Joining the elite ranks of the Parent Club

We live on a block with lots of kids. And the parents on this block were always having block parties. But we were never invited. However, ever since having our son we’ve been invited to two different potlucks. It’s like we finally gained access into their secret club where the only way to break into their ranks was to spit out a kid. All we need now are a couple of members only jackets and a secret handshake like the water Buffalo Lodge.

And if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to get in good with kids. So for the potluck, I decided to make the most kid friendly dish possible. That’s right: homemade macaroni and cheese. As I see it, you get in good with the kids, and that opens doors to getting in good with the parents. And that means, more invites to future block parties.

By the way, it was a crock pot macaroni and cheese recipe from Paula Deen. And it kicked ass. I even had parents coming up to me asking for the recipe. So easy to make. Just throw a bunch of crap into a crockpot and a few hours lator… voila! Instant popularity.

Count it. And one.

Do I really want to go to their block parties? No, not really. I just want to be invited to their block parties. Strike that. One of the neighbors really knows how to grill up meat. Plus, he has direct TV and he has the NFL Sunday ticket package. So I really really want to get in good with that neighbor.

Day 119

Much baby related news to share with you… But first, thanks to our friends at BabyCenter.com, I know that today (22 weeks) my baby is the length of a spaghetti squash. Here’s a tip: don’t Google spaghetti squash. Every image that comes back is a picture of a my-baby-sized yellow gourd being gutted. Gee, thanks BabyCenter.com for that image. Next time, why don’t you remind me how my baby’s entrails can be served up with angel hair pasta.

On to today’s post…

#1. We settled on a stroller/car-seat combination. We found a Right Start baby store near us that carries a much higher quality of stroller than you find in crummy ol’ Babies ‘R Us. (If you got your stroller from Babies ‘R Us, I apologize. Strike that. I don’t apologize. This is my blog, and if I want to be an unabashed stroller snob, I can. You and your chintzy stroller can suck it.*)

* This request doesn’t apply to family/friends; only to strangers for whom I have little empathy.

Bob Revolution 12" AW stroller

Anyway, where was I … Oh yes, so we found a nice store that had our favorite strollers on display for us to try out. And the winner is: THE BOB REVOLUTION 12″ ALL WHEEL!

Now, I won’t bore you by extolling its virtues… of which you can be assured there are MANY. But here were the top reasons why we chose it after comparing it in-person to the waaay overpriced Orbit and Bugaboo strollers.

i. Look at those freakin big ass 12″ rubber tires with steel spokes. None of that hard plastic shit you find on other models.

ii. A suspension system. Awww yeah.

iii. In my wife’s first try, she was able to collapse this thing and prop it back up with one hand. By far the easiest to open and close that we tested.

iv. Another couple was in the store with an Orbit, and I asked them how they liked it, “Heavy.” I went around lifting strollers. Bob Revolution was certainly lighter.

v. You can keep the car seat adapter on the stroller when it is collapsed. With the Bugaboo and others, you had to detach the car seat adapter before collapsing the stroller. Saves a step.

vi. It works with our favorite car seat, which is from Graco.

vii. Best of all… The stroller’s name is “Bob.”  I am SO ready to start using this name. “Honey, where’s Bob?” “Is Bob in the trunk?” I love naming inanimate objects.

So, there you have it. After 3 weeks of Googling non-stop, and trying out in-stores, we settled on Bob.

Seahawk cake at my baby shower

#2. While I was visiting my work this past week, they threw me a surprise baby shower. Photos to come soon. I was blown away. And I was a complete dork, because I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never been to a shower before. They made me wear bows on my head, and we played games. Everytime someone else won… I won baby gifts too. That’s my kind of contest. It was amazing. It was a tailgating themed party, so all the food was hot dogs and chili and dip and chips and wings… oh. So good. And the person even made a Seahawk shaped cake. Oh, and I got the DAMN CUTEST onesie I’ve ever seen: it’s a Seahawks jersey. So cute.

Oh, and to underscore my complete dorkiness… I hate opening gifts while people watch me. I love attention; but not that kind. My style of attention is making jokes under my breath in the back of class. I absolutely cannot stand people watching me open gifts. It is unnerving. Anyway, I’d open the gift, and look and it, and coo over it. And then put it in a pile. Well, everyone said, “Hold it up so we can see!” Oh. Right. I hadn’t realized. Apparently, someone was taking notes for me on what I was getting. Like I said, I felt like a complete dork. But, one of the best parties that has ever been thrown for me. Thanks, Peanut.

#3. We had another OB appt this morning. Alas, no photos to share with you. But, everything is progressing well. My wife is disappointed that her baby bump is not more obvious. She can’t wait for it to be like a basketball in front of her so a.) she can wear tight shirts to show of her baby belly, and b.) so strangers know with complete certainty that she is pregnant. I think she is frustrated that she doesn’t look pregnant yet, and in her words, “People just think I’m fat.”  Awww. Poor thing. The cool thing is, I can tell. And that’s all that matters, right? I’ve tried various tactics to cheer her up from this notion, ranging from, “What do you care what strangers think?” to “You’re pregnant. It’s like being on vacation. Get fat. Who cares. Eat whatever you want! Enjoy it.”  Neither seems to be the proper strategem. Advice welcomed.

Also at our OB appointment, we found that Peanut is already head down. The doctor said, “There’s little indication that your baby will stay that way.” But still, that’s a good sign. Peanut just has to hold that position for the next 4 months.

#4. In the last week, she has started feeling Peanut. I think that’s the “quickening.” (Highlander, anyone?) Which you think would be an amazing thing, but now, Peanut gets fidgety at bed time. I guess when you go from walking and sitting and standing and moving (which is basically rocking Peanut), to laying still, your baby is like, “Hey, c’mon. Start the ride back up!”

#5. We settled on a hospital. Los Alamitos. It’s not the closest hospital to us, but still only about 12-15 minutes away. If Peanut is high-risk or we expect any complications, the better hospital is right down the road from us, with a NICU and all that. But, since things seem to be smooth sailing (thus far), and since the closest hospital is … umm… hmm… [searching for proper way to phrase this]… in a less than ideal part of town… well, we decided to head towards another hospital.

So that’s all the baby news for the past two weeks. Oh, and we’ve narrowed down our name lists to 5-girl, and 4-boy. And no, we won’t tell you what they are.

Day 86

With the Holidays winding down, on our walk today my wife and I were reflecting on our first Thanksgiving/Christmas “being with child,” and as well as the prospects for Holidays to come once Peanut is born. And maybe it’s the little bit of family we got to experience during Thanksgiving and again at Christmas, or maybe it’s the fact that since becoming pregnant my wife has had pangs of wanting her family around much more… for whatever reason, we both are ready to move back home. (In this case, home is Portland, because that’s where the majority of our family lives… even though we originally moved down here from Seattle.) Or perhaps it’s that I’ve become disfranchised with this old house: stairwells not big enough for king size beds, leaky bathrooms and mold that we already had to deal with, front doors that won’t open when the weather gets warm, horribly drafty windows, or… mice in the ceiling.

FYI- That’s the latest thing — there’s a mouse in our ceiling now, and I just put in a service call. But for the past few nights I can hear it coming home at 5am like clockwork. Apparently it likes to stay out and party. The other night it must’ve been hauling something large up the wall, because the mouse dropped the object it was carrying, and I heard it fall quite loudly to the ground. Argh. Stupid house.

Where was I? Oh, yes, the dream of moving. Only one problem stands in our way: Money. We are stuck with a rotten mortgage. The mortgage itself isn’t horrible– although it’s interest only, at least it is fixed for 30 years with a balloon payment. (Close eyes and pray that in 30 years the market will have rebounded? Wait. Is rebounded a word, or is rebound the past tense. If rebound is itself a past tense, then what is the present tense form? Rebind? No, that’s not right.)

Anyway… So conservatively speaking, if we sold the house now, we’d probably be out… oh, $75K-$100K. Sucky.

So we’re sort of stuck. We talked about renting out our current place… but it would be hard to manage and service the rental property from 800 miles away. And I personally am not a fan of taking on a second mortgage… that’s sort of like saying, “Sweet crap– this fire is huge. Quick, throw more wood at it!”  Although one silver lining is that the cost of rentals down here is pretty much what we could get a new mortgage for up in Portland. (Out in the boondocks where we have a brother and sister-in-law.)  So in theory the rental cost and the new mortgage we would assume would cancel each other out, so the net difference to us would be negligible. But, that’s quite a tight rope to walk: we’d have to have renters year-round, or else we’d eat a lot of money. And what’s the point of moving to a cheaper home if you still have to pay the same crummy high mortgage costs.

So yeah. We don’t know what to do. Here’s my latest strategy: go on the gameshow, Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader. All I need to do is make it to the $250K level and I’m golden. And that seems pretty easy on that show.

And no. I’m not joking. As I see it, other than robbing a bank… hmm, I actually just considered that for a split second… going on this show is my next best option. Lest you think I’m joking, I just printed out the 7 page application. I’m going to play up the whole, “trying to start a nest egg” business on the application in the hopes that tugs at their heart strings.

Look, I realize it’s stupid. But really– unless I can blow Bill Gates in the alley behind AmPm, I don’t think we’re going to have the ability to get out of our current mortgage. Any and all ideas are welcomed. Especially if you are a reader who happens to work… or know somewho who works… in the mortgage/finance industry. Hint hint hint.

Day 67: The Fam

Over thanksgiving we told my wife’s family. Actually, here’s how we did it (I credit my wife for this clever idea)… We put the latest photo of Peanut up on the refrigerator. And every now and then, people would mosey by and read it. My sister-in-law (whose house we were at) is also pregnant, so many people passed by without caring too much. (After all, it’s her second pregnancy… yawn. Nobody cares.)

My wife’s name was in the upper corner in very tiny print on the ultrasound. Eventually one or two people saw it, and then others slowly came over to see what all the hubbub was about. It was kind of fun to let them figure it out, and see the genuine look of (first) confusion, then b. excitement.

So the cat’s out of the bag. (The fetus is out of the womb? Hmm…)  The only group of people I haven’t shared the news with is my friends. I have a few close friends who I have been waiting to tell in person. But my work keeps pulling me to different cities, and not the cities where my friends are. (Seattle.) So I’m debating if I will just spread the news via email or not. They’re a bunch of guys, so really, they probably won’t give a shit. But I’m the first one of our particular circle to make a baby… well, to make a baby intentionally and own up to the fact it is mine. So I’m excited to tell them, but I just keep waiting for the perfect moment… which seems to never arrive. At what point do you say, “Hey, guess what… I’m having a baby tomorrow?” Yeah, it’ll probably be sometime before my wife’s water breaks.

Oh, that reminds me… new joke of the month: Some people have asked me, “Do you hope it’s a boy or girl?” My stock response now: “I just hope it’s white!” (I’m particularly proud of that one.)

After we told the fam, we were asked about preferred baby names. We gave a few out, and then promptly decided we are not telling anybody any of our choices. There is nothing worse than telling someone this name that you’ve wrestled with over and over… only to see them kind of look past your shoulder and go, “Hmm. Interesting.”  FUCK YOU. Or else they sneer like someone just farted in their soup, and they wince, “Reeeeally?”  Yes, really. FUCK YOU.

So that’s it. Sharing names is out. We’re keeping it to ourselves. And if you don’t like the names we pick out… then don’t tell us. Keep it to your stupid name judging self.

By the way. Spam has 96g of fat in one can. Wow.

Day 52: Start spreading the news

So this weekend I officially made it officially official to my family that we’re pregnant. My parents already knew, so all that was left was to tell my sister and her husband. So, I guess another way of saying this is, “I told my sister this weekend we’re pregnant.”  There. Much more concise.

Anyway, I’m a guy, and I’m not a big phone person with my family. That’s what us guys do. We leave the nest, and we start our own nest, and we’re not real big into chatting up our siblings. We’re like mammals on the Serengeti in that way.

So I probably haven’t called my sister in … oh… gosh… at least 4 years. Maybe 5. Actually, I think I remember the last time I voluntarily called my sister. I’m nearly positive it was December of 2002, or January of 2003.

So I chose to spread the news in a modern way… via email. Is that probably not kosher? Would Miss Manners disapprove? Yeah, probably. But, I’ve never been one for putting salad forks next to dinner forks in the proper order and all that stuff. (In fact, if it wasn’t for my wife, I wouldn’t send out birthday or holiday cards to my own parents. She handles all of that, and I just sign along the dotted line.) So email was “good ’nuff” as far as I was concerned.

But as is my way, I used comedy to mask my slight breech of social etiquette. Here is the email I sent…

So it’s official… we’re preggo. (Well, mostly [name of wife] more than me.) We don’t know the sex yet, and are hoping to not find out. (Ever.)  The due date is either June 4th, 6th or 12th (depending on which ultrasound you believe.)  And as best we can tell on the ultrasounds, there are two legs, two arms, and no flippers. [name of wife] is roughly 12 weeks along.

Mom & Dad already know, but we wanted to wait to tell everyone else until we neared the end of the first trimester. And so far… except for some all-day “morning” sickness for the past 4 weeks… things are progressing well.

We’re pretty sure I’m the father.

Love, me

Day 42: The Giving Tree

This post is written with the aid of Boont Amber Amber Ale.

I’ve made it official to my customers. I visited some of my customers the other day, and I keep a picture of Peanut in my portfolio. And I hate to admit this… I even had a conference call with a customer that I wasn’t looking forward to… and I lead off the call with, “Guess what? I just found out my wife is pregnant!”  Man, did that lighten the mood.

Yes yes. I used my unborn child for selfish gain. Look, if I could fart rainbows, I’d share that will everyone too. Why not use this type of thing to my advantage. I’m a salesman. Not a preacher.

Plus, I’m hoping to score lots of baby gifts. Keep in mind, I used to work in an office where I was the only guy with 30+ women. (By the way, this is a story for another time– but an office full of women is bat shit crazy. Everyone has some beef with everyone else. Drama drama drama.)  Anyway, al it takes is just one of those women to say, “Hey, we should have a baby shower for Jeff…” and by law, the rest of the women are forced to follow suit. I’ve already got one customer promising to do this. Hopefully others will do the same.

Look. I realize this sounds like a selfish stance to take. And it’s not like I’m only in it for the gifts. But I’m a pragmatist, if nothing else. And while, we as a society, are not supposed to admit this kind of thing, I love getting gifts at Christmas. Oh sure, I love giving gifts and all that touchy feel crap. But seriously, who could hate getting gifts? Just because I’m hoping for more gifts isn’t a horrible thing, right? It’s not like I’m telling my customers directly that I want them to give me a baby shower. This blog is anonymous, they’ll never find it.*

*If you are a fellow employee at my wife’s work, ignore all of this. I would never imply that you are obligated to throw a baby shower. But if you do, my favorite bottled beer is Deschuete’s Brewery Black Butte Porter. Hint hint.

PS- Don’t tell my wife I just wrote that. She wouldn’t approve. Even if it is a joke. (Sort of.)

One of my customers who i showed my OB photo to was a doctor. She looked at it and said, “Wow, this baby looks great. A nice healthy ring around the uterus.” I’m not really sure which part of the image is the uterus, but I’ll take her word for it. After all, all that doctor schooling must’ve taught her something. And in addition, I’m not even sure what it means to have a healthy ring around the uterus. But she made it sound like a good thing. Whatever it is/does– my wife has it and apparently I should be happy.

And of course everyone made the joke. “Oh it looks like you.”  Which is getting old to me. But, that was the exact same joke I made in the doctor’s office. So now I know how the OB technologist felt when she mustered up forced grin. Note to self: OB techs hate jokes about how “it looks just like you.” Avoid all such humor.

Day 37: This post is chock full o’ baby news

Last night my wife went out with one of her friends to their favorite gay disco. (Sorry, I think you kids today call them “dance halls.”)

This is how exciting my life is: She went out. I stayed home and played Halo 3 until about 10:30, and then I went to bed, and fell asleep watching Bill Maher.

Don’t get me wrong– that’s about as perfect of a night as I could plan. I could stay home playing Halo 3 until the cows come ho… er, wait. Poor choice of words. Until my wife comes home. Whom I love very, very much and in no way would ever insinuate that she is a cow because I was only using a popular saying which had no connotation to my beloved wife.

Okay, now that I’ve got that out of the way…

Like I was saying, that’s a perfect night for me. I’ve never been a going out dancing kind of person. Give me some beer/alcohol, a computer/console game, and let me be. It doens’t take much to make me happy. My wife came home after the club closed, and I’m proud of her that she abstained from all alcohol. Oh sure, you might say, that’s easy. Just don’t order alcohol.

Oh no, my friend. You don’t understand. We have some close friends who are bartenders at the club. Which means you get a free shot or a drink put in front of you about every 10 minutes. At first they started questioning why she wasn’t drinking, and then her friend started taking the shots for her when the bartenders weren’t looking. Way to take one for the team! That’s my kind of sacrifice. “Oh okay, if I have to drink another drink for you… I guess.”

Oh, now that I have you suckered in halfway through this post, I should point out that it has nothing really much to do with baby stuff. I’m just filling space now. Seriously, there’s only so much baby stuff I can talk about. Unless the baby suddenly and spontaneously sprouts horns or wings or something, it’s safe to assume the fetus is basically the same as it was yesterday, except perhaps with a few more stem cells.

Where was I? Oh yes. So she came home sober* (first time in awhile after attending this particular club… I joke I joke), and her biggest concern was that she subjected Peanut to loud music. I assured her that Peanut likely didn’t even have ears yet, so I doubt the loud thumping music would have any impact. I don’t know if that’s a fact — but I’m the master at saying bullshit facts completely authoritatively. I mean, if Peanut does have ears, well you can’t hop in a time machine and go back and do anything about it. So the only thing you can control is how much you worry after the fact. And if my skill at making up facts in a convincing manner can help my wife worry less, then you bet I’m going to look her in the eye and say, “Fetuses don’t grow ears until week 11.”

But you have to appreciate that kind of caring on her part. I would never have even thought of that. But my wife considered the volume level when thinking about Peanut’s safety. How sweet is that?

Then today, we went to a house warming party for one of her co-workers. And she decided that would be the appropriate time to let the cat out of the bag. I’m glad she’s doing that. You know me — I wanted to tell everyone the day I found out. I’ve done a 90% good job of keeping it a secret. (With a few exceptions here and there.)  Before, I think she was hesitant to tell people, waiting to get past the danger zone of the first trimester. But with every passing week, I think she’s getting more comfortable and confident that this will be a viable pregnancy. So that’s a great sign.

And her female co-workers reacted as you’d expect: some high-pitched squealing, some hugs, and lots of cooing. They asked me what I thought, but I was focused too much on finishing the plate of mini-weenies wrapped in pastry dough. Seriously. I had like 10 of them. But I used my trademark sense of humor and gave a nonchalant,  “Ehhhh.” They laughed. Yeah, I’m awesome.

By the way — that’s one thing I have no problem doing: eating in front of people. Whenever we walk out of some party, my wife says, “I wanted to eat more, but I didn’t.” And I’m like, “What are you talking about? They had so much food! I’m stuffed.” Apparently even if they enjoy the food, women don’t eat in front of each other. Which I don’t get. I ate like a dozen hot dog weenies, a dozen pinwheel cheese things, some mushroom turnovers, some chips and salsa, some fudge, a bowl of Posole, some spinach dip and crackers, some mini-quiche. I could go on. Anyway, I’m all about sampling everything they have to offer.

Day 33: “The Baby”

Days pregnant: 68 U.S., 54 Europe

Man, it is getting hard not to tell people. There are so many friends and customers and co-workers who I want to share the news with. But, I’m being good and holding off. My wife wants to continue to wait until the end of the first trimester (although each week it seems like we both let it slip to one more person we know).

The weekend after Thanksgiving, I have a big work conference in Chicago, and I’m going to tell everyone then. And then it’ll be safe to tell my customers. Is it wrong that I’m looking forward to telling the upset customers first, in hopes to get in good with them?

Speaking of using the pregnancy for nefarious reasons: last week one of the people I spilled the beans too early was a former co-worker who wanted me to go out drinking with them. I usually enjoy hanging out with this group of fellas… but I’ve been trying to focus more on being home instead of hanging out with friends… especially on Friday nights. And since my wife can’t drink, I’ve tried to limit my drinking too. Which basically means I’m as much fun as a wet rag, and sorry, I’m not going out with you anytime soon.

So I officially used my first “pregnancy excuse” last week. And we’re not even through 10 weeks yet. Already this baby is paying off dividends. (Speaking of dividends, my dad likes to remind me of the tax breaks I’ll get once we have a kid. But, that’s a dad for you.)

I look forward to all the built-in excuses the baby will afford me. “The Baby.” What a great couple of words. It’s like a free get out of jail card from everything you hate in life. Awkward dinners, boring parties, uncomfortable confrontations, you name it.

Want to leave a party early? “Sorry, we have to get the baby to bed.” “But it’s only 3pm.”  (Sounds of tire screeching off)

Want to get out of a customer visit? “Can you come visit us tomorrow?” “Sorry, the baby is colicky.”

Want to avoid buying your relatives Christmas presents? “We’re saving our money for… yup… the baby.”

Day 31: Papi Homer

Days pregnant: 66 U.S., 52 Europe

I just heard the refrigerator door beep, because it was left open too long. Remember back when we were kids and the most dangerous thing in our lives was the fear of getting locked in an empty refrigerator that you were playing in. You know, now that I think about it — I’ve never seen an empty refrigerator in someone’s front and/or back yard. That’s crazy. Why did someone waste time trying to educate me on the dangers of playing in refrigerators. Weird.

Speaking of refrigerator doors… (This segue is about to blow your mind)… The wife and I were standing in the ice cream aisle at the grocery store today, and I pulled my first “new dad Homer” move. (See, what did I tell you? I’ll wait while you pick up the shattered pieces of your mind off your carpet.*)

* They sell carpet deodorizer / mind-cleaner at Bed Bath & Beyond.

Back to my story… we were at the grocery store, and my wife was jonesing for some ice-cream, with a capital J. She grabbed a pint of Hagen Daaz “Chocolate and Peanut Butter” ice-cream.

Now, let me preface with what happens next with this (as if I could justify iT): I’m a calorie counter. I have been for most of my adult life. I come from a hearty stock of people, and I’ve always had to watch what I eat. Left to my own devices, I could eat myself into a 350 pound coma. (In fact, I think I had uncles on both my mom’s and dad’s side who likely reached 350 in their zenith.)

So, I took the pint, read the label and declared, “Whoa! 27 grams of fat in one serving? This entire pint has more than 100 grams of fat! That’s like 3 days worth of fat.”

Well, needless to say, that didn’t sit too well with the wife, who reminded me how rude it was to tell a pregnant woman what she couldn’t eat.

(To be fair, she did change her mind and agree that perhaps it was not the most healthy ice-cream to buy.)

But the damage had been done. I already planted the seed of doubt in her mind. She knows I’m worried about her … you know… getting all pregnant woman sized. Which in hindsight I realize was wrong of me.

I talked about it with a buddy of mine, and his advice was surprisingly refreshing to me,

Dude, she has a LIFE growing inside of her because of you. Let her eat whatever the hell she wants. She’s miserable, her stomach hurts, she’s going to be going through so much, she’s probably scared and nervous… LET HER EAT EVERYTHING. And not only that, you should be the one leading the charge. Buy her or bring her whatever she wants. You’ve got it easy. Hell, the fetus has it rougher than you do. All you have to do is watch the baby come out. She’s going to get fat. Accept it and love it. Don’t fight it.

I should point out this was unfiltered, and there may be terminology in here that some of my more delicate reader(s) might find offensive. (i.e., the “she’s going to get fat” comment.) What my buddy of course meant was, “Putting on weight during pregnancy is healthy and natural. You should support that.” That’s what “she’s going to get fat” means in guy translation.

And this morsel of advice from a trusted source who shall remain anonymous:

I think that eating a lot and a lot of weight gain is normal for a first pregnancy.  I think most first time moms to be go a little overboard on the eating and indulging because they think they can.  I remember I was eating a shit load, ever since I first found out I was prego.  It was not only an excuse to eat a lot…you could actually get away with it…and I had no idea how much I would end up gaining…and now in aftermath I would have done things differently, but at the time eating a lot sounded great and I would bite [name of husband]’s arm off if he tried to stop me.

So after getting those two pieces of advice… I recanted. I admitted the error of my ways. And went to the store, and bought my wife a pint of that chocolate and peanut butter ice-cream, as well as some half-off-day-after-Halloween candy, and Spaghetti O’s (with meatballs) that she loves.

Now that I think about it, I think I’m more afraid about me putting on weight. Because I don’t have an excuse like my wife does. One of the “For Dads Only” books I read basically said, “Look, there’s going to be a lot more food in the house during pregnancy, and you’re going to make the mistake all fathers make: You’re going to eat more along with your wife as she eats more… and you’re going to get fat.”  (I’m sure the book meant, “Fathers putting on weight during pregnancy is health… nahh. You’re going to get fat, dude.”)

Day 30: Halloween Wrap-Up

Days pregnant: 65 U.S., 51 Europe

Had a nice, relaxing Halloween last night. We had a couple big bags of candy from Costco, but a couple smaller bags of our favorite candies. And we only have a few candy bars left. Probably had 200 kids or so come by.

We went to Costco a little before 6pm, and we got some cheap dinner at the Cotsco Cafe (pizza for the wife, turkey wrap for me). Then we brought it back, sat at the end of our driveway, and handed out candy for a couple hours. I was in my Ghostbusters costume (same one from last year, but that’s our secret.) The weather was nice and mild, so all in all, an enjoyable evening.

I had successfully avoided Halloween candy this entire season. That was a little promise I made to myself, to keep me from eating my own weight in Butterfingers. Mostly because with my wife eating more beacuse of the pregnancy, I find myself doing the same thing. Only, I don’t have a cute excuse when I put on 10 pounds. Pregnant women “glow”… fat men just look… fat.

And I’m happy to report that I successfully waited until I handed out my first pieice of candy, before I partook of our Halloween stash. But, oh how I partook of it. I made a point to sample most everything we had. And I swapped with the neighborhood kids across the street for some of their candy (they had milk duds, mmmmm).

Speaking of neighbors… we had a few people walk up and say, “No cider this year?” I guess my spiked cider (cider+rum) freebie from last year was more popular than I realized. And these were families I don’t even recognize. People who don’t live on our block. So that was pretty cool. Because, as you no doubt know by now, I’m all about block parties and barbecues with neighbors. I can’t help it. You can take the boy out of the suburbs, but you can’t take the suburbs out of the boy.

(Not that we’ve been invited to any neighborhood parties, but I hope when we have kids, that will all change. The block has a little clique of parents who get together on various holidays and have a party, but we’re never invited. I realize we’re new to the block, and so I hope Peanut will finally be my ticket into their elusive little club. The sad thing is, I don’t even really feel like hanging out with them, I just want to be invited. Then I can turn them down. Is that wrong?)

And what’s with teenagers who don’t even dress up but come asking for candy? Lame. A.) I make every kid say trick-or-treat if they want candy. I’m not just going to give it to you because you walked up to me and held out a bag. How rude. B.) If a teen isn’t wearing a costume, I make them tell me what their costume is before I’ll give the candy. “Look, you don’t have to have a costume, but I want you to be creative and tell me what you’re dressed as.” One large kid in a t-shirt and jeans said, “I’m a skinny kid in a fat suit.” Boom. Done. He got extra candy both for originality and for not being afraid to joke about his size.

Also, the other thing I make it a point to do when handing out candy is greet all the kids who live near me by name. A.) I want them to think of me as a cool “grown-up”, B.) I am reducing my odds of being TP’d or egged when they become teen-agers because I was nice to them, and C.) I want them to like me more than the other dads on the block. Is that also wrong?

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 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 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 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 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 7, Loose Lips

(Pardon the above pregnancy pun.)

Shhh. Don’t tell. If you’re reading this, chances are you know more than anybody in our family knows. So far the pregnancy has been kept a secret. My wife is around 4 weeks pregnant, we estimate, but we want to be sure it’s a viable birth and wait a little longer before we tell everyone.

Well, that’s a lie. My wife was DYING to tell someone, so we told my parents. But I only have one sibling. My wife, on the other hand, has 7 siblings. So keeping a secret in her family is infinitely more difficult. So right now the only people who know are my parents.

I can’t wait until I can tell people at work, tell friends, and share the good news with the rest of our families. Just yesterday my close friend asked me, “So is she pregnant yet?” and with every fiber of my being I wanted to say “YES!!!!”, but all I was able to muster was a short, “Uh.. no.”