Day 29: Halloweenie

Days pregnant: 64 U.S., 50 Europe

So here we are on the first Friday Halloween in … well… geez… I honestly don’t remember the last time Hallowen fell on a Friday. (2003, thanks Wikipedia.) Is there a more perfect day for Halloween?

Seriously. Answer that question. I’ll wait.

Still waiting.

You know why you can’t answer that– besides the fact that this blog is a one-way communication medium and doesn’t allow you to interact with it in real time– and besides the fact that I posed a rhetorical question to begin with — simply because it is the most perfect day for Halloween. You get all of the weekend to recover. You can half-ass it at work– which you were going to anyway because it’s a Friday– and because Friday already has everyone in a good mood, this just makes it even better– like MSG on Chinese food.

And yet, despite today having the potential to be the most bestest Halloween ever… we have no plans to party. And even spookiest of all– I’m fine with that. I must be gettin’ old, because all we want to do is order a pizza, sit on our lawn chairs along our drive way, and hand out candy as the parades of kids march by.

This is what I did last year… grabbed some lawn chairs, and made a crock pot full of spiked apple cider (“apple cider and rum,” it was a very difficult recipe). And then I handed out candy to the kids, and styrofoam cups to the adults. It was the hit o’ the block. (Ps- Firefox wants me to capitalize styrofoam. I refuse to do so.)

We even had some next door neighbors come join us. It was the rest of the block short of a block party, but at least for our two houses, we all had a good time meeting each other and sitting outside watching the streams of goblins and cheerleaders.

(By the way, sexy cheerleaders? Really? You’re going to let your 8 year old dress up as a slutty sexy cheerleader? Whatever.)

Oh, and don’t think I don’t take my candy-handing-out responsibilities seriously. Every year, I refuse to purchase crap candy, which would include, but is not limited to: Sweethearts, candy corn, jolly ranchers, wax teeth, gum, and anything not made up of candy (stickers, coins, spider rings).

See, the problem with most adults is they forget how to be a kid. I remember what it was like to get shitty candy, and that ain’t happening on my watch. We’ve spent about $40 in GOOD candy. (Sadly, I budget for this in my Quicken financial software. We set aside $3.50 a month for Halloween candy. Look, I never said I wasn’t the biggest geek in the world. Lay off.)

Anyway, this year, we have 12 varieties of candy, and I’ve arranged them from least favorite, to favorite. And when kids come up to us, I’m going to judge them on a variety of factors– originality of costume, design of costume, and Halloween spirit. (No mopey teenagers, please.)  Based on that combined score, I will dole out the candy I feel is commensurate to their score. (Don’t worry, I’ll keep it a secret; I’m not out to hurt their feelings, but seriously– if all you’re going to do is put on a different t-shirt, then you deserve plain M&Ms.)

So, in order from worst to best, I’ve rated my candy selection:

Tier 1: The filler candy that came in the variety pack

• 1: Hershey’s chocolate bar. (Seriously? Just a bar of chocolate? You know when you get those big variety bags of candy… well they always manage to stuff it with some lame candy that they would never sell otherwise. I might as well save these to use as filler when shipping via UPS. This candy is dead to me. If you get one from me this year, you should be offended.)
• 2: Plain M&Ms.
• 3: Nestle’s Crunch.
• 4: Kit Kat bar.

Tier 2: The good candy you use when bartering with your sibling

• 5: Almond joy. (By the way, Almond Joy is the least motivated candy bar. Almonds, coconut… it has so much promise. But… in the end… it just lacks something. Caramel? I don’t know. It’s a good bar, don’t get me wrong… but it lacks the Star quality of, say, a Snickers. )
• 6: Peanut M&Ms. (This is a damn good candy, and as an adult, it’s one of my favorite. And let THIS blow your mind: We’re only halfway through my rankings. Imagine how much better it gets…)
• 7: Butterfinger. (I wanted to rank this one higher, but President Wife vetoed.)
• 8: Heath bar. (These are my wife’s favorite, but with only two ingredients, I refused to let them into the exclusive Tier 3 club. Although I will concede that they are the top of Tier 2.)

Tier 3: The stuff you eat last in your pillow-case of candy loot

• 9: Baby Ruth. (When my wife and I were ordering our candy, there was a brief impasse where I wanted to rank Baby Ruth higher than Snickers. I eventually caved.)
• 10: Snickers. (Oh, if you want a Snickers from my bowl, you better bring it.)
• 11: 100 Grand Bar.
• 12: Reese’s Peanut Butter cups– FULL SIZE. I’m not messing with those little tiny cups. This is the real deal, folks.

So that’s my strategy this year. Get some pizza delivery, and pass judgement on little kids. Really, does it get any better (on a Friday)?

Oh, I’m supposed to somehow relate this to my wife’s pregnancy: Umm… she’s still pregnant today. Ta-da!

Day 28: I never learned to read… calendars

Days pregnant: 63 U.S., 49 Europe

Every week I get an email from BabyCenter.com, and they remind me what Peanut looks like this week. This week, my “new resident” (like we just put an ad on Craigslist for a new roommate?), is nearly an inch long and is about the size of a grape. I’m assuming they mean seedless grape. I love that every week they use food analogies. I wonder what they’ll say in week 38. “This week, your baby is the size of a small Thanksgiving turkey, the kind that would feed about 6 or 8 people, if nobody was too picky about eating some of the dark meat; otherwise you might have some leftovers for the dog.”

Part of the email says, “You’re 9 weeks pregnant!” And I thought to myself, no we’re not. We just finished 8 weeks. But, now I think I’ve been counting wrong. All these different dates– beginning of menstrual period, conception date, date we found out we were pregnant, etc…”  It’s all very confusing to a nincompoop like me.

So… let’s get this settled once and for all… start date of LMP: August 29th, roughly. That would make today… let’s see… carry the one… The start of our 10th week. What the hell. Wait a minue. If Aug 29th was day zero, she just completed her 9th week, which means she is 63 Days pregnant, not 56. Hmm. I’m all backwards.

Where did I screw up??? Time-out. Blog off. Please go do something for a couple minutes while I read back in my posts.

[Intermission music]

Blog on… It was the post on October 13th. I said my wife was 4 weeks pregnant when we found out… and she was actually 5 weeks pregnant (by U.S. standards), and 3 weeks by everyone else’s standard–i.e., conception date. Okay, not that it matters to you, but because I fully expect this blog to become so famous that it becomes core curriculum for children in grade school someday, I want things to be accurate. (Oh, and cuz I’m a wee bit anal.) So I just went back and corrected my previous posts.

Well… I guess I’ve been lying to you this entire time. My bad. On the bright side: we’re a week closer to being done. Unfortunately, the due date is still June 4th. Go figure.

Day 27: 3 years for $12? Hell yeah, sign me up

Days pregnant: 62 U.S., 48 Europe

Today I bought my wife and I a subscription to Parent magazine. Yes, yes. Fine. Say it. I don’t care. I’m one of those parents. I’m all about homemade arts and crafts for my kids. I grew up in the suburbs with semi-hippy parents, and some of my fondest memories were sitting at home doing crafts with my mom. In fact, we had an arts and crafts drawer that I vividly remember below the kitchen counter, which was full of crayons, construction paper, pens, water colors, etc. At any time, we had free reign to go to the drawer and just pull out whatever we wanted and start drawing.

Maybe this is a tad premature to say… since I’m only 2 months into the whole fatherhood thing… but I can picture myself in 6 years, sitting around and coloring with Peanut, or in a dozen years, sitting at the kitchen table, like my dad sat with me, trying to explain how Algebra works.

I think part of the reason I want to keep this “blog” around (not a “diary” cuz I’m a guy and that would mean I want to have consensual sex with other males…) … part of the reason to keep it around is because I hope in 10 years I’ll look back, when I’m too exhausted to pay any more attention to my child, and this blog will remind me how excited I was to do those things, and hopefully will remind me to find the time to color, or do homework. Oh sure, right now it’s all roses and I’m excited to do so. But I also know my famously short attention span, and I don’t doubt there will be some day when I have reached my threshold for paying attention to my child. Or does that not happen? I don’t recall ever getting that feeling from my parents, and I doubt my wife ever got that from her parents. But I gotta think it’s human nature to feel that way at some point. Or, maybe my wife and I were just blessed with amazingly selfless parents. All I know is… right now very few things in life top playing Halo 3. That’s gonna have to change come June 2009.

Oh, one more Suburbanite Sin for which to repent: when I signed up for Parents magazine, I … uh… got snookered into a year subscription of… um… Family Circle for $6. OKAY JUDGE ME. That one was perhaps even a bit too suburbia for even me… Mr. Minivan. But, as my wife said, “They have good recipes.“  Hell, that’s all the justification I need. And who knows, for 50 cents a month, maybe I’ll learn something. it’s only $6. Quit looking at me like that. I’m sure it’s a very decent publication. And besides, I’ll probably just learn how to make all sorts of shit out of popcicle sticks. I think that’s all those magazines are good for. Articles on “which teething crackers are best for your baby”, and making houses out of popcicle sticks for various holidays. (“For Veteran’s Day, we show you how to re-construct the beachead at Normandy using candy corn, pipe cleaners and popcicle sticks.”)

Day 26: Nothing much to talk about

Days pregnant: 61 U.S., 47 Europe

Little to no news on the baby front to report. Today, we booked our Thanksgiving trip up to Portland, and that’s when we’ll officially spill the beans (spill the stuffing?) to the rest of the family. My wife will be finishing her 12th week at that point… and wrapping up her first trimester. Good timing. (Way to go sperm!)  And hopefully by that point she’ll be over this morning day sickness she’s been having for the past few weeks. And then my pregnant wife and her pregnant sister-in-law will preggo-wrestle. (Like at corporate retreats when people don Sumo suits.)

I’m on a conference call for work right now, as I type this. I picture myself a year from now trying to do the same conference call while staying home with Peanut. (By the way, that’s my new favorite nickname. I’m not ready to call it “the baby” which sounds weird anyway… but I like Peanut. My wife came up with that nickname after seeing the peanut-shape on the sonogram.)

Luckily, I think with my job I’ll be able to do both. The downside will be trying to schedule my sales visits on Tuesdays – Thursdays. I think it can be done… but I guess I’ll know in a year. Also, for a salesman, who’s always looking for a way to connect with his clients, there could be worse things than “accidentally” dropping the fact that I’m at home with my baby. Especially working in a women’s health field like I do… this baby is going to be the sales gift that keeps on giving. I’m going to milk this thing for all it’s worth!

Other random thought for the day: In my backyard, there was some little flower growing, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what it was. The leaves looked different than any of the other leaves in my backyard. I assumed there was some flower orgy going on, and I was getting some weird hybrid plant.

Well, when gardening this weekend, we dug it up to move it, and guess what was at the other end– an avacado pit! I completely forgot I planted that like over a year ago. There was the pit, whole and round, with a big 5″ stem coming out of it, with two big leaves at the end. How cool is that? Like a science experiment in my backyard. I vaguely remember planting it last year in that spot. (Closest to the kitchen door, which makes sense because I would have been too lazy to walk it to the OTHER  end of the backyard.)

Day 25: Peanut 1, ObGyn 0

Yup, that's our Peanut!!!

Days pregnant: 60 U.S., 46 Europe

Today we had our first OB Gyn visit. Which was a bag of mixed results…

First, the Good: My wife’s ObGyn performed our first OB sonogram. And we got to see our little peanut on the monitor! (Fetus sounds so cold, and I don’t know if I can legally refer to it as a baby yet. So, we settled on “peanut.” Besides, it was sort of shaped like a peanut.)

I’m not an emotional person — the last time I cried was 2003. I’m not bragging. Far from it. On the contrary, I wish I could cry easier. But years of cynicism, jadedness, and being an emotionally-stunted male have left my tear ducts withered and dry, like a grape vine in January.

So I’m not going to try and win your affection by telling you some BS story about how I cried a single tear or blah blah blah when I saw Peanut on the monitor. No, I didn’t cry. Although, I will admit, it was damn cool. And there was a wave of tingling that washed over me when the ObGyn showed us the heartbeat on the monitor. Sort of like all-over-goosebumps. Suddenly it wasn’t just a little snowman blob in a tunnel on the monitor, it was alive! I made life!

And the rest of the good news… It was in the proper place in the uterus, with the yolk sack and all the other amenities Hotel Uterus is supposed to have. And it was the proper size for being 9 weeks along. And the heartbeat was at 160 (or 168, I forget) beats per minute, right where it was supposed to be. So… all signs point to this being a viable pregnancy. Yahoo. I can’t wait until Thanksgiving when my wife will feel safe that she’s far enough along to spread the word to the rest of our friends and family.

And now for the bad news… We didn’t care much for the ObGyn. I’ve worked in a few different private medical practices and hospital departments, and the one thing I’ve learned: a doctor is only as good as their supporting staff. And her front desk staff was not very good. I can tell when a staff is organized, and these girls were definitely not. Also, my wife and I had many questions, and we felt like the doctor sort of rushed through them or was in a rush to get us on our way. (Note to self: don’t make an appointment at the end of the day.) And there were a few other minor annoyances — it’s funny, but when you’re looking for a reason to not like a doctor, it’s very easy to find them, no matter how petty the reason, “Did you notice how her left cuff was slightly higher than her right cuff? We’re not going back to that quack!”  Stuff like that. Anyway, petty or not, the overall feeling/vibe my wife and I got was underwhelming, so we’re going to go look for another ObGyn next week.

My wife works in the medical field as well, and she got a good (I hope) recommendation from one of her hospital clients, so we’ll meet him next week.

Day 24: Gettin’ My Green Thumb On

Days pregnant: 59 U.S., 45 Europe

We co-own a duplex with friends. It’s their job to tend to the front yard, and it’s my wife and my job to keep up the backyard. Moving from the Northwest a few years back, the concept of having to water a backyard is foreign to me. And, I’ve never owned a yard for which I had to be responsible.

Well, over the past year and a half since buying our duplex, I watched my backyard slowly deteriorate. Having to water 3 times a week turns out to be harder than I anticipated. As I joked to my wife when we first found out we were pregnant, “I can’t imagine having to take car eof ANYTHING once a day.” This doesn’t bode well for the future of our child. Diapers can be changed every-other-day, right?

Hell. I can’t even get myself to floss once a day. How am I supposed to take care of another life? My wife won’t even let me get a dog, because she knows me. I’ll play with it for the first 3 days, and then will forget to feed it. And, she’s right.

Where was I? Oh, yes. So, yeah. My backyard has slowly slipped over time. And I still attempt to water it (up to) 3 times a week. But despite my efforts, I just can’t seem to get things to bloom and grow. Well, this weekend I took a stand.

From here on out: I will become the master of my backyard. We went to home depot, and with the help of my mother-in-law, who has had a green thumb before Berlin was split in two, we bought some azaleas, a white rose bush, and … something else. I forget. Look. I’m not here to memorize plants. I’m here to make them grow.

I also bought myself some loppers and went to town on my neighbor’s tree branches that have been hanging over our backyard. Now it’s nice and bright and airy.

Then I took up the major task of digging out all of the ferns from my backyard. I despise ferns like I despise Populist Republicans. (Maybe even worse.) There were roots everywhere. I had to dig up a row of ferns about 12 feet long. That’s a LOT of ferns. And I dug ‘em all up. Whew.

That was the first time I ever voluntarily gardened. (Oh, by the way, men don’t “garden.” We “do yardwork.”) And the funny thing is, now that I’ve worked harder on the backyard than I ever have… suddenly I’ve become more protective of it, and find myself checking on it daily. It’s a strange phenomenon that when I inherit something, I don’t take the same care of it as when I built it myself (my backyard), or spend my hard-earned money on it (my bathroom). So, I guess there’s hope that I will take good care of the baby that I make.

Day 23: Please Don’t Let This Be The One

Days pregnant: 58 U.S., 44 Europe

So I just had one of the most harrowing experiences of my life. And it wasn’t even that harrowing – that’s how boring my life is. (In fact, I’m not even sure if I have a strong grasp on what harrowing means, simply based on the lack of harrowing events I’ve experienced.)

I was in Juneau, Alaska for work. In October, that’s some of the lousiest weather on the planet. Dark, hard rain, and cold. I had been there for a few days, and was anxious / ready / excited to leave and get back home to see my wife. (Who has had a few days of terrible nausea. Poor thing.)

Well, first my flight was delayed because of the inclement weather. Sucky. Then, we got up in the air, flew for about 20 minutes… and I see a distressed look on the stewardess’ face, as she brisky walks to one of her compartments, grabs some manual and laminated instruction card I’ve never seen before, and huddles with the other stewardess. I turned to the passenger next to me who also witnessed this and said, “When the stewardess looks worried, that’s not a good sign.”

Sure enough, about 1 minute later, the pilot gets on the radio and briefly says, “We’re experiencing a major electrical failure. We’ve started our descent back to Juneau. Assume crash positions.” ASSUME CRASH POSITIONS?! Yikes. That’s the first time I’ve ever had to do that.

Now, I should preface this with, just a month ago, the same thing happened to a friend of mine when flying into Alaska. So I somewhat felt prepared, that this was nothing too emergent, just a safety precaution. And the passenger next to me explained he’s a volunteer fire fighter, and that he’s seen this before, and “nobody ever dies from this.” Uh, thanks guy, for putting that remote possibility into my hyperactive imagination. I was in the crash position for 15 minutes – and the longer I sat there, the more I started to let my imagination run wild.

Luckily, the landing was as smooth as silk. I guess it was a precaution. I don’t know how often that happens – I’m guessing not very, based on the panic look I saw on the stewardess’ face. But there were people who disembarked from the plane in tears. I guess if you’re imaging the worse, then that’s a pretty awful position to be in. (Metaphorically and literally.)

But in those 15 minutes of waiting … that’s when I had my first thought so far in this pregnancy of, “Oh, crap. My wife is pregnant. If I die, she’s going to have to raise a kid by herself.” Until now, I’ve never concerned myself too much with my wife’s life after my death, but I guess it’s time. She’s been bugging me to get life insurance. And in that moment while sitting in crash position, wondering what the landing would be like, a thought crossed my mind: “Crap, she’s been bugging me to get life insurance. If I die, she is going to be really mad.”

So I guess I’ll be shopping for life insurance in the coming… month week day. Er… well, before my next trip anyway. Probably. Maybe. Soon. Ish.

Day 22: Craving Food, Avoiding Smells

Days pregnant: 57 U.S., 43 Europe

I need to dabble online and find out when pregnant women “cravings” kick-in. For example, my wife has always loved Spaghetti O’s. But the other day at the store she said, “Oooh… that sounds so good!” So, is this just an excuse to eat Spaghetti O’s, or was there something in her brain that made her crave Spaghetti O’s so she could up her intake of some vitamin or mineral that you can only get in a can of Spaghetti O’s.

(And, for the record, that’s the most number of times I’ve typed Spaghetti O’s in a single paragraph.)

The other night we went out to dinner, and she was insistent on finding somewhere with a good salad. Hopefully that was her body crying out for dark, leafy greens to get more iron. And she’s come home several times with snacks and goodies. Our cupboards have more food in them now than usual. I don’t know if I should chalk this up to cravings yet, or if it’s just her giving in to her sweet tooth.

This is a touchy subject indeed. Because I used to kid, years ago, “There’s no such things as cravings. Pregnant women just use that as an excuse so they can eat what they want.” And part of that was said in jest, because deep down I know cravings exist. But I think there’s also sometimes when cravings are used an excuse to eat a big ol’ greasy cheeseburger. Not that my wife is doing that… but I’m not wholly convinced it won’t/hasn’t happened. (He said dancing around the subject ever-so-lightly.)

She’s also become very sensitive to smells. I love hot dogs. (Especially the Hebrew National Fat Free Beef franks. Soooo good.) Well, I have officially been banned from cooking/microwaving hot dogs around my wife. She says the smell makes her ill. Simiarly, she came home yesterday and I had been cleaning the kitchen, and was using some mold remover inside the fridge, and the smell wasn’t that noticeable to me, and she said, “OH MY GOD! What’s that horrible smell?”

My wife has always been one of the most sensitive and emotional people I know. (And I don’t mean that with a pejorative connotation; I mean literally, she has great hearing, great taste buds, and she can cry at the drop of a hat when watching a movie.) So the fact that she is becoming hyper-sensitive to smells and cravings doesn’t surprise me. But I was hoping this wouldn’t come along for several more months.

However, her cravings haven’t been anything out of the norm yet. Just things she already liked. Which makes me dubious if this officially qualifies as a “craving” or if it’s just her wanting some of her favorites.

Day 21: Ch-ch-ch-Changes

Days pregnant: 56 U.S., 42 Europe

With apologies to David Bowie for today’s blog title.

Since I’ve been writing my daily thoughts for a few weeks now, one of the themes that has emerged is, “How will having a baby change me?” Not in the physical sense of, “Oh, you’re going to be more tired, get more gray hair, etc.” But I mean, how will it change my perspective on life. Yesterday’s blog about cleaning got me thinking. Will I suddenly feel maternally connected to my domicile? Will I become Mr. Fix-it? Right now, honestly, I procrastinate doing chores—I’m not a fan of watering the backyard and don’t do it as often as I should; I rarely pick up a broom and only do it when the feeling of walking on crumbs gets too much for even me. And I hate folding laundry and putting away my clothes.

In a previous post I noted that I have a highly developed sense of sarcasm (translation: I’m jaded). Nothing is sacred or off-limits when joking. So again I ask, “Will these attitudes change once I have a baby?” And believe you me, if they do—I wouldn’t mind. That’s one area in which I’m envious of my wife. She is super compassionate, highly emphatetic, and refuses to make mean jokes about anyone or anything. I wouldn’t mind if having a baby helped to shift me more towards her perspective on life.

I hope so. This reminds me of the first time I ever felt that instinct kick-in: Sometime in early 2000s, my wife and I were river rafting up north of Vancouver, B.C. The rivers were flowing hard that day, and long story short: the inflatable raft capsized and we were heading straight for some rocks. I’ve river rafted about a dozen times in my life, and this was one of the nastiest places to capsize I’ve ever encountered. And the thing is—as soon as I emerged from the water, my only thought was to find my wife. (At the time my girlfriend.) I remember being focused on that, and protecting her from the cliff wall we were heading towards.

Now, I’m not telling you this to elicit your sympathetic, “Aaaaawwww, that’s so sweet.” I’m telling you this because I hope that type of determination and focus kicks in more when I have a child. Trust me, I could use a healthy dosage of being less selfish.

One of my biggest concerns about myself is that my child will be a toddler, and I’ll want to check my email or do something on the internet, and I’ll put off playing with my child in favor of doing whatever task I wanted to do. Sort of like the song, “Cat’s in the Cradle.” I wonder what kind of parent will I be – will I be able to strike the balance between doting, attentive father, and still keeping time to do the things I want?

Whoa. This blog ended up being waaaay to introspective. I apologize. That won’t happen again.

Day 20: Dirt, dust and grime

Days pregnant: 55 U.S., 41 Europe

My wife’s mother is coming to stay for a couple days, en route to stay with my wife’s sister’s family for a week. My wife’s mother is retired, and she has always played a large role in the rearing of grand children. I think when she comes down today, we’re going to tell her at dinner about the pregnancy. I can’t wait to tell her. She’s going to be very excited.

In preparation of her arrival, we had to clean the house. We have hard wood floors, which collect dirt and dust at alarming rates. I swear I just dusted two weeks ago, and now there is a healthy film on the floors again. It’s insane. Also, the fact that we live in Long Beach doesn’t help, because the tables and furniture near the windows get an additional layer of “soot.” Yes, black soot granules. It’s freaky to think we’re breathing all of that in. I definitely look forward to moving up to Portland, once we’re able to do so. (Housing market and all that, blah blah blah.)

Back on point: the hard wood floors get dirty… fast. And with my wife feeling nauseated all day, it’s hard for her to be around cleaning chemicals. Which leaves more cleaning to me. And, I don’t mind telling you: I hate cleaning. I’m the kind of cleaner that once I get focused and in to it, I clean better than anyone. My left-brain detailed side kicks in, and I move furniture, get underneath areas where no human would ever see. But, the problem is, I hate getting started. And it dawned on me today, “Oh my, with a baby crawling around, I’m going to be cleaning A LOT and FREQUENTLY.” That sucks. That totally sucks. Stupid baby, cutting in to my Halo playing time. Or, will my attitude change, and some maternal instinct kick in, and I’ll look forward to cleaning every day? Will my basic instinct to provide a suitable nest for my offspring kick in?

Day 19: It’s a big, scary world out there

Days pregnant: 54 U.S., 40 Europe

There was an interesting article I recently stumbled across about a mom who let her 9 year old son take a subway by himself to find his way home. The article was written by the mom, after the media frenzy died down surrounding this news story.

When the story hit the airwaves, people reacted in wildly different ways. Some people vilified the mom, and accused her of negligence, and “oh how could you,” and the such. And other people applauded her for giving her child the opportunity to be responsible and independent.

If you don’t know, here’s the story: the woman’s 9 year old son was begging her to ride the subway by himself. They lived in New York City. So, when they were across town one afternoon, she agreed. She gave him subway fare, and change for a phone call in case of an emergency. He knew the route to take, and she dropped him off at the subway stop. And, wouldn’t you know it, 45 minutes later, he returned home safe and sound.

The woman goes on to make an interesting point that parents have become so paranoid, that if you drive around suburbia, you rarely see kids out playing anymore. As a society, we’ve gotten to the point where in order to be considered “a good parent,” you have to take the most extreme stance and assume every single car that drives by is trying to abduct your child. People don’t let kid’s travel beyond the block, much less the driveway.

But at what cost? This woman’s child learned a lot about self esteem, and being independent, and what it means to be trusted. I remember being a kid, and my sister and I would be 6 or 7 years old, and we’d go ride our bikes a couple miles from our house, through mud and forests, and would usually get lost in the woods about once a week. But that was half the fun. Are we raising a generation of kids in bicycle helmets when they ride a tricycle? Are these kids not going to realize how to be independent and rely on their own wits? I doubt if taking extreme caution is really being a good parent.

Granted, I say all of this without having a child of my own yet. And I see how people can become uber protective. Yes, child abductions do occur. And you would to do everything to prevent that from happening to your child. But I gotta think life is full of scare, and awe, and amazement, and every emotion in between. To a certain point, you have to equip your children with the skills to survive, and be independent. I hate to say, “play the odds”… because that sounds callous … but truth be told, I’m sure the odds are 1 child out of a million is abducted. Heck, probably even fewer by total strangers (I’d venture that most abductions occur by people the child knows). But, then again, the odds of getting smashed by a semi or an SUV while your child is in the car may not be that different. Point is: there are lots of things out there to be protective of, but you have to take a stance somewhere, and not at the detriment of your child’s maturing and growing up.

PS- I reserve the right to disagree with all of this once I hold my newborn baby in my arms.

Day 18: Eatin’ Good in the Neighborhood

Days pregnant: 53 U.S., 39 Europe

I believe in one of my earlier posts I described how careful I’ve become in planning meals for my wife. Some days I’ll pack her breakfast and lunch while she gets ready, so she doesn’t have to focus too much about how she eats. But our grocery shopping trips have taken on a whole new life of their own… trying to get the right amount of Iron, and Calcium, and all those nutrients is not easy. Especially not with the typical American diet.

She has a full regiment of vitamins she has to take every day. To wit: Prescription prenatal vitamins with 1mg of folic acid, two gelcaps of Omega 3 DHA-EHA (researched to have no mercury or heavy metals), extra B-6 vitamin, and a Calcium chew with Vitamin D (and perhaps K, I forget what’s in the chew).

Also, I’ve become a cereal Nazi. (If you take offense at the word Nazi, I suggest you avoid every other blog post, because it’s full of the same humor.) Do you realize how hard it is to find a cereal that is high in Iron AND Calcium AND Fiber? Impossible. Since she has Calcium chews, I’ve decided to focus my cereal choices on Iron and Fiber, in that order. Fiber she can get from a lot of sources, but Iron is hard to come by in large quantities. (I thought having meat for dinner would be good, but upon further research, red meat and chicken really aren’t that great as sources of iron. Only like 4-10% of recommended daily allowance. If I’ve been lied to about that, I wonder what else the government is hiding from me? [Drinks glass of delicious, fluoridated water.])

Anyway, so I will only consider cereals with at least 90% iron. But my wife is starting to get fed up with (starting?), because I call her up every day and constantly ask, “What’d you have for breakfast? What’d you have for lunch?” I even bought her separate boxes of cereal and milk cartons to take to work.

Which leads me back to a conclusion I made in a blog entry awhile back: How on Earth did people have babies before all of this vitamin stuff was around? Or is it just a big scam, like Hallmark pushing cards for every Holiday. (“Oh crap, it’s Arbor day! Did I send my parents a card telling them how much they mean to me on this Arbor Day???”)

I guess the idea is, “Listen, doing these things can’t hurt your child, and they may in fact help.” I suppose the idea is – we’re trying to do everything we can to fight the odds that we’ll have a flipper baby or what-have-you. I’d hate to have our baby come out with the brains out the outside and have someone say, “Oh, if you only had gotten 25mg more of Vitamin B-6, that would have reduced the odds of EBS (external brain syndrome).” So, I suppose it’s like wearing a life preserver on a boat. Odds are, it’s not going to tip… but just to be safe, put on the life vest.

Day 17: My mom has patiently waited for this day

Days pregnant: 52 U.S., 38 Europe

Well if this isn’t the sweetest thing in the whole world: my mom called today to say she is going to knit a blanket for my wife and the baby as a surprise, and wanted to know what colors would be good. I said we weren’t going to find out the sex, so she settled on pale yellow, lime green, and lavender I think. (Or some such unisex combination, because I’d hate my baby to be gay because I gave it a pink blanket*.)

* Seriously, that was a joke. If you don’t know that, you should probably not read this blog.

Here’s what makes it uber-sweet: When my last niece was born, 10 years ago, my mom knitted a blanket for my sister. Before knitting, my wife and my mom were pattern shopping. And mind you, this is 10 years ago. The pattern packet my mom bought had two patterns. My wife liked pattern A, and my sister liked pattern B. So my mom knitted pattern B. But she kept Pattern A. For 10 years, hoping this day would come. My dad even joked with her, “There’s no way you’ll be able to find that.” Well, sure enough, my mom – who I should point out is perhaps the most organized person on the face of the planet – knew exactly where she put the pattern, and voila! She found it.

I can’t wait until my wife finds out. Really, 10 years. That’s pretty awesome. I mean, it’s not the surprise to end all surprises. But still, that’s the kind of thing (I assume) women love. It’s like when sitcom audiences go, “Awwwwwwww.”

Day 16: The Midnight Express

Days pregnant: 51 U.S., 37 Europe

Nothing much to report today. The morning sickness is still in full effect. The newest delight in her pregnancy extravaganza is that she now gets up at about 3 or 4am every morning to go to the bathroom. And it’s not like she’s drinking water excessively at night. I don’t know what it is. And she’s far from the point where her bladder is being squeezed. (As babycenter.com reminds me, our baby is only the size of a kidney bean. PS- All of babycenter.com’s analogs are food. It’s kind of eerie. “Today, your baby is the size of a delicious nectarine. Mmm, soft and juicy.”)

But she is taking more vitamins, I guess that could be it. But, for whatever reason, consistently every night for the past week, she wakes up to go to the bathroom. And I’m not using hyperbole to elicit a desired emotional response from you: literally, every night. Que lastima, pobrita.

Day 15: Morning Sickness

Days pregnant: 50 U.S., 36 Europe

Well morning all-day sickness kicked in at the end of week 6. My poor wife. It hasn’t just been morning sickness. It started as mostly evening sickness. But now she says she feels it basically 24 hours a day. Nausea all day long. I don’t envy her. It’s been going for almost a week now. We read online, and it seems it has the potential to last for a month or more. Yikes.

She searched online and tried some of the remedies: saltine crackers in the morning, plenty of water, chewing on ginger root (which by the way is NASTY and only makes her more nauseated), and the scent of lemon. (Not sure why that last one. But she requested lemon drops. And, by the way, hard candy lemon drops are not easy to find when you’re looking for them. I’ve seen them at a billion gas stations and stores… but the one time I try to find them, I can’t. By the way, I’ll save you a trip: Target doesn’t sell them.)

There are also these special pops called “Preggie Pops” or something like that. She found them online, and I think she’s going to order them this week. Hopefully that will help. But I just feel helpless to do anything. She says on the way to work she had to pull over a couple times because she can’t tell if she’s going to throw up. And twice she’s gone into the bathroom to try and make herself vomit, in hopes that it will alleviate the nausea. No such luck. (As she lamented, “I’m not very good at sticking my finger down my throat.”)

We have a friend who is an oncologist and… I believe… a naturopath, and she recommended getting at least 50mg of Vitamin B6, as well as taking her vitamins at lunch time. So we went to the store, and got some more B6 (since her prenatal vitamins only gave 25mg.) By the way, it’s hard to find just 25mg of B6. In fact, it’s hard to find just B6. Everyone wants to sell you all of the B vitamins lumped in together, or if it’s an isolated B6, it’s hard to find it in small doses. But, we finally managed to find some… alas, no such luck. It hasn’t helped the morning all-day sickness.

I asked my wife to try and find a pattern– maybe create a log, and a few times a day, rate her sickness and then write when she ate, what she ate, etc. She seems to think there’s no pattern at all. I work in the computer world, and to me, every issue has a pattern; the question is: can you discern it? But, I don’t want to tell her she’s wrong… because I’m not the one who’s sick, and she could be right that it is just her body doing whacky things independent of any stimuli.

Day 14: Top Secret!

Days pregnant: 42 49 U.S., 28 35 Europe

So far we’ve managed to keep the pregnancy a secret from most of my wife’s family, and from all of our friends. However, I love telling people, so I’ve told a few of my close customers; people who have no connection to my friends or family. But my wife too has felt the urge to share it with others. It’s hard keeping track of who I’ve told, and with each day, when I let the secret out to someone else, I keep thinking, “Okay, I’ve got to start logging this stuff.” I think I’ve told 3 customers… and that’s it. Not too bad. And my wife has told 1 sibling, 1 co-worker, and 1 friend. So far so good.

Also, and I feel ashamed for using this secret for commercial purposes – but it’s a great sales tool in my line of work: I happen to “drop the secret” to break the ice with a potential sale, or get in good with an existing customer. I can see myself milking this thing for awhile to come. Yes yes, tell me I’m horrible. But I’m bearing my soul to you here with brutal honesty about how my brain works… and you can’t fault me for that. And it’s not like I’m prostituting my unborn child. I’m just using the dissemination of information to my advantage. Surely there can’t be anything wrong with that. That’s a legitimate sales tactic, right?

So I take back what I said. I don’t feel ashamed. In sales, you need every opportunity to make a connection with someone. Whether I find out that someone loves golf and chatting them up about golf, or whether I use my wife’s pregnancy as a connection… either way I’m just finding a common ground to break the ice.

Good, I’ve managed to talk myself into justifying my actions. Whew. Goodbye guilt!

Anyway… where was I… oh yes. So my wife has 7 other siblings. We’ve told 1 of them, because they announced they were pregnant a couple weeks ago. And my wife enjoys having someone to commiserate with. I told my parents, but I only have one sibling, and we’re still waiting until the end of the first trimester before announcing it. (Right around Thanksgiving time, which is nice timing I think. That should get me out of doing some dishes at the in-laws. SEE! There I go again. Using our situation to my own advantage. But really, can you blame me– I hate doing dishes at Thanksgiving! Oh wait… what if it backfires and they say, “Well, you better get used to doing lots of housework… here you go! A pile of dishes for you.” Hmm. I better think this one through.)

Day 13: Knock, knock…

Days pregnant: 41 48 U.S., 27 34 Europe

Who’s there?

9-11.

9-11 who?

YOU SAID YOU’D NEVER FORGET!

Yesterday’s post about sympathy got me thinking. I (used to) consider myself a comedy writer, as it was one of my main hobbies before my current job. For the previous 10 years, friends and I have written and performed comedy mostly in Seattle, but occasionally in Chicago, New York, Montreal, San Francisco, Hollywood, etc. (Since you’re reading this and since this blog gets zero visitors a day, you can probably guess that the comedy writing thing didn’t pan out too well.)

Back on topic: when you spend the majority of your life viewing things with an ironic eye, trying to deconstruct every event and situation to find the kernel of humor in it… it makes you a tad jaded and cynical. And like too much weed killer on your lawn, it kills every living part of your sympathy. Even after 9-11 (please stop reading for 2 minutes of solemn, reflective silence… Go ahead, I’ll wait.)…

Even after 9-11, perhaps on that same day, I was prepared with some jokes. I can’t help it. “What, too soon?” (Quick tangent: For Halloween in 2001, I wanted to be the twin towers, with little mobile planes crashing into them.) Don’t get me wrong. It was a horrible tragedy, and all that blah blah blah that I’m saying just so you don’t send me hate mail. But I just have a personal belief that nothing is sacred, and humor can be found in every situation. As Woody Allen says, comedy = tragedy + time. Well, in my world, black comedy = tragedy + warped sense of humor.

So I’ve been thinking… will having a little boy or girl skew my perspective? When my friends make child molesting jokes (and I have every expectation they will)… will I get offended? Will I suddenly find compassion and realize that yes, there are certain things that are off-limits to comedy?

Side bar: My wife is the opposite of me, so even if I don’t change, there is hope for our unborn child. You know how people take photos or send cards out saying, “It’s a girl!” Well, my dream is to have a photo with me looking dejected, holding a sign that is opposite of whatever gender our baby is. So if it’s a boy, I want a photo of me holding the baby in one arm, with a sign lowered in the other arm that says, “It’s a girl!” and looking very dejected. HILARITY! My wife has vetoed thing idea, and says it would be mean if the child found it later in life. My postulate is that, “No, if it’s my child, I will have scarred it early on in life with too many jokes and my warped sense of humor… so there’s no way my child could be offended, because they will have had a lifetime of knowing my comedy.”

Day 12: Pictures of You

Days pregnant: 40 47 U.S., 26 33 Europe

My wife and I have lived in our house now for approximately 1 ½ years. And we finally got around to cleaning out some of those moving boxes with random crap that you can’t throw away, but have no use for. Like old photos. I’m the least sentimental person on the face of the planet.

(Tangent: I think I lack the sympathy gene. When I hear of people who have to spend money for a dog’s kidney surgery… my eyes instinctively roll. I don’t care if Fido is a “member of the family” – by the way, he’s not… he’s a dog… but even so, if an animal needs surgery that costs more than $100… put it to sleep. In fact, I’m going to do whatever costs less: fixing the mutt, or putting it to sleep. Yes, I’m a cruel and heartless bastard… but it’s a DOG people. They’re like shoes. Don’t pay to have your shoes resoled, just go buy a new one. They’re everywhere.)

Okay, now that you hate me and probably realize I’m a horribly unfit father… back to my point: I’m not sentimental. So photos to me aren’t that important. I’ve got friends who take their camera everywhere we go, and they love snapping pics. Which is great. That’s just not what I’m about. As I see it, photos are just junk that someone has to deal with when you die. Sure, every now and then a kid or a grand child will want to check it out. So, it’s fine to keep a few on hand. But really… volumes and volumes of photos are useless to me.

So anyway… back to the original original point… after 1.5 years in our house, we got around to cleaning out the downstairs closet that was full of boxes of memories. And we went through the photos, and decided which ones we should put on the wall. (I guess now that we’re pregnant, we’re supposed to actually make the house appear “lived in,” with photos on the walls.) So we trudged down to Target, blew $100 in photos (see my earlier comments about spending more than $100 on a dog, and you’ll understand why I say “blew”…) and it was up to me to hang them.

Well, honestly, I’m not the most nimble handyman there is. Our walls are plaster and lathe, and I’ve had pretty lousy luck hanging things. So I did some research, marched down to Home Depot, and bought the hardware to hang frames and other heavy things on our old plaster walls.

I even hung some heavy artwork and a mirror… and here I am 3 days later, and they’re still up. Which is good news… because building things and hanging things in walls is a prerequisite to being a dad. But, so is sympathy, so I suppose I’m one for two.

Day 11: Counting Days wrong?

I signed up for an account at babycenter.com, which sends you weekly emails about what to expect in your pregnancy this week; and facts about your baby. (This week… our baby is the size of a blueberry. Next week… a lima bean! The week after… a large grape.) Kind of odd—I’m not sure if we’re having a baby or a fruit salad.

At first I thought the site was broken because it kept showing my wife 2 weeks farther along than I thought. Well, silly me. I’ve been counting the number of days my wife has been pregnant. So, to me, she’s 4 week’s pregnant. Well, as it turns out, I guess that’s wrong (at least in the good ol’ U.S. of A.). They say I’m supposed to count the days since her menstrual cycle began. Apparently in Europe and the rest of the civilized world, they count how long you’ve been pregnant as “how long you’ve been pregnant”. What a weird concept. (Said dripping with sarcasm.)

Each week babycenter.com sends me drawings of what my baby, er… zygote? Fetus? Anyway, they sent me drawings of what the thing might look like. Which means someone took the time to painstakingly illustrate them week-by-week. That’s a thankless and … let’s be honest here… somewhat creepy job. I wonder how realistic it is, or is it up to the artist’s imagination? Like when you see drawings of the universe shortly after the big bang that are accompanied with disclaimers that say, “artist’s depiction of what things could have looked like.” Are the pictures in my inbox of big-eyed salamander flipper zygotes realistic, or just someone’s imagination? (And if it’s the latter, did they have first drafts where someone had to reject it, “Uh, I don’t think we should include the top hat in the week 5 illustration.”)

I started this blog on Day 1, being the day I found out she was pregnant… But at that point she had been pregnant for 2 3 weeks… by European standards… but 4 5 weeks by U.S standards. So, now, when you see Day 11 in my blog, I guess I should say that it’s really say Day 39 46 in the U.S., and Day 25 32 everywhere else.

Maybe I’ll start to preface each post with “Days into her pregnancy,” rather than, “Days since I found out.” Such as:

Days Pregnant: 39 46 U.S., 25 32 Europe

Day 10

Am flying on a business trip to Vancouver, BC today. So nothing much baby related to report on. Latest news: We’ve decided which room of the house will become the nursery. We have a duplex, and so we don’t want to wake the neighbors. I realize it’s a baby and it’s going to cry– but we want to be responsible neighbors and be as quiet as possible. So we’ll put the nursery in the back room, where our neighbors bed room is in the front room.

This also means a new computer desk that is more space efficient (since our current computer room will now be “computer room / master bedroom”). This also means getting the satellite folks out and moving the back bedroom receiver and cabling to the front bedroom. Wow. Who would have thought a baby would be so much work! (I kid, I kid.)