Could I Just Get Some Damn Cookies!

Thanks to the holidays, traveling, and then returning to work I haven’t kept up with my blogging very well. But, when my husband commented that our blog was now “lame”, I found myself wanting to retort, “No, you’re lame!” Being that I feel so defensive over something I didn’t even start, I thought I should probably make another entry and promise to be more consistent in the future.

So, two people walk into a baby superstore…It sounds like the beginning of a joke, only by the end the people are either arguing, crying, passed out from exhaustion, or all of the above.

At first, I thought we wouldn’t register for gifts. After all, I have only a slight clue about what we’ll really need once peanut arrives, and I figured that other, more experienced folk, would buy us what they found to be essential (that is, if they give us a gift at all, which certainly isn’t necessary). However, after being asked for the bazillionth time where we are registered, I realized that people who want to be creative will be no matter what, but most just want to be told what you want. So, off we went to Baby’s-R-Us.

After waiting at the registry counter for over 25 min. while grandma-employee explained every detail of every page of the registry manual (yes, this procedure is so complicated, it requires a manual) to the couple in front of us, a chipper young woman came out of the blue to help us. She proceeded to sit down, and within 5 minutes had gone through the whole manual, handed us a gun, and sent us on our way. I still have no idea what the heck she said, but I’m pretty sure she had consumed a triple shot of something before “helping” us. The wall-o-bottles came first. Oh, what brand? What style? What size? What the hell are we doing? This was when my husband decided to take charge and began randomly scanning anything in front of him…but wait…how do we delete stuff again? We worked our way through the Costcoesque isles trying to ask ourselves, “Do we really need that?” At one point another shopper peered over our shoulders to say, “You don’t really need that. A towel works just as well.” YES! We already have towels…score! An hour into the labyrinth, just as I was feeling faint, and my husband was mumbling to himself, we reached the oasis of rocking chairs. Now, rocking chairs in the middle of the back of the store are a great idea, but seriously, where are the snacks and juice?! Everyone knows pregnant women need cookies and juice!!! Starbucks is missing out on a serious opportunity here! Another, haggard looking shopper explained to us that her first time there, she spent 4 hours trying to register and that she had come back to finish. Well, upward and onward, we must press forward and finish. But why, oh why, is the bathroom at the opposite corner of the store. Don’t they know pregnant women shop there? We need bathrooms in every corner! And where are my damn cookies!!! We reached the finish line, feeling as if we had just scanned every item in the store, hungry and tired, only to have the help-desk guy tell us that our registry was only about half the average size. Well Mr. Help Desk Guy, maybe if I’d gotten some cookies and juice, I’d have had the strength to lift the scan gun a few more times!

I Am a Mammal...

The jury is back, and just in case any of you were wondering, I am indeed…a mammal…This little insight was imparted to me by one of the middle school students I work with (did I mention I work with special education students?). It really was endearing, as she is the first of my students to realize I’m pregnant and not just strangely bloated. She first asked if I was going to have a baby, and when I replied that I was she matter of factly told me, “that means you’re a mammal!” This can only mean that the class of those of you who are childless remains in question. Just to make sure, she then asked her teacher if I was indeed a mammal. Neither her teacher, nor I, dared further the conversation by explaining what actually differentiates a mammal from other classes of animal. Body functions, on any level, are a topic to be avoided at all cost when dealing with middle school students.

I, however, now find body functions quite fascinating and have spent the better part of the day researching ways to contain my future baby’s primary bodily function—yes, I’m talking about poop. The tree hugger in me (which quite frankly is more of a tree patter or tree admirer most of the time) was curious about cloth diapers. I was quickly barraged by a slew of web pages and diaper styles. Who knew that while scientists were trying to cure cancer and other fatal illnesses, diaper technology was progressing by leaps and bounds? Apparently, there are cloth diapers now that look and function just like disposables. The only difference is about $17 per diaper and the fact you have to wash the cloth ones. Word on the web is that although the cost of these gold lined bottom wrappers is rather extreme up front, thousands are saved in the long run. If we end up with more than one child, the savings more than double! Now, I may not be embracing evergreens as I hike through the forest, but I do have a bit of an obsession with bargains. No bargain, however, would be worth dealing with unnecessary leakage, seepage, or any other “age”.

But, these things apparently work as well, if not better than disposables (this information is from actual moms, not just the diaper manufactures). So, why not use these things? I have no idea! The only thing I can think of is the thought of my mom rinsing out the old towel looking diapers in the toilet. I would have to put my foot down at actually hand washing poo away multiple times a day. I say change the diaper and get out of there—do not linger around the poo any longer than necessary. Or maybe it’s the idea of hauling around dirty diapers in your bag when you go out. But, low and behold these issues have been worked out, too. So again, why can one only buy these things online, and why are they not more mainstream? It must be “big diapers” (a close partner of big oil). Maybe that’s what truly separates us from other mammals—the thought, care, and research we put into poo.

She Can be Anything She Wants...

Here's the thing. I, actually, write in two blogs every week. The other one is, mostly, about politics. When my wife and I started writing in this one, I didn't want it to be very political.

That being said, there is something about me that, I'm convinced, is genetically led to be interested in politics. So, it's probably reasonable for the political stuff to spill over into this website on occasion. And this may be one of those occasions. Those of you that know me know that I tend to lean on the "Conservative" side. Likely, this comes from my Christian faith.

Naturally, certain aspects of my faith don't jive well with the culture at large. And, one example of that is the idea of women being put into roles. But, here's the problem. I don't know what I'm talking about anymore.

You see, when my wife wasn't expecting a child, it was easy for me to make assumptions about what I felt to be a "woman's place." And certainly I don't want to go into that. But, the day I found out I'm going to have a little girl, my outlook my have changed.

Quite frankly, I don't get it. I'm a dude. My wife is a chick. My baby is a chick. And yet, I'm going to be expected to help raise her. What does that mean? For some background, I should tell you that I didn't want to find out what the baby does. My wife, being the very practical person she is, wanted to know what colors we'd have to paint the room and what color bedding to by?

Am I taking crazy pills? Can a little boy not wear pink? I've seen all kinds of dudes walking around in pink, and some of them look dang good; I'm pretty sure I do. Anecdotally, some of my underwear were pink all through college; ladies take it for granted that you don't put red stuff in with your white stuff... lots of guys don't know that! Anyhow, if dudes can wear pink, girls can wear blue and so on. What I'm saying is, wear what you want and do what you want and quit making a big deal about it.

But, this all makes me wonder. What if she says she wants to be president? To have to tell my daughter that she can't do something just because of her sex would be terrible. Yet, I do still believe that there are ideal ways to raise kids, and the best includes a mom staying home. So, my wife and I are trying our best to allow her to do just that. What I wonder is what she's going to tell her daughter when she asks.

In the end, now I know why my father's answer to every question was "I don't know; ask your mother." I've got to start practicing that one.

To Spank or Not to Spank…

When I think about having a baby girl, what comes to mind is ruffled dresses, pony tails, flowers, and someday her first kitten, dance recitals, and dollies, and eventually getting pedicures and shopping together. My husband, on the other hand, is gripped with fear about a hormonal, out of control, teenage she-monster. Now, I know there are some pleasant, well-adjusted teenage girls out there. I think I may have had a few of them as friends in high school. The question is, how do we get our little princess, who is barely approaching 1 lb. in utero, to become a respectful, intelligent, young lady.

Last night, some friends were here with their 5, 3, and 1-year-old children. I heard the 3-year-old actually use the phrase, “Mother, may I have some juice please?” (Who says “mother” anymore?) While we adults were playing a game, the 5-year-old just sat in a comfortable chair reading books. And, the baby just slept like a peaceful little angel. Wow! I want one like that! I can’t imagine these children will be anything other than friendly, helpful teenagers. This couple really needs to be teaching parenting classes or something, because most of the kids I work with would sooner kick you in the shins than sit for 45 min. reading books to themselves.

There is a faction that is trying to get a law passed against spanking. Do these people actually have kids? And, if they do, are they brats? As a former spankee, I don’t believe in spanking as a first reaction, but it can be a useful tool in the discipline repertoire under certain circumstances. Some of my most vivid memories are of being spanked, and let me tell you, I only played with matches one time! Most likely, if my toddler tries to grab a hot pot off the stove or insists on playing with electrical sockets I’m likely to slap her hand for the sheer shock value of it. Or, if she refuses to stay in time-out, I’ll likely swat her little behind to let her know I’m serious. Now, I’m pretty sure that time-outs and occasional spankings don’t equal a respectful, well mannered child: neither does giving children unlimited freedom. So, what is the key? I’d really like to know before hand, because apparently we’ll only get one performance and there’s no dress rehearsal. Well, I for one am going to try to enjoy the next 4 months. She can’t possibly get into any trouble whilst in her womb.

What Was She Thinking???

Now, here's what I'm talking about. Actually, before I talk about that, let me pose a hypothetical. What is it about hospitals? Why are they always so cold and ugly? Not to criticize, since I know that the people in them are there to help, but seriously. I think I get sick sitting in there thinking about being sick.

Anyways, just a little criticism. But, as I sat there watching my wife on a glorified coffee table--actually it was more like a cross between a dining room table and an ottoman--I wondered what she was thinking.

First, the doctor puts a little towel over her and then some sticky gooey stuff--which apparantly was somewhat "warm". Of course, I can't compare between the warm stuff and the cold. But with that said, when I found out it was warm, I was a little jealous and would have liked to put some warm gooey clear stuff on my tummy...oh that'd be nice. But I digress.

From there he reached over to his table of tools and grabbed one of his many scanner things. And then he did it. He put it right over her belly and on the screen was my baby. I gotta admit I was taken aback. The last time we got to see her, she was about 2.5 cm long. This time her head was 2 inches by itself. Can you imagine? That means she's about five or six inches long. At that moment, I wanted to hold her and pet her little head...literally. Then I remembered it's not a puppy. It's a little girl.

So, I looked back at my wife. She was so happy. And I was too, don't get me wrong. But, up until that moment my wife had put up with puking several times a day. She's constantly sick. And, to top it off, she has a difficult time eating anything I cook; of course, she's always had a tough time eating things I cook, but especially so when she's pregnant.

And as we sat there in that room looking at our baby move around, I knew that my wife believed it was all worth it. All the puking and sickness was worth it. And she reached out and grabbed my hand. Up until that point, I'd felt terrible everytime she'd get sick. Fortunately, right then I knew that she'd forgotten about it.

Thank You Ultrasound Tech Guy!

Up until now, there has been very few pivotal moments in my life: the first day of my first job, receiving my college acceptance letter, and my wedding day. I’m sure if I really thought about it, I could list a few more. But, the last few months have brought about many metamorphic changes (both physical and emotional), which culminated today when we had our 20 –week ultrasound…

Up until recently, aside from a plastic stick with a couple of blue lines and a shadowy picture of what could really be a large peanut that didn’t digest, the only exterior signs that I’m pregnant were my constant nausea and sleepiness—which were also my only internal signs. If it doesn’t sound like a terribly happy and exciting time, that’s simply because it wasn’t. In fact, it sucked (for lack of a better word). All of this physical misery comes with a super-sized side of guilt, because everyone knows that pregnant women “glow” and that it’s one of the happiest times of your life. Well, it’s hard to glow with one’s head in the toilet. All of this is to say that, despite taking my vitamins and beginning to shop for supplies out of what I can only describe as a feeling of obligation, I have not felt terribly bonded to my little peanut. After all, it’s hard to bond to something that you can’t feel or see and that makes you feel fluish.

…The walk through the parking lot and up the elevator was terrifying! Up until today, we’ve declined to hear the results of any test that might indicate a problem with our baby. But, there we were, minutes from seeing our baby on the big screen; steps away from inevitable information, whether good or bad. Although I have been changing shape slightly, I have not had nearly the weight gain nor size change that my pregnant coworkers have. Neither have I been certain of feeling the baby move (though I’ve been told the feeling of bubbles in my stomach is actually the baby moving). So, I’d contemplated the idea that something could be wrong. I held my breath as the jell was spread on my belly and the wand searched for the initial image. And there it was! Part by part the ultrasound tech worked his way through bones and organs, explaining what things were as he went. Much of it looked like grey and black blobs, but the profile and bones were very distinctly a baby. All parts appeared to be in their place and in working order, with a 99.9% chance of it being…a girl! We then got some pictures, one beautiful profile and one face shot that reminds me of Skeletor (I can say that because I’m the mom. You should only say sweet things if you see it.) Then, after I got to work, a colleague that I haven’t seen in a few months saw me in the hall and stopped with a look of pleasant shock. She is officially the first person to notice, without me telling first, my pregnant belly.
All in all, a fairly pivotal day; we got to see our healthy baby girl, I’m officially beginning to look pregnant, and I didn’t feel nauseous all day! I may not be glowing yet, but I definitely feel a bit of a sparkle coming on.

Curious George was Good...

But, here's the problem. There aren't many shows for kids that I would call, entertaining. Okay, don't get me wrong; I enjoy a good cartoon, same as the next man. But, come on. Is it, really, that difficult to make good cartoons, the likes of G.I. Joe and Ducktales?

On that subject, remember Ducktales? That was awesome. In fact, I remember they used to show reruns on The Disney Channel late at night; I used to flip back and forth between Jay Leno and Ducktales as often as possible. Oh, I get it. You don't like Ducktales? Well, I don't care. The truth is that Ducktales was the best show ever for teaching kids about history. It used to address all kinds of historical events...except the ducks could talk.

Anyways, back on topic. But, I was heartened recently when I turned on HBO and saw Curious George. It was everything a cartoon should be; it was cute and touching, while also dealing with deep issues of discrimination. After all, I am now aware of the difficulty of monkeys that live in the city and will, certainly, do my best to be more sensitive to them.

So, Curious George was great. And, for a brief time, my faith in modern cartoons began to be restored. That is, until I saw Happy Feet over the weekend, again on HBO. Now, I should disclose that I only made it through about 45 minutes of the film before I fell asleep. That alone should be proof, enough, that it was a bad movie; usually it's my wife that falls asleep during movies and I'm the one who makes it through. She, in fact, watched the entire thing, probably out of, what I must assume to be, sheer curiosity.

Indeed, based on what I saw of the movie, it was terribly boring and didn't make much sense. First, I didn't realize penguins are supposed to sing; I guess I thought they had better things to do like stay alive in the freezing cold. And, then there's this penguin that dances. Okay, that's cute and all, but come on. It makes no sense. What parent would not be happy to have a tap dancing penguin? I know I'd be excited if my child danced like Gregory Hines. Anyways, maybe it ended better than it started, but I can't imagine how.

The point of all this is to say that, I don't know what I'm going to do on the cartoon front. I just can't get excited about shows like the turtle show or Dora the Explorer. I mean, what happened to Looney Tunes even? I feel like everything I knew and loved is gone. Still, the truth is that I must start getting used to it, because I'm sure my child will want to watch Dora, and I'm going to have a tough time saying "No." Maybe I should get a G.I. Joe DVD and we can watch it together.