So here we go…

Told you I would need a place to microblog: Just had a thought that when I do go back to Facebook (at this point I’m guessing after Critter is born), I’ll start only posting Joel Osteen inspirational quotes and Tea Party memes with the subtext of “this baby HAS changed everything!” Just to fuck with people.

Magical Days

It’s early – for our household anyway.  I’m sure we will get used to earlier mornings (more on that later). I have a nice cup of cafe con leche because I’ve reached a point where this child will be happier if Mom is happy and damnit, Cuban coffee makes me happy. (For those of you without strong Cuban or Spanish roots who don’t live in Tampa or Miami – it’s a latte – we just don’t call it that here).  I got back on coffee a few weeks ago, for the health benefits. One, it keeps me from killing – which I consider a real healthy benefit.  Two, it uh, keeps things, uh, moving.  For the newly initiated or those that like to troll pregnant ladies (really? srsly? freak.) getting a little backed up is about as common as say… growing a belly.  And growing a belly is something I am doing with hella flair. I like to think I’m still in “cute pregnant lady phase.”  I’ve seen pictures of me (and yes, I do look like the performance artist in Big Lebowski) and more than anything I’m fascinated by how round my face is getting. It’s actually quite flattering. When you’re not 23 (see what I did there?) fuller faces can make you look not your age (see what I continue to do there?). So I’m totally down with it.  A good case in point (thanks pop culture) is this chick who lost 155 pound on Biggest Loser. Of course the “fun” is to now tear down her accomplishment, slap a few labels on her, and sell some magazines – but my feminist ire is finely tuned right now (more on that later) and that’s not my point.  My point is….her face has aged with the weight loss.  She needs to put on some healthy weight and plump that face back up and she’ll look 24 again soon. Also, congrats on losing weight and taking control of your health young lady. Oh, and people are assholes – might as well get to that. You may be seeing more of me (finally) on Week Forty. However, I’m reserving the right to microblog. I tend to have two speeds – long diatribe or two sentences or less. I’ll need a place to post two sentences or less.  It will probably be here. Like the other day when I was listening to NPR (because Liberal) and they were talking about the situation in Homs (and yes I just linked to that news site – its a good news site – I’ve been watching it since my days in “Little Persia” in LA pre-9/11). Steve Inskeep (kinda dreamy for radio don’t you think?) mentioned that part of the relief efforts was sending in “UN food trucks.” Suddenly, I had an image of war-torn, starving, injured Homes residents – grateful for a cease-fire – waiting in line at the Taco Bus and Two Asians & a Grill desperate for a tofu taco or a bahn mi. (This is how I think most days).  I need a place to share that kind of depraved logic. It might as well be with you nice people.   Which brings me to two things – how I think and you nice people. I’m going off the FB for a while.  I’ll still comment and there are actually work things that I do on FB several times a day, but personal posts will be few and far between. Yesterday broke me. Totally broke me....

Oh! I almost forgot!

So we played a game a couple of nights ago. It was one of those “Someone told me we should try this!” moments that Ms brought home.  We shined a light on her belly.  And, as predicted, Critter started chasing it around like a cat on a laser pointer.  A bit feral if you ask me.  Anyway, we went on the Internet – and let me pause a moment to discourage going on the Internet for anything related to babies; good lord it’s a messy pile of contradictory and disconcerting information – and the Internet told us we shouldn’t do that because it might burn out Critter’s eyes or some nonsense.  So, Critter, if you pop out with no eyes, sorry, we did...

A bump in the night

I think I’d felt Critter move around before. I’d lay hands on my wife’s belly, press in a little bit, and feel a flutter. Only … I couldn’t tell if it was a Critter flutter or, you know, gas. Or bits moving around. Whatever.  Tonight I felt him move pretty unambiguously. Either that or Ms has some really unusually active organs. No, it was him.  He’s 21 weeks along, which, according to the websites, means he’s about the size of a carrot. I’m sorry, what? There is no human form that is about the size of a carrot. Even that description sounds wrong. 10 1/2 inches long, one website says. I’m sorry, he can’t possibly be that long. That’s an appreciable percentage of Ms’ length, and there’s no way something that long is squirming around in there. Is there?  Another website says he’s about the size of a large banana, which makes slightly more sense. Down here, we measure things in plantains though.  I just made that up. Another website I’m looking at includes the charming line, “Now that you’re starting to look pregnant….” Starting? Ms has looked pregnant – gloriously, beautifully pregnant – since well before Christmas. Do some people really not show significantly until now? Weird.  We are a bit perplexed though. Whether or not he’s a 10 1/2 inch carrot, there’s a fair amount of room in his house already. I guess the contractors got a bit ahead of schedule and finished the basic structure early. That’s not to say anything unflattering about Ms. She looks beautiful. She looks like a pregnant woman, but she hasn’t really changed all that much. She looks like herself, but with an addition on the front of the house, as it were. She was walking down the (very short) hall the other morning as I was waking up, and I saw my wife. Then she turned, and I was like “WOOGA PREGNANT LADY!” That sounds like I have a thing for the pregnant ladies. I don’t, except my wife, for whom I have a thing anyway. That’s merely a representation of my confused and vulnerable brain trying to sort out a stimulus before it’s had time to access the files regarding the current physical state of my wife. Anyway, I felt him move. There are some vigorous thumps and twists going on in there. What the hell is he doing in there? Karate? Where does he get leverage? I don’t know what body part I felt, though it felt a bit like a butt, shoulder, or head. I’m rambling a bit. It’s a weird thing to feel another creature where your wife is. It’s certainly not unpleasant, but it’s … well, it’s unprecedented. I’ve felt babies move before, but I lacked a certain connection to them. Feeling Critter squirming around in there left me thinking, “Huh, that’s my offspring gestating in there.”  I’m still having a hard time getting nervous about this whole thing, other than the rogue panic thoughts I think I discussed before. Yes, it’s a life-altering thing, but … I’ve been through a lot of life-altering things. It’s a normal, healthy development in our relationship. I have no doubt it will be hard, but I’m just not consumed with any panic, dread, or even awe. It’s just neat. And correct.  So,...

Spotting a trend

Ah, the arrival of today’s mail, with its inevitable “What will you do with your baby’s cord blood?” solicitation. Someone in the baby-industrial complex either (a) sold the fact of my wife’s pregnancy to advertisers, which seems like it should be an inexcusable breach of trust, or (b) (more likely) was able to figure out from credit card activity that she’s pregnant, which is incredibly creepy. But, hey, monetize everything!

The Story So Far

A little more than two years ago, I met Ms again for the first time. For the second time. Shit. A little m… You know what? Screw it. Let’s just cut right to the main storyline: “And that’s when the dwarf wrangler said, ‘Oh no, Mr. Luck Dragon, Atreyu is MINE!’” Wrong storyline. *flips pages frantically* Ah, here we go. Over the last two years, I’ve had a number of Very Good Days. More, in fact, than in the previous 38-odd years combined, I’d say. I could be wrong. Very Good Days are pretty easy to come by when you’re 4. Just get some extra ice cream and suddenly you’re living in a goddamn toilet paper ad. So let’s start when I was, oh to pick a number out of thin air, 8. A lot of things changed for me when I was 8. Family splitting and scattering across multiple time zones (and we’re not talking any Mountain Time BS here). I started zipping around the planet, as often as not on my own, to see the family diaspora. What does this have to do with pregnancy and fatherhood? It’s simple, really. I’ve had an interesting life. More than my share of interesting. I’ve lived in multiple countries, flown planes in loops, yanked a baby sheep out of a mother sheep, nearly tackled a sitting US senator. I’m pleased with my life. But I haven’t always been happy with it. For a very long time, I was isolated in more ways than I can properly describe. Comes with the territory when shuttling between parents means shuttling between continents. I lived my life, made very good friends, but was always ready to rely on myself as my only constant companion. Didn’t always have to, but was always ready to. We’re coming to the bit about pregnancy, just hang on. So then Ms came into my life, for the second time. Sort of. It’s all very complicated. Anyway, blah blah, two years of endless joy and blah blah. What? I can’t blah blah that bit? Fine. Two years of which any given day could take the place of some entire years, as far as bliss goes. Blah blah. Today was one of those days. Up at a sensible hour to feed the animals. Ms went off to work (a rare Saturday commitment), I played with the dogs and cleaned the kitchen floor and did other miscellaneous odds and ends. Ms came home just as I’d finished sucking down last night’s Chinese food leftovers. And then we packed the dogs up for an enrichment day at the dog park. Down the Interstate, up the highway, mild cursing as I realized I’d gone the wrong way, a mad caper of trying to get turned around in a state that fully embraces the U-turn as a standard driving tactic EXCEPT RIGHT IN THIS SPOT BECAUSE OH NO THAT WOULD BE TOO GODDAMN EASY. *inhale* Across the causeway, up a bit of highway again, mild cursing again as we missed our right turn due to construction. And then we were at the dog park. Took the girls off their leashes and wandered for a bit. Lovely. And then we got in the car and, on a whim, after finding a place for my increasingly bladder-challenged other half to pee (and, y’all, she’s starting in the shallow end of the kiddie pool in bladder terms, if you catch my meaning), we crossed another causeway to a state park...