for Yoo-Hoo. Senses all a tingle from the Yoo-Hoo, I grabbed the towels from the dryer and folded them. And then, I put them in the closet. Oh yes!

Later that night, I went to Publix to buy some milk. I know what you are thinking; "not the same night you folded towels??!" Indeed that same night. Off to Publix I rode with a gleam in my eye and a shopping list in my hand.

Milk; aluminum foil; shaving cream; straws. (Now that I look at it, it's a pretty pathetic grocery list.) I was feeling a little saucy, so I decided to spice up the evening. I didn't buy just regular old straws like my wife instructed. Oh no. I got the Glad "flexible" straws. And I didn't even ask her.

Good times...Good times.

People let me tell you about my best friend

2006-02-22T22:10:00.000-05:00

No, this is not an homage post to the good-natured early 70’s television show The Courtship of Eddie’s Father. But that was a catchy theme song, wasn’t it?

How many times have you heard a bride and groom, when offering their own heart-crafted vows, recite the sentiment "you are my best friend…yada yada yada"? At our wedding, I believe one or both of us made such a mention as well. They even used that phrase, along with some goofy nautical references, in the recent hit Wedding Crashers. (Sidebar: Crashers was funny but second to the hilarious 40 Year Old Virgin for best comedy of 2005.)

I am sure most people who say it, feel it is true and in our case, well, we are no different. But what sucks about having a wife as your best friend is when she gets pregnant, you lose both! Now I know how Dick Cheney must have felt when he lost his buddy and hunting partner in one fell shot. (Ba-dum-bum!) Anyway, there is no real point to mentioning this other than it sucks! Sniff :-( Hey, it’s my pity-party and I’ll whine if I want to (whine if I want to).

Tomorrow morning we go for visit number two. I am going to ask the doc if she can speed this thing up. I have determined that nine months is just too long. I thought we would get to see the little jabeeper again but I found out we do not. I did find out that at week 8, when it looked like an alien, it was actually only the size of a grape. First it was rice; then a grape. I am anxious to see what food my child will be likened to in this visit. My money is on kiwi.

We do get to hear the heartbeat. Tracy is bringing a recorder, which I did not discourage at all, to tape these sounds. My guess is it’s going to sound like this; lub dub – lub dub – lub dub. I don’t want to sound like an insensitive chucklehead, but I am not as excited as my wife is about this. I wish I were. Maybe it is because I am not attached to Sally yet. After all it isn’t growing inside of me. And I feel really bad that I am not more enthusiastic. It might be time to check one of the numerous books lying around the house to see if this is normal.

Pickles and ice cream

2006-02-21T00:04:00.000-05:00

I didn’t think the cravings would come so soon and so mightily. But the first one has struck. Oh, it’s nothing weird like waffles smothered in Tabasco sauce. The food is quite normal. The strange part is, the one with the craving is ME!

Some Freaky Friday thing must have happened between us. I gather at one point I must have said, “I wish I could help you” while Tracy simultaneously said, “I wish you could help me”. We were, of course, referring to easing the nausea suffering but the pregnancy gods must have been drinking that afternoon, got some wires crossed and sent this piece of the baby making process along my way.

For the past week or so, I have been craving cake. All kinds of cake at all times. I normally like cake but not to this degree. I’m like the Cookie Monster’s torte-loving cousin. Last week in the cafeteria at work, they had a red velvet cake with strawberries and a cream cheese frosting. I stood there marveling at the pieces until someone kindly asked me to move.

Finally, I couldn’t resist anymore so Saturday I went to Fresh Market to soothe the hunger. Standing in front of the bakery display like a kid trying to decide which puppy to take home, I eventually settled on the Empire Chocolate Cake. This thing of beauty sports two blankets of fudgey chocolate frosting over a rich pastry mattress and topped with mini morsels of dark cocoa. But that wasn’t enough. I accompanied it with an equally massive slice of moist carrot cake stippled with diced walnuts. I am only slightly ashamed to say I polished off both pieces save for a few bites that Tracy sampled.

No cravings yet for the mother-to-be. I suppose it’s hard to crave a particular item when the thought of most foods turns you green. I imagine it’s like offering a bowl of raw spoiled oysters to someone coming off consecutive rides on the Tilt-A-Whirl. As soon as little Sally is old enough to appreciate what a punishment is, she is grounded for causing her mother such discomfort.

What's up, Chuck?

2006-02-16T22:35:00.000-05:00

We had our first vomiting incident. I know it’s gross but it’s part of being pregnant so deal with it. To this point, we had only experienced (by we, I mean Tracy) the interminable nausea, as described earlier, so I was in no way prepared for this onslaught.

Brushing my teeth and maintaining a hearty mouth full of foam, I looked into the mirror reminded of Pee-Wee Herman’s mad dog impersonation. Tracy was nestled in bed so I was alone in the bathroom laughing at the trails of Colgate spittle snaking from the corners of my mouth. Alone, or so I thought. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, there was this hideous sounding growl directly behind me. I was startled. Half expecting to see a wild dingo, I jumped and turned around simultaneously, my heart racing like Bode Miller after a six-pack.

Alas, no dingo; only poor Tracy bent over the sink relieving her stomach of the recently eaten apple cinnamon Nutrigrain Bar. The noises sounded painful. I didn’t know what to do so I ran. I ran out of the bathroom traversing the living room all the way to the kitchen. I ran like someone was chasing me. Once there, I had no idea what to do. Standing there, mouth still chock-full of toothpaste spit, my first thought was to boil some water. My second thought was that my first thought was stupid.

I waited for the sounds to subside. When I thought it was safe to return, I cautiously walked back towards the bedroom. I peaked around the corner of the bathroom entrance, like one of the scared survivors of an old west gunfight, peering out from behind the swinging doors of the saloon as the dust slowly settles.

"You ok, Hon?" I offered meekly.

"I don’t think Sally likes granola." She joked. Still maintaining her sense of humor. She is such a trooper.

What do you do in a situation like that? Granted, running like I just kicked a beehive may not have been at the top of most lists. But I didn’t want make her more uncomfortable by standing right there, trying to hold her hair and potentially making, in hopes of injecting some levity, a smart ass comment like "Hey sweetie, let me get the garden hose and let’s see who can spray further."

As originally thought, my presence in the bathroom was not welcomed. She confirmed that the best thing I could do was to leave her alone and be near by in case she needs anything. Her only suggestion was that it wouldn’t hurt to make my exit a little more manlier and a little less frantic.

I think I can handle that.

And the Oscar goes to...

2006-02-15T21:44:00.000-05:00

Recently, several people close to the National Hockey League were mentioned in an illegal gambling ring. One of them was Janet Jones. At what point can we stop referring to Janet Jones, as “Wayne Gretzky’s wife, actress Janet Jones”? I think it is safe to say we can remove the actress label.

I looked her up on Rottentomatos.com and she hasn’t had a meaningful acting gig since she played Kate in Police Academy 5: Assignment Miami Beach in 1988 (if you can call that meaningful). That is only slightly more impressive than my 1987 appearance as an extra on the TV gem Spencer For Hire but I don’t have the gall refer to myself as an actor (although I did steal the scene from Robert Urich, playing my video game in the background. The game wasn’t even plugged in however you’d swear I was really battling those space invaders.)

This has nothing to do with pregnancy but it was just getting on my nerves.

Mr. Mom

2006-02-14T21:50:00.000-05:00

So far, I have done a commendable job tending to the duties bestowed upon me as a father-to-be. I realize Tracy is under the weather so I am trying to help out wherever possible. The days can be challenging but in a way, it is helping me spend less time worrying about myself. Repress your fears, I always say.

I frequently offer support and assistance with the greatest intentions. While I have certainly helped, there are still some things, which should be simple, that prove challenging. For example, we have three compartments for dirty laundry and I am not sure why. Her folded shirts and my folded shirts do not look the same. Same friggin shirt type; but mine looks like 10 year old did it. But still I venture forward.

Saturday morning began with breakfast. That I can handle. I prepared eggs and toast to accompany her apple, which was a pre-breakfast snack. After breakfast, I loaded the dishwater, ran a cycle of laundry (towels only - those are easy) and did a cursory cleansing around the house in preparation for evening visitors. All the while, making sure each time I passed by my wife, I gave some sign of affection, like a peck on the top of her head or a brief hug.

Later in the weekend, while relaxing on the couch, I offered up a shoulder rub. This progressed to a full body massage, making sure I strategically skipped the tender areas. Before rinsing off the oil, I prepped the shower for her, so the water was hot upon entering. Then I laid out her sweats so she could stay warm after exiting. Yesterday, I even used a hair dryer on the bed sheets, warming them before she crawled under the covers (man, I am so whipped!)

Whew. This is tough work. I am exhausted. I am beginning to think that men may have the tougher job in this escapade. This may be an over simplification of the nine months but all women have to do is rest, be catered to and at the end, give a couple of pushes. All things considered, that sounds pretty easy. Am I right? Ladies? Anyone? Can I get whoo-hah?!

Update to the update

2006-02-13T13:35:00.000-05:00

This is what he/she looks like at 8 weeks. Ever see the movie Alien? That's what it looked like right before it came tearing through Kane's stomach.

Weekend Update: Week 8

2006-02-12T20:51:00.000-05:00

My wife is missing. I am speaking figuratively, of course. Two thirds of the way through the first trimester and the last month can’t pass soon enough. And I am not just speaking for myself. I am sure Tracy feels the same way. I understand once the second trimester begins, there will be a day when she wakes up and feels relatively normal again.

Based on the information in a book we are reading, the baby has passed the seed stage and now resembles something along the lines of a little lizard complete with a tail. Kinda gross. Hence, I have stopped referring to the baby as Pilaf, and now called it Sally (as in salamander). Along with its tail, the major organs are starting to form. This requires nutrition so the mother is instructed eat 52 small meals a day.

The intense vomiting from morning sickness has been thankfully absent but replaced by a continuos morning, afternoon and evening nausea. It’s an endless seasick feeling like living onboard the Andrea Gail except without the hunky Mark Wahlberg. This would make is hard for anyone to smile let alone feel chipper for any extended period. Tracy is usually one of the cheeriest people on the planet but the daily queasiness, bursts of hiccup like sounds, required food and water intake and general tiredness has transformed her into something different. Mind you, I am not blaming her. I feel bad but there is nothing I can do. I now realize the science of baby growing is quite simple. In order to create a life, the little tyke must suck the life out of you. At least for the first three months.

The hormonal outbursts have been sparse save for one about a canceled trip to Las Vegas. And surprisingly, it wasn’t my outburst! This eruption came on like a rogue wave crashing through the kitchen. My normally even-tempered wife was hysterical over the notion that I might be a little disappointed our upcoming trip has been cancelled. (She’s so cute) I tried to make her feel better by telling her I could still go and I would take lots of pictures of my trip for her. This is when I learned a valuable lesson. Don’t make jokes at a time like this. I think I need to start writing these things down.

Define “Ironic” -

2006-02-09T22:18:00.000-05:00

Things you can expect with a pregnancy :

>Bigger boobs! - "Yay!"

>Boobs so sensitive they hurt just looking at them
so don't even think of going near them! - "Boooo!"

The Sonogram

2006-02-08T23:51:00.000-05:00

Have you ever seen the Grand Canyon in person? Once you do, you soon realize that all the movies, TV clips and pictures cannot do it justice. Being there live is a completely new experience. This also applies to pregnancy stuff. Sure, I’ve seen stirrups, surgical gowns and the jelly-belly ultrasounds in countless films and shows, but it still didn’t prepare me for my live audition.

Our doctor told us it is still early so we wouldn’t see much. Our future child currently maintains the dimensions a gummi bear. The nurse doing the sonogram said it would look more like a piece of rice. Not a long grain Basmati but more of the southern medium grain version. Ok, I get it. It will be small.

And it was small. There was a bean shaped blob next to a little line inside another blob. Hello junior. She pointed out a tiny flicker on the screen, which she claims was the heartbeat. If she wasn’t bullshitting us, that was pretty cool.

A few years ago, I nearly had to take a Valium while my wife went in for Lasik surgery (I am currently looking to score a bottle for these upcoming months) so I was a little anxious before this visit. I am the type of person who cringes at the first sight of a televised surgery when channel surfing. I can’t even watch Nip/Tuck without getting a little queasy but the medical aspect of this first appointment really wasn’t that bad.

I know I am going to have trouble with some of the graphic nature of a pregnancy but I am hoping that there is no time when I actually pass out cold. Without getting too detailed, it was a little more invasive than I had prepared for (I can now give a precise description of my wife’s bladder) but all things said, I came out like a champ!

Oh yeah. Tracy did very well too!

You are going to be a dad!

2006-02-07T21:46:00.000-05:00

I have some catching up to do.

This whole predicament started at Fort Lauderdale International Airport. I don't mean we conceived there, although that would have made for an interesting story, I mean, at the airport, I found out Tracy was pregnant. Discovering you are going to be a dad, coupled with an almost paralyzing fear of flying, can send one rapidly skating towards the land of unconsciousness. Luckily there was First-Aid nearby. And by that, I mean beer. I walked up to the bartender to order our drinks.

"What'll ya have?"

"I just found out my wife is pregnant!"

"Nice for you. What'll you have?" (Ah, the South Floridian demeanor.)

"Draft beer and a water please."

I brought the beverages back to our table and questioned my wife why she waited until 10 minutes before boarding a flight to New Hampshire to tell me. She explained something about just finding out herself right before I picked her up, and after that I was a road raging asshole as soon as we hit the traffic on I95 (which is true), etc etc.

The details of her explanation are a little fuzzy since she was hard to hear over the voice in my head screaming "Your life will never be the same from here on out!". Honestly, we were both spooked.

Raising my lager and her H2O, we toasted each other and readied to board the plane with some news to tell the family once we arrived. After that, the next big item on the docket was our first sonogram.

Welcome to the Jungle

2006-02-07T12:22:00.000-05:00

Nine months is not completely accurate. We are currently seven weeks into this endeavor so technically it is only a little over seven months away. The first month was a breeze because, well, we didn’t know. Now things are starting to get a little trickier, so with many weeks left in this journey I decided to chronicle the events, mainly as a form of therapy for myself.

My wife and I, both in our mid 30’s, led a rather active life before this pregnancy. Based on the myriad of unsolicited advice we have received, it would appear that our lives are over; travel is a thing of the past; the only movies I'll be watching will have talking fish; and basically any and all interests we once had, will be replaced by this bundle of joy.

That sort of thinking terrifies me. Not that I won’t give the little bugger lots of attention but I hope to retain some of the joys in life I currently possess (which we can get in to later) and quite frankly, prove some of these people wrong.

But in the meantime we have lots of other things to experience and worry about. So without further ado, here we go!