Thumbsucker!

Just thought I'd add this for all. It's the 3D ultrasound picture of the kiddo. Based on the movements of the kid when we watched the ultrasound, she is either chewing on her wrist or sucking on her thumb! The tech would bounce her around to get her to move her hand so she could get a clear shot of her only for the kid to move her hand right back there. 

We were both reluctant to get a 3D image since we both think they can turn out creepy, but this one turned out wonderful. I am, of course, biased but I think she's beautiful already.

A Sigh of Relief

What a week! H's mom moving down here, a baby shower, having most of our family in town for the shower, my birthday, plus a hospital tour have really worn us down. Despite this, H pointed out the other day that my demeanor towards everything has shifted recently to a much less stressed out guy. Since this has been brought to my attention, I've tried to pay more attention to the change and I've come to the conclusion that it's due to an increase in efficacy.

Since the shower, we finally have baby stuff. While the stuff is great, it's more about the fact that we can finally take action based on having the stuff that's important. For example, I spent my birthday putting together the "My Little Snug-a-Bunny Cradle n Swing" for the kiddo. The Snug-a-Bunny had a LOT of pieces, directions in three languages, and that frustrating thing that happens when it tells you to put things together but secretly the pieces have already BEEN put together causing you to waste time searching for the "missing" piece. Throw in the fact that the core mechanism designed to rock my fragile baby to sleep looks, in isolation, disturbingly like an outboard motor and you'd think I would be incredibly stressed.

I wasn't stressed though. Despite the setback of initially putting it together wrong, it was a very relaxing experience. I think this is because it felt like progress. Putting stuff together, taking stuff apart, and moving things around all to accommodate the upcoming child are all results oriented. I can SEE the place changing into a kid friendly environment. That brings a level of satisfaction and confidence I haven't been able to enjoy so far in this journey.

The end result is that I'm more optimistic about this kid entering our lives. Now she will have multiple places to sleep, to play, and to crap which will buy us time while we run ourselves ragged. And really, isn't that what all these things are actually about?

Baby School

Recently we attended our first baby class. I really wasn't sure what to expect. Some people told me we would be watching graphic videos of delivery including screaming and bodily fluids to desensitize us to the actual experience. Others said it would be a boring experience where they would talk about stuff you already knew; basic common sense baby facts.

It was actually more of a mixed bag and I found it to be a moderately useful experience. We all wrote down our due dates and names, introduced ourselves, and did all that uncomfortable "getting to know you" stuff. We were prompted to list out our fears about pregnancy and the instructor states that she will get to all of these over the next month. We were shown a graphic of a woman's body and how the baby crowds out organs and strains tendons.

The good news is I'm ahead of the curve as far as I can tell. Some of the eyebrow raising questions floated by the group were: "I've been told you shouldn't let babies sleep for more than two hours. Is this true?" and "Should I give my baby Flinstone's vitamins or do I wait a few months." Thankfully the group is pretty accepting and no one was made to feel uncomfortable.

Halfway through the class, though, I had an epiphany. You see, I was looking around the classroom, thinking about how odd it is that I'll be with these people for the next month and it occurred to me that THIS is the true lesson. That for the next two decades or so, we will be spending immense amounts of time with people we have nothing in common with other than having a child of similar ages.

Some of the cast includes: a hip music store owner, a rigid accountant, and a Fred Meyer manager. None of whom likely play D&D or soccer. And here we are. Cohorts. Sharing this experience based solely on the fact that we all apparently enjoy unprotected late winter sex.


Likely it won't be these people in particular that I'll be hanging around with for the next few decades, but the fact that the people I associate with is no longer under my control is really, really eye opening and if nothing else, I've internalized this fact. Touché prenatal class.  Touché

The (Over) Expectant Father

The actual book

So I'll start this out by saying "The Expectant Father" is an amazing book. I've gotten two copies, one from my mother-in-law and one from a good friend, but instead of getting rid of one copy, I keep one copy at work and one at home. That's how much I like this book. Great, down to earth information and each chapter starts off detailing what's going on with the mom's body, the mom's emotions, the baby's development, and likely the dad. It really is great.


That said, this thing is also completely terrifying for me right now. Not because of any content (well the section on Cesareans is pretty freaking terrifying, but anyone who's seen Prometheus knows that), but more so because of how few chapters are left. I crack open the book and read for a bit, but suddenly every sentence in the book changes into "You are not prepared for this!".

How this book feels right now

You see we're having the baby shower next week. We're both looking forward to it, but it also means that we currently have nothing babyish in the home. A friend of H who is also pregnant currently has a nursery with tons of stuff in it and apparently the dad painted a freaking anime cartoon mural on the wall. We have a bassinet in the corner filled with baby books. Not because we don't want stuff, but mostly that we just don't know what stuff to get yet. Currently our apartment looks suspiciously like the apartment of two people who are in denial of the fact they are having a kid.

Ewok Air Force:
Protecting the Gene Pool

What this really means, though, is that H and I are in a holding pattern. A gentle holding pattern akin to floating on the breeze with, say, a hang glider. Reading stuff about after the baby arrives takes me out of this nice little holding pattern and launches me into a goddamn WARZONE! Remember how the hang glider squadron's fared back in World War I? Of course you don't, because even the people back then recognized that they would get completely freaking SLAUGHTERED! The only Person stupid enough to think that hang glider combat is a good idea is George Lucas! I still don't understand why the Ewoks, a race of creatures that live in a freaking forest, would develop hang glider combat unless it was some sort of crazy Darwinian kind of logic where any Ewok who straps on a pair of wings and face plants into a redwood at about 100 feet in the air probably was no good for the species anyway.

I may never say this again, but I am really, really looking forward to the reassuring clutter of baby stuff. Freaking Ewoks.

Purge

Over the years, H and I have gone from being two people living in two apartments to one couple living in one small apartment. This has involved various accommodations for our stuff.  As someone who has moved in with a girlfriend in the past only to have it fizzle leaving me to sleep on a friend's couch because I did not have a bed, I was reluctant to suggest that we get rid of stuff in the beginning. So we had two sets of a lot of things for a time; one in the apartment and one in storage. As George Carlin states, we ended up with "too much stuff".

Some of these resolved themselves. TV's, DVD players, pots and pans... with all of these we have gone through the initial, the spare, and acquired a new one. Most things, however, required a purge. Since H and I have been together, we have moved six times. Each time has required an evaluation of stuff and a truckload or two of trips to Goodwill or selling things on Craigslist. We've done what I feel is pretty good job of whittling the stuff down. I'm more of a minimalist than H, so we have power struggles about bringing new things into the home vs reducing what we have, but for the most part I figured we had made our last mega donation trip.

We did not, however, account for a third person.

Faced with the reality that we HAVE to make more space, we are now in the midst of a possession purge that is truly brutal. So far we have taken this ruthlessness to books. Long ago we got rid of unfullfilling novels bought on whims, books we didn't really like that much, duplicates, and textbooks that were useless or outdated. More recently we had gotten rid of books we only kind of liked as well as textbooks and informational books that we were logically never going to use. Now we cut dangerously close to the emotional quick.


I really enjoyed "The Darksword" trilogy at one time, but I have not bothered to re-read it and there are other trilogy's I have re-read that I would rather keep... so into the bin it goes. "Healing the Soul in the age of the Brain" was an eye opening read and I loved it, but honestly I will never read it again... so into the bin it goes. Yes, I am very happy that I read "The Unbearable Lightness of Being", but the truth is, I'm mostly hanging on to it as proof that I did read it... so into the bin it goes.


Coincidentally, there is a lightness that comes about from shedding these possessions. After the pain of choice, the pain of getting rid of them, and the anxiety of having lost them, there comes the relief. The sigh you make upon seeing an empty shelf, ready to house children's books.

And then, on to the closet...

Supergirls

So I recently got a book for little Kidney (that's our current nickname for her) called "My First Wonder Woman Book".  Gotta say, I love it.

Thick blocky pages and an ending featuring a tinfoil mirror so the kid can see their own reflection as Wonder Woman. Then I started thinking "I want more!"  But... there isn't much more. There are LOTS of Spider Man, Batman, and Superman things floating around the book area, but not a lot of superheroines.

And really, are there that many to choose from? At least, as far as iconic ones go.  From DC we have Supergirl, Wonder Woman, and Batgirl. Marvel we have Shadowcat, Ms. Marvel, Rogue, Jean Grey, and Storm. Supergirl is the only one to try a solo movie and Wonder Woman's 1970s TV show is so bad that it's something I plan on featuring on TGIS.

I do have high hopes for Lauren Faust's (the person who revamped My Little Pony) Super Best Friends Forever series and I'm hoping it'll become more than just a series of shorts and blossoms into a full blown show. I really need some more superheroine stuff for Kidney!

Kidney

(I wasn't sure if this post was ever going to see the light of day, but since things are looking better I thought I'd throw it out there)

The hours after the ultrasound were some of the happiest of our lives. We were having a little girl! Five hours after, though, and we were both a mess. The docs called back and said that the kiddo has one kidney that is slightly larger than the other, stating that it could mean anything from a faulty contrast setting on the ultrasound to Down's syndrome, but they wouldn't be able to tell us anything until we had another ultrasound the next week. We live in an information age, but H and I are quickly learning that more information does not necessarily mean more answers.

If I had to describe the sensation of getting this news, it's like going out for a special occasion (birthday, anniversary, etc), having the most fantastic meal of your life, then coming home, turning on the TV, and finding out that the chef was arrested an hour after you left the restaurant for performing deviant sex acts in the kitchen. Whether or not this has contaminated your food or not is irrelevant, since it has now ruined the entire experience.


So then came the waiting game. Five long days of suspense. For me, I would repeatedly go through the stages of grief (denial, anger, sadness, bargaining, and acceptance) multiple times times over the course of a day. The thing that sucks about having an advanced psych degree is that you can recognize it, but can't do anything to stop it.  I'll be biking along, railing in my mind against the fact that I work with crack addicts who have 14 healthy kids all living on government assistance while I don't get even one healthy child and realize "Oh.  I'm in anger with some transition into bargaining" which doesn't do a lick of good.




We both coped in our own ways.  H cocooned up with books, I was out of the house a lot.  The day of the news I played pick up soccer at the indoor arena until after 11pm, leaving me kitten weak and cramping up just so I could pass out from exhaustion when I got home. I'm not sure if it helped or not to work over the weekend, but it did keep me from stewing.

And the thoughts. Over all of it was the specter of having a developmentally disabled child. I think H and I would do okay with a child with a physical disability, but if the child had Downs or something... how would I cope? There is no question that H and I wouldn't love the kid, because we would. We would dearly love her. Yet how much resentment would I also carry around with me though? Deep down resentment that is under the surface of everything? How could I get past it? How strong would we be able to be for her?

Today we had the followup appointment. The good news is that outside of the kidney, there is nothing wrong with the kid! The bad news is that one kidney isn't looking so hot. Still not a lot of answers regarding that kidney, but as long as she's got one good one we are told that things should be okay. Honestly, if you had told me two months ago that I would receive news that my kid would have a potentially damaged kidney and that I would be relieved and happy about it, I would have had you transported to the hospital. Can't say I approve of the girl's choice to have organ problems, but I suppose if she had to then it was good to pick the one that carries a spare. More appointments in the coming months and likely more stress, but on the plus side, that means more pictures!

One kidney is okay.
 (Okay, I was just looking for an excuse to post this picture of Torres and his daughter after Spain won the Euros.  Have you ever seen anything cuter?)

You Go Girl!

Just got the news today:

IT'S A GIRL!

Too emotionally overwhelmed to type much. Thought I'd include the song "Girl" from Frente though since it's very pretty and kind of made me cry a bit when I got home and listened to it.

Genderama!

So this Thursday is the day of H's ultrasound, the most likely time that we will see the child's gender. For some reason, I feel like this will make everything more real.  I mean, it's not that things haven't been real so far. It feels like moving though.

Whenever H and I move, it's an exercise in procrastination and denial. We make token efforts to move things around, maybe throw some books into a box, maybe clean out the fridge. We somehow delude ourselves into thinking we are making decent progress.  Then comes the move out day. Just thinking about move out day makes me tired...  We've always underestimated how much crap we have and how much cleaning we need to do.  It becomes an experience in last minute exhaustion.

I really, really don't want this to happen when it comes to the baby. Unfortunately for H and me, I think we need a tangible sign that prompts us to get ourselves in gear prior to the last minute. Hopefully the little guy will be giving a thumbs up or pointing to his wrist or something when we get the pictures!

Cravings

(What follows is what I'm assuming is my first encounter with a pregnancy craving.)

So I'm blearily blinking my way into the land of the waking one morning when I'm greeted by H's face inches from mine.

Me: Er... Morning?
H: You want to get breakfast?
Me: How long have you been staring at me and willing me awake?

What next?

H: Not sure. We don't have hash browns.
Me: What time is it?
H: Seven thirty AM. We don't have potatoes either.
Me: 7:30 AM on a Saturday?
H: Yeah. I really want hash browns. You ready to go?
Me: Wait... Wha?
H: And eggs. Hash browns and eggs.
Me: I worked swing shift last night!
H: (pouts)
Me: Look, let me sleep in a bit more.
H: (pouts)
Me: (blinking awake a 15 minutes later, once again with H's face inches from mine) *sigh* Hash browns?
H: And eggs. That place down the street. Ready?
Me: Is this going to be a regular thing?
H: Questions will be answered only after hash browns.

I never got this question answered. That can't be a good sign...

Movin Right Along

So the Omega Child has been doing a number on H over the past few weeks and she was throwing up 1-2 times per day. Lately it's down to about every other day, which is improvement at least. As a guy, for the first few weeks of your partner throwing up you wring your hands and ask what you can do (answer: Pretty much nothing.) You then graduate to this point of continuing to play iPhone games until she stops throwing up and then maybe asking if she needs any help cleaning up. I had no idea how callous this looks until we had a friend in town recently who looked astounded that I was simply talking to him about comic book movies over the sound of H in the other room.

Oh don't worry. That's where she takes her little naps

Him:  "Err... shouldn't you do something?"

Me:  "About what?" (sound of vomit) "Oh! That!" (sounds of puking) "Not really. I can't help clean up until she's done. So why is Spider-Man even in that building?"  (sounds of retching)

The good news is that we are entering week thirteen.  H has had a bunch of tests revealing that the chances of birth defects are very low, so it's now looking like we can stop holding our breath and start planning! For months H and I have been passing over adorable baby items like Timbers onesies and Futurama plush figures due to the fear that we might lose the baby and be left with a house full of reminders. Now we don't have to restrain ourselves and can buy stuff! Once we find out the gender in a little over a month or so, we can really cut loose.  For now, I'm happy that most geek items of apparel apply to both genders.

End of the Semester Baby

I was talking on the phone with a friend of mine recently about The Omega Child. I was insistent that I was nervous, but he pointed out that I wasn't sounding nervous or overwhelmed about it. While struggling to describe my type of nervousness, I was able to find a familiar anxiety in my past. The end of the term paper.

And when else will you learn to keg stand?

What happens with a semester in college is that you come to class and get your syllabus on the first day.  At the end of the syllabus, an ominous and long project/paper including certain formatting and reference requirements looms over the entire term. So you stuff it into your folder and say to yourself, "I'll go to the library next week and get started on it." But at least for the first 4-5 weeks (let's say this is September), you usually don't. There are parties, sports events, socials, and occasionally classes that you have to attend.  Plenty of time to worry about that paper later.



The next 5-9 weeks involve some sporadic research, checking out resources, and maybe highlighting some points. You've usually survived a midterm at this point, but really there's still plenty of time and more importantly a bitchin Halloween costume you need to work on and probably some really dark poetry you have to write about a failed relationship.

November is the point where your denial hits its stride. You likely have one month left, but also that 4-5 day Thanksgiving weekend gap in your schedule. On paper it looks like a lot of time.  Plenty of time to finish a project. Little did you know that traffic, family, and a cold would knock you down. Now your paper still isn't done and where's your precious Thanksgiving now? Nowhere!


And thus enters... December. Yes my pet, you have waited far too long. Now you have finals AND a paper! There's a slight chance you might be able to get an extension on your project, but that's leaving your destiny in the hands of a potentially merciless professor. No. It's sleepless nights in the library for you now.  You'll either write that paper at the last minute and succeed with a brilliant grade or a library stack will fall on you one night while sleeping there, horribly disfiguring you and forcing you to find a secret tunnel under the library where you will live as the Phantom of the Library, playing a pipe organ as a warning for all future slacker students!

Most universities have underground
pipe organs for this purpose

So, I think that clears things up pretty well about how I view the stress of pregnancy. Either I'll be there for H and the kid or I'll be living in subterranean storm tunnels as a semi-allegorical creature of legend. Wish me luck!

The Daddening

I recently found out that I'm going to be a dad. Oh rest assured baby birds, I WILL be feeding you with multiple updates on this.  Also, I'm almost 99% positive that there is no other blog on the entire interweb that has a multitude of posts on the subject of being a new parent!  I should probably notify Blogger about the possibility that the rush of people to this site may very well crash their servers!  (Sarcasm comes easily, so I'll have to work at this new sincerity thing.)

Fact: Arms are a trait Blobby gets from BOTH sides of the family!

As with most milestones I've experienced in my life, the changes happened before the event.  My partner H informed me of the impending child, I looked in the mirror, and I realized that I already looked like a dad.  I thought I was turning into a pudgier, graying, and increasingly un-hip looking thirty something when in reality I was morphing into a dad.

Me and my metaphor

Probably best that H got pregnant really.