This Changes Nothing

Future Rocket Scientist Fairy Princess

2010-05-22T07:36:00.020-05:00

My mother-in-law ("Grandma") bought Iphs this at Target:

"Future Rocket Scientist"

See how well it fits?

Naturally, it came from the Boys' section. And if boys are future rocket scientists, what are girls? A jaunt over to the Target website gives us an idea:

"How Cute Am I?"

"Sweet"

"So Sassy"

"Daddy's Future Superstar"

Girls are "cute". Girls are "sweet". Girls are "sassy". Girls are "superstars" (hey, it's better than being a "diva", right?). My grandfather was a rocket scientist. My brother is a rocket scientist. Is the possibility of my daughter one day becoming a rocket scientist really that hard to fathom? Also, it seems to imply that "rocket scientist", regardless of gender, is one of those pretend cutesy make-believe roles we assign to children but don't actually take seriously ("Prince/Princess", "Rock Star", "Heartbreaker", etc).

To be fair, there is a "Newborn Neutral" category of the website, and the boys section offers equally silly and ambiguous options: "My Mom is Cooler Than Your Mom", "Mommy's Little Monster", "Prince Charming", "Little Monkey" etc. But this one caught my eye:

"Dad's BBQ Buddy"

(Not the "Daddy's Caddy". I hate golf.)

Earlier this week while Holly was at work, I strapped Iphs into the Baby Bjorn and we fired up the grill. And none of that namby-pamby propane crap, I'm talkin' wood charcoal and flames.

I do like that the "I Heart [Parent]" theme isn't gender specific -- though what does stand out is that to a daughter I'm "Daddy" and to a son I'm "Dad". Thinking back, my brother and I called our father "Daddy" almost exclusively, and for a brief period in middle school I thought it was girly to do so and called him "Dad" around my friends. I wonder if he ever caught on?

Peace,
Daniel

COFFEE TIME!

2010-05-19T10:44:00.007-05:00

Check out my new coffee maker!

Black & Decker SmartBrew Plus
Click to order!

I'm so happy to have a new coffee maker. I'd had a Black & Decker before, but I broke the handle on it and replaced it with a crappy one from Gourmet Kitchen.

Reasons why this one kicks ass:

*Dripless pour carafe -- This was seriously the worst problem with my last coffee maker. It was impossible to pour a cup without dumping coffee everywhere. The SmartBrew carafe pours perfectly.

*Programmable -- I didn't think twice about it being programmable; I've always make my coffee fresh in the morning with little effort anyway, and let it brew while I'm in the shower. However, now that I'm up early frantically trying to heat up a bottle of breastmilk before the baseball-head starts screaming, I can't also be fumbling with the coffee maker. But now, I just push a button before bed and my coffee starts brewing at exactly 4:10 a.m.

*Black -- It looks cool. My old one was white and always dirty.

Reason why it may not kick ass but so far has not been a problem:

*Basin-style brew basket -- Funnel-style coffee makers seem to make stronger coffee than basin-style ones. Since I like strong coffee, the solution is to either add an extra scoop of coffee or double up the filter. Wasteful, yeah, but hardly enough for me to care. After all, I AM an American.

peace,
Daniel

Review Time!

2010-05-11T16:10:00.003-05:00

A while back, we were asked to review a product from CNS. We chose a cute frog lamp and it was great--Daniel actually uses it every single day because it's the perfect amount of dim for him quiet feeding Ivy time at 5:00 in the godawful a.m. Well, we're at it again and had lots of choices, from picture frame to bathroom vanities. We picked something absolutely positively vital to every parent.

If you guess what we picked, we will share some of the output of our mystery product!

The Birth: One Tale, Two Perspectives (Part 1, Holly)

2010-04-17T17:19:00.007-05:00

Fair warning--we're talking about childbirth here. There's obviously some fluids and functions.

First of all, I would like to make the blanket statement that the whole childbirth thing--for ME and ONLY ME--really wasn't that bad. Contractions hurt. Pushing really effin' hurt, but didn't last long. But mostly, it wasn't the horrorshow I feared, probably because I don't remember 70% of it.

It started at 6:30 a.m. on a Friday morning. I woke up hurting and bleeding. I wasn't sure if the bleeding part was normal, but I wasn't really scared. I was more hopeful that it meant I was about to be finished being pregnant. I knew Iphigenia was full term and, probably, the worst that would happen is that I would be induced or have to have a c-section. My regular doctor's appointment was at 11:00 that morning, so I just hung out until then and didn't even ask Daniel to go with me. I mean, bleeding might just be part of it, right? Probably happens to all pregnant women? Everything else I asked the doctor about turned out to just be some normal pregnant thing, so it's probably just that again.

I'm a dumbass.

My doctor's regular nurse wasn't in that day and I mentioned the bleeding to her, told her how far along I was, and told her I'd been hurting. After sitting in the exam room for quite a while, Dr. H came in, mentioned that there had been blood in my urine sample and asked if I had noticed any spotting. I told her that yes, I'd been bleeding quite a bit and hurting and that I'd told the nurse that. She shot the nurse a narrow-eyed death look and said "Well, I wish I'd known that."

She felt my belly and asked to rate my pain as she felt a contraction happen. I blinked at her. "I don't feel anything," I said. "Well, except hungry." Dr. H looked a little chagrined and admitted she hadn't believed me when I said I had a high pain tolerance, but that was a pretty good contraction, so the ones I was saying actually hurt must have been big. At this point, I was told not to pass Go, not to collect $200, go directly to labor and delivery and get this bleeding/contracting thing checked out RIGHT THIS SECOND.

Now, I'ma take a second here for those of you who like all your loose ends tied up. We never find out what the bleeding all over the place was all about. It's going to go on in varying degrees of severity for the next 24 hours and it would always go like this:
Person on the Phone- "OMFG PANIC! BLEEDING! GET HERE RIGHT NOW!"
Person in L&D- "Feh. Wevs. Go home."
Then there was a baby and it kind of quit mattering on a more than academic level. Ahem. Back to our story already in progress.

So I spend two hours getting monitored by Nurse Ratchet, who tells me this will probably go on for several more weeks and I should probably go in to work after I leave L&D and "Don't do anything stupid like planning on not going in next week." By "this," I mean contractions 5 to 10 minutes apart. I was also given a Weight Watchers magazine to read while sitting around getting monitored, which I thought was kind of hilarious.

I go home. I refuse to time contractions because I am so goddam depressed by the fact that I'm going to feel like this for up to another month. I go to my friend's birthday roast and say that I'm in labor and it's less painful than looking at his stupid beard. Everyone thinks I'm kidding. Everyone except R and C who have been watching me make hash marks on the paper table cloth every time I have a contraction. They are sworn to secrecy because I don't want to think about it and sure as hell don't want a bunch of people asking about it. As we are leaving, someone (Daniel? C?) notices that there are an awful lot of hash marks on that table.

Some short division later, we notice that these things are coming five minutes apart. We go home and time and have a bath until I'm about three minutes apart, at which point we are told to come back in. I started crying on the way to the hospital because I was scared about having the baby and didn't feel ready. Not for the labor part, for the being a mom part. Or maybe I was crying because it was 2 a.m. and I hadn't slept in over 24 hours. Tomato, tomahto.

It is also at this point I stop remembering almost anything. Because when we went to the hospital this time, they gave me an Ambien and told me to go home and take a bath. My contractions were a minute and a half apart.

I remember standing in the shower watching large, black blood clots fall and calling for Daniel. I remember it because it scared me.

I remember the nurse telling me my water had broken and that she knew it because she could feel the baby's hair.

I remember telling her that the fluid I was losing looked meconium stained.

I remember having to curl up in a ball for an epidural. I don't remember at all how I decided to get one because I was really kind of hoping to be bad-ass enough not to have to. In retrospect, that was kind of a douchey thing to think.

I remember that my nurse, Ellin, was hysterically funny, a huge smart ass, and was annoyed by all the dumb hospital rules. I don't remember any specifics to back up this assertion, I just have that impression.

Then, I quite literally remember absolutely nothing at all until I was pushing. It really, really hurt. This was about seven or eight hours after the last thing I remember.

It was all kind of confusing. I was embarrassed about being loud while pushing. I was a little panicky because I wasn't sure I could do it, but knew there was no way out of it. Daniel was being so nice and saying everything right, and then he was crying because he could see her head.

I asked if it would hurt less after she came out. The nurse assured me it wouldn't hurt anymore. I asked her how long a person pushes. She told me I would be done in less than an hour. So I started watching the clock and when we started coming up on an hour, I was determined this baby would be OUT before we hit the 60 minute mark. At some point, the anesthesia guy came in and determined that my epidural had quit working about an hour before. He fixed it and it gave me enough strength to push hard enough to finish it.

Things get foggy here again. I remember asking why she wasn't crying and asking why they wouldn't let me hold her. They dropped her, already swaddled, on me long enough for Daniel to snap a picture and whisked her away. Somehow, I got the information that she was being taken to special care for breathing and I insisted Daniel go with her and not stay with me.

Then everyone was gone and I was all alone. No husband, no baby, no tears of joy. Not even my mom or even a nurse. Things are really patchy here. I remember Mom coming in and me telling her I didn't feel anything--no big emotions. She had them take me to see Iphigenia and I only sort of remember it.

What I do remember is later that night insisting Daniel take me to see her again. She was hooked up to an IV, in an oxygen tent, and crying. I couldn't pick her up and comfort her. It was the worst I've ever felt in my entire life. I put my hand on her belly and sang and sobbed and she stopped crying.

It took me three days to write the last two paragraphs.

The next few days at the hospital were a mix of awesome and miserable. It was nice to be surrounded by our friends, but Iphigenia kept having trouble eating, and the staff kept taking her away, and there were all these stupid regulations (Daniel couldn't carry her around!) and it just felt like we were in prison. Finally, we got to go home.

Iphigenia ate successfully within 15 minutes of our arrival home. People brought us food. I hung out in my bathroom. My parents got snowed in with us. In short, life was good.

Nothing = Changed

2010-04-17T17:08:00.003-05:00

Hey, fearless readers. After a hiatus to take care of our new infant, we've been discussing the future of this blog. Did we want to keep going? I mean, it was intended as a pregnancy blog and we are no longer expecting--nor do we intend to ever be again.

On one hand, you can't swing a dead cat on the internet without hitting 17 parenting blogs. We really doubt we're going to add much to the discourse. On the other hand, this was never meant to be a huge web sensation with hundreds of readers. It was mostly just a place to bitch and a place to keep everyone updated on what was going on without having to tell the same facts and stories over and over.

It turns out we like that, and now we have cute pictures to be insufferable with. And better to do that on the interwebz where you can look or not look than to do it in person. AND we had a girl, so our bitching about society is oh so very far from over that we have no concept of "over" and I just had to look "over" up in the dictionary because I don't even know what it means.

Holly needs a "safe place" to be cute and talk about adorable things so she can get it out of her system without feeling embarrassed or cliche. Because, again, reading the blog is by choice. Daniel needs to vent about all the dumb shit that must be dealt with. Both of us want to show you pictures ad nauseum.

Welcome to Earth

2010-03-18T14:12:00.011-05:00

People of this beautiful planet Earth, we give you Iphigenia Delta:

Iphigenia Delta

b. 13 March 2010
4:37 pm
7lb 6oz, 20in

First family photo.
Happy, healthy St. Patrick's Day!

"Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you've got to be kind."
--Eliot Rosewater
God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater
by Kurt Vonnegut

The Next Time You See a Pregnant Woman

2010-03-11T18:45:00.002-06:00

Make an effort to mention or ask about just one non-pregnancy related thing. Better yet, acknowledge in some way that she has a life outside of incubation.

Oh My God, Really?

2010-03-07T17:28:00.005-06:00

From a place called "Pretty Pushers."

Mad as hell

2010-03-03T11:49:00.028-06:00

Early each morning I listen to the audio stream of Democracy Now! The War and Peace Report from the previous day. This morning I heard Amy Goodman interview Terry O'Neill (president of NOW) and Lynn Paltrow (ED of the National Advocates for Pregnant Women) about Utah HB12 and how it could be applied if signed into law. I was furious -- I'd already been angry over this horribly unjust proposition after explaining my understanding of it to a coworker, but the gravity of it didn't hit me until hearing this interview today, and I began to see red.

Paltrow tells the story of a pregnant woman in an abusive relationship who sought medical help after she "fell down the stairs", and was arrested on an attempted homicide charge. Another woman at full term delivered twins and when one of them was stillborn, she was charged with homicide because two weeks earlier she had rejected an optional cesarean. The charges were later dropped because there was no law that could make them stick (though in the case of the injured woman, she was held for five days before the charges were dropped). As callous as it is, I think a lot of us are tempted to think "well, at least we're not in Utah" and chalk it up to their apparent goal of receding to a time when when a small group of corrupt clerics held the supreme legal authority. You know, the DARK AGES.

Yet here in sunny Oklahoma we keep asking extremist zealots like Tom Coburn and Jim Inhofe to represent us at the national level, and Mike Ritze and Sally Kern right here in the state. I think of the women close to me who have suffered through miscarriage and stillbirth. Not only would these Utah lawmakers place the blame of the tragedy squarely on them, but they would lock them up as child killers. And I think about my own wife who, because we don't make a lot of money, must continue to work all the way to her due date, going up and down stairs ten times a day and driving all over the goddamn city trying to meet mailing deadlines. Heaven forbid there's some sort of accident and the baby dies in the womb -- if we lived in Utah, where legal power is held by the same brand of politicians that we elect right here in Oklahoma -- she could conceivably be arrested and tried for negligent homicide or murder.

Frankly, and I mean this with the utmost sincerity and respect for their stance, I don't see how even the staunchest advocates of pro-life policy could be in support of a bill that superficially is intended to reduce abortions but in actuality will mean that having a miscarriage can carry a murder charge if at some point during her pregnancy the woman is the victim of domestic violence, is dropped from her insurance or denied due to a preexisting condition, is in a car accident, or even stumbles and falls down.

See the interview here.

It's likely to piss you off, but hey, I want you to get mad!!

Peace,
Daniel

Meet Cute

2010-02-14T22:56:00.005-06:00

So, while screwing around looking at birth announcements (because I want to make my own), I came across this card:
I've never heard of such a thing as a pregnancy announcement card, and while the part of me raised to be Southern gentility recoils in horror at sending a picture of something you piss on to you maiden aunts, grandmother, and boss, the concept of a formal pregnancy announcement is kind of a good idea. I mean, the alternative is to tell everyone on Facebook, and how tacky is that?

However, another part of me sees it as a waste of card stock. I don't know about the rest of you, but, to quote my beloved husband, "Jesus effing Christ, word spreads fast! Apparently in emailing Holly's cousin, I found out that she and her grandma knew a full day before the gynecologist." Now I know some families and friend groups keep strict personal boundaries that they would never dream of violating. That there is no gossip, speculation, furtive text messaging, or itchy speed-dial fingers and you only find out things told in person by the person it involves.

I read about them here.

So, in my world, if people haven't found out in the time it takes to buy, address, and mail post cards, they probably aren't involved in your life enough to $0.44 worth of care. But, a nice postal announcement does add a touch of class to anything. So maybe if we had it to do over, we could have sent all of you a lovely card informing you of our blessed news:

Fantasy Childbirth League Draft Round 1

2010-02-11T17:31:00.006-06:00

Midwife: Joan Jett "Bitch, I am her birth plan."

As midwife, Joan Jett would stomp into Labor and Delivery shoving orderlies out of her way with one arm, unblinking. A nurse would stop her at the door to my room and beg her to put a sterile drape over her leather pants and vest. Joan would glare at her, flick her lit cigarette butt in the nurses face and barrel in.

Uncorking a bottle of Jack Daniels with her teeth, she'd squat at the end of the bed and bark "I've taken bigger dumps than this! Now push, goddammit. I got us a couple of strippers waiting at The Dragon's Laire." When people tried to interfere, she'd fix them with an icy stare of utter contempt and they would cry.

When the baby came out, she'd slap her to make her cry and the baby would punch her back. Joan's harsh exterior would crumble and, with tears in her eyes, Joan would declare, "My god, that's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" Later that night, I would discover a phone number written in red Sharpie on the back of my knee.

Controversies That Never Crossed Our Minds

2010-02-09T19:16:00.003-06:00

There are approximately over 9000 life-altering decisions you have to make when you find out you're pregnant. Most of them involve lots of research, thinking, fretting, discussing, and the occasional bout of beating yourself up. Once in a while, though, you get a softball. Here are some decisions we didn't even think of as decisions:

1. Diapers
Hell no we are not doing cloth diapers. The environment is great, I'm a big fan. And for people who feel that disposable diapers are worth sacrificing for said environment, aces. I am not that person. I hate poop and I really hate doing laundry. Cloth diapers are what I will have to deal with when I die if I'm bad. You can probably guess the odds of eliminating diapers altogether.

2. Vaccines
Even if--EVEN IF--the study linking vaccines with a teeny tiny risk of autism hadn't been proven to be total crap, our kid would still be vaccinated. Because, seriously, polio???? Autism sucks, but it doesn't iron lung suck. "Oh, but polio has been all but wiped out in the West!" Yeah, you know why? BECAUSE OF VACCINES!!! See also Meningitis C. For why you're a jerk if you don't vaccinate, see HiB.

3. Breastfeeding
For us it came down to a) free, b) better for the baby, c) free, d) less unloading the dishwasher, and finally, e) free. I mean, if I could spit in my gas tank and run my car, I would be on that shit.

4. Circumcision
Granted, a moot point now, but since Daniel mentions it in every post he writes ("We got a car seat today! Circumcision is wrong." "I don't know how we're going to pay for health insurance, but I do know that circumcision is wrong." "Had a great sandwich at Ella's. Know what isn't great? Circumcision."), this was never up for discussion.

If only everything were this easy...

Spring shows what God can do with a drab and dirty world. ~Virgil A. Kraft

2010-02-05T14:00:00.003-06:00

Our wonderful Spring at Progress on the Prairie just wrote a beautiful post over a question I asked her a long time ago about childbirth. Go, read, comment here or there. I may print out and frame the entire thread.

Does Giving Birth Hurt?

Vonnegut Was Wrong

2010-02-01T19:35:00.002-06:00

Nothing is beautiful and everything hurts.

8 Months! Yum.

2010-01-31T21:48:00.003-06:00

So, I'm 8 months today. And I'm eating us out of house and home. For real. I am hungry ALL THE TIME. This post is dedicated entirely to me talking about food.

1. My newest obsession is stuffed French toast. It is so good. I've eaten it four times in the last three days.

2. Cheeseburger love goes unabated. Tried Freddy's on 71st tonight per the Heatherington's recommendation and it was good. Best part was the tiny, tiny super crunchy fries. Mmmm.

3. We bought some lactose free organic milk for me and OH MY GOSH, YOU GUYS! Lactose-free milk is even sweeter than regular milk. And organic is creamier than regular milk. If it weren't $18,000 a gallon, I'd drink my weight in it every day.

4. I've been wanting broccoli lately, and Caesar salad, so maybe I'll get my healthy eating urges back after little miss arrives after all. This makes me feel much better.

Best and Worst: Shower Edition

2010-01-25T13:48:00.004-06:00

Well, it's almost baby shower time and we are fortunate enough to have some of the best friends and family in the world. Ours are going to be fun--if for NO OTHER REASON than because they are OURS--boys are allowed, and the fact that this baby has a dad who is ALSO looking forward to having an infant around and we ALSO have dude friends who think it's cool is acknowledged. For reals.

However, historically, baby showers can be a real trainwreck. I recall going to one shower where the grandma-to-be spent the entire time sitting in the corner with her friend crying and telling everyone "Her daddy's so upset she's not having a white baby. I don't care what color my grandbaby is! I just wish it wasn't a bastard!" Then, the 8 months pregnant expectant mom was forced to play a "game" where they saw how fast she could clean up the floor (by hand!) of the rented room after having confetti dumped on it so she could "practice" doing chores. Klassy.

What's the worst of your shower experiences?

How To Not Be A Shithead To Your Pregnant Wife (For Beginners)

2010-01-14T09:07:00.026-06:00

Holly, being pregnant and unreasonable, has been nagging me to post a report of our birthing class experience. So let it be known that I'm only doing this to shut that woman up.

We attended a birthing class last Saturday at the hospital where we'll be delivering. It was a seven hour course, with lunch provided, that set out to teach us about what will happen leading up to the day of delivery and how the partner can help the mother-to-be through the labor process, plus a tour of the labor/maternity facilities. We were excited, if a little skeptical, but at the very least we wanted to see the hospital ahead of time. We showed up to class with our pillows and yoga mat and questions, and joined four other couples in the classroom.

Our instructor introduced herself and gave a quick overview of what we'd be doing that day and told us that only moms were allowed to go to the bathroom(?). She said that due to time constraints she wouldn't be able to talk about postpartum issues, then spent 20 minutes telling us that while she originally worked as a labor nurse and assisted teen mothers in giving birth and continuing high school, she started teaching this birthing class after God spoke to her, telling her that *this* is her true calling, that *this* is God's work.

Now, I have a love/hate relationship with people who claim that God has spoken to them. On the one hand, I love crazy people (I *highly* recommend this movie). On the other hand, I'm not terribly fond of liars, cheats, and swindlers. So when this woman says that God had spoken to her and called upon her to quit her then-job and start teaching this class, I assume either she's suffering from dementia and hallucinations, or she royally fucked up while employed as a labor nurse for teenagers and is saving face by claiming she was appointed by God to teach a weekend birthing class.

That said, I need to give our instructor props for not watering down phrases like "vaginal intercourse with ejaculation", and emphasizing the importance of breastfeeding within 30 minutes of giving birth. Her detailed presentation included topics on which Holly and I were genuinely uninformed--epidurals, cesarean sections, the check-in process, labor relaxation techniques, etc. In short, we learned a lot, and I'm glad I had the opportunity to see the the Women's Center with a level, non-panicking head.

But on the flip-side, she was unabashedly dismissive and condescending when someone--particularly a father-to-be--asked a question. This of course was after her kind assurance that "the only stupid question is the one that isn't asked". But as the class continued, I could almost (*almost*) empathize. Most male participants in a birthing class are total douchebags, as evidenced by the attendance of yet another self-proclaimed vessel of God, a youth pastor with the teenager-brainwashing capital of the world, Tulsa's own GUTS Church. Through the class, God's son joked about making his wife give birth at home so he could be in charge of everything, interrupted the instructor's discussion of Braxton Hicks contractions to "suggest" she hurry up and get to the labor, and performed stupid dances during his turn with the Empathy Belly (more on this), all to the encouraging giggles of his happily at-home-and-pregnant wife. It became apparent that our instructor spends the majority of her classes addressing total retardation such as this.

Ah yes, the Empathy Belly. The instructor only had one, so the dads that chose to participate wore it for about an hour before passing it along to the next guy. I took my turn and now I can totally understand "what it's like" for a pregnant woman at full term minus the hormone changes, stretching of muscles and shifting of bones, nausea, indigestion, depression, weakened immune system, cramping, fatigue, constipation, contractions, nipple secretions, and compression of internal organs. Before my naturally-superior-in-upper-body-strength male form was inconvenienced for an hour while we watched a video about breathing techniques, I had no idea what Holly was going through!

Of course, when I opted to take the damn thing off before embarking on our tour of the hospital so I could pay better attention to things like, oh, the check-in station and breastfeeding resource center and neonatal intensive care unit instead of dicking around with lead weights and Velcro, I was delivered a raft of shit from the instructor and fellow dads. Yeah, what a dickhead, can't handle the Empathy Belly after all. Well hey, at least now I know how to respect my wife.

Plus I totally felt up a pair of polyester ta-tas. Score.

Peace,
Daniel

Hrm...Well Now...

2010-01-08T18:38:00.003-06:00

So I guess this is what you'd call the boring phase of pregnancy. I feel craptacular much of the time and she's pretty much fully formed and just needs to fatten up. She's an infant in there, just chillin' and practicing breathing and blinking and stuff until she's sufficiently chubby to make her debut. Hence the utter lack of posts. Nothing to say, really.

HOWEVER, we go to our first childbirth class tomorrow. Since we're "those people" I imagine we'll have something to bitch about or rag on. Stay tuned!

In the meantime, what's the worst possible name we could give our child?

Words of Wisdom from a Future Dad

2010-01-01T11:25:00.002-06:00

"Ugh. I'm ready for this baby to be here. James Cameron must have invented pregnancy."

Daddy's Little Fatty

2009-12-19T15:14:00.004-06:00

When the hell did this happen?

I Love Lamp

2009-12-19T10:57:00.001-06:00

Ok, so I got my free stuff. I picked a froggy lamp and it is very cute.
PROS: It's cute. It's just the right amount of bright for a nightlight. Did I mention it's cute?
CONS: For something advertised as a children's product, it's pretty cheaply made. It's made of heavy paper, and I don't see that holding up long with kids/pets/me. But, when the kid can't move independently, it should be fine.

Holy Crap, You Guys!

2009-12-12T21:35:00.002-06:00

FOOD COMES OUT OF MY BODY.

Holy. Crap.

So far, there's been a precedent for all the stuff that's happened while being pregnant. Getting fatter, feeling sick a lot, raging mood swings--all this stuff is a normal week in my life. But this? Jesus H. Christ on a rosemary cracker, ya'll I'm pregnant.

Gah! WTF???

Help Us Please

2009-12-10T16:41:00.002-06:00

So what do YOU want to hear about? Let us know you philosophical, disgusting, impertinent or scientific questions. Everything is fair game.

Baby Schwag!

2009-12-09T16:47:00.003-06:00

Hi airbody! I get to do a review of a product for a company that sells furniture, crib bedding, adorable lamps shaped like devils, etc. etc. etc. I'm kind of excited about that. Also, people I've never met read this blog. CRAZY!

Apparently, the foul-mouthed left wing pseudo-hipster market is hot.

Recycled: Rites of Passage

2009-12-06T21:20:00.011-06:00

I posted this on my old, defunct pre-preggy blog and am still thinking about it. Been altered slightly for coherence, names, and time. Pictures were added because I like pictures. Submitted for your perusal:

In Promiscuities, Naomi Wolf talks about the lack of rites of passage in Western culture between childhood and womanhood. I think she has a valid point about the place they fill. It also made me realize that, as atheists, Daniel and I will raise our children with even fewer mile markers than the already depleted stock of options we have in America: no baptism, no confirmation, no bat mitzvah, nada.

Not doing this.

In my head, I've devised all manner of interesting things that could be placeholders, but I'm curious about others' perspectives. I know there's a part of infant baptism that I love that comes from its basis in pagan naming rituals: right before the baby's name is announced, the preacher asks "Who will stand up with this child?" Then, people chosen by the parents OR (and I like this one) anyone willing to take a stake in it, stands up with the family and vows to help teach the child to be a good person and to be there for them and to be a positive role model. Then, you drop some water on the kid and tell everyone her name.

Ew.

Similarly, some tribal cultures re-name a child with a name they choose themselves at some coming of age point. I like that, too, and I see a variation of that a lot--not a full scale name change, but at a certain age many kids with diminutives ask to be know by their full names or a more adult nickname (Pams become Pamelas, Jackies become Jaclyns; even I lobbied at about age 13 to change my diminutive name to the original name it was based on. I was supposed to be a Holland). I think it would be cool to have some kind of announcement in a rite of passage ceremony. And since we plan on using a diminutive, this may be especially relevant. But that's just me and there is every chance in the world she will never want to be known by her full name.

I have no idea what's happening here.

If forced to choose, I always think of my bildungsroman as the time I took a Greyhound to Iowa and subsequently had the worst time of my life. But A) I did it myself, B) I survived and C) I figured a lot of stuff out. I am hoping little Doelynn Talula Dandelion Daffodil Blueberry Butthole can have something a little more definitive and a little less pee-soaked (if you must know, ask in person).

I think we have a winner!

So tell me--what rites of passage have you seen that touched you in some way? How does one who bases life on logic navigate the spirit world of growing up?

Vengeance!

2009-11-30T20:28:00.010-06:00

To the guy(s) who crawled through our bedroom window and stole our TV, Playstation 2, flash drive containing our tax documents, knocked a big chunk out of our hardwood floor, and ripped off the fancy new camera we just bought YESTERDAY for the sole purpose of TAKING PICTURES OF OUR NEWBORN BABY, may Ghost Rider beat you to death with his Enchanted Hellfire Chain of Retribution.

~~Peace~~ Gory horrific violence,
Daniel

"Fuck blood, I wanna see some lungs coughed up!"
-Eminem

This is Not a Thanksgiving Post

2009-11-26T11:41:00.003-06:00

Lying in bed this morning, I was dreaming up a blog post about my parental icons, then was derailed by the fact that when I thought of "parenting," I only thought of women and there's this whole other set of problems to unpack in that and THEN I realized it's Thanksgiving, so everyone who saw I had a post would probably assume it's a post about being thankful and either get preemptively bored or skip it entirely.

Because, really, what the hell do you think a pregnant woman, told she probably couldn't have kids so she didn't try, plopped into the hospital with something that probably should have negated said embryo and possibly her, six months later sitting fat and honestly, awfully gorgeous (thanks hormones and extra blood!) dinking around on the internet (that her dear friend laboured for literally five hours to fix) is going to say about being thankful? I think I lapsed into a coma in just that sentence!

I'll be honest here. I don't feel compelled to go to the effort of talking about why I'm grateful because it's always on my mind. I'm always grateful for something--always!--even when I'm getting sent to counseling for getting pre-baby-blues ("gee, what a great doctor to notice that!"), even when I'm barfing at 11:27 p.m. ("Aw, morning sickness! How cute!"), hell, even when I was in said hospital! ("Wow, my husband is so wonderful and strong! Oh my god, MORPHINE"). Even the other night when, for reasons unknown, I was compelled to lie in bed and sob (not cry, sob) for two solid hours, despite being miserable, I thought it was sort of funny and thought Daniel was so sweet for making me tacos. For me, to sit down and go "ok, what am I grateful for today" seems like I'd have to try to come up with something and I'd inevitably leave something out ("our new cleaning lady at work emptied my trash while I was in the bathroom! How considerate!"). I am delighted by the mundane.

I also feel smug talking about how awesome my life is. I'll level with you. Talking about all the great stuff in my life feels like Warren Buffet bragging about all the shit he can buy to someone on welfare. I freely express my gratitude to the person to whom I am grateful--the only other person it really concerns. But I don't feel like, well, bragging.

Some of you are going "This is not the Holly I know. This tireless optimism is not what I am used to." I know what you mean and I will explain. The human condition is to express things that are out of the ordinary. For example, one does not say to a companion "Hey! My heart just beat!" but one would say "Hey! My leg just go really itchy!" For me, it's a little out of the ordinary to get out of my mojo. In fact, I truly believe part of the reason I am not as detail oriented and good at being a perfectionist as Daniel is because I'm distracted why what's going right too much to notice things that are going wrong. I get anxious a lot because my hunky-dory worldview gets challenged a lot. It's a strange paradox, but it's actually my happiness that makes me nervous.

So anyway, all this was a long way for me to tell you that I'm not going to tell you all the reasons I'm thankful this Thanksgiving. At this point, I'm supposed to say that I'm thankful for all of YOU, my friends and family who actually give a rat's ass about my obsession with the rather unremarkable feat of reproduction. But if you don't know that by now, I've already failed--and that's decidedly not something to be thankful for.

Seriously?

2009-11-20T11:28:00.003-06:00

Come Up Swinging

2009-11-17T13:57:00.005-06:00

I'm going to teach my girl how to fight.

Actually, what I should say is "I want my girl to know how to physically defend herself." I absolutely will not tolerate a bully, or even a girl who uses violence as anything but a last resort. However, if it comes to it, I want me and her to both know goddam good and well that if she winds up in a terrible situation, she's either going to be able to clobber her way to safety or at the very least, make sure a dude has some nasty reminders of what he did for the rest of his life. I know D. would agree with me on this point, but the ugly part is that if you want to be secure in that knowledge, you have to train and make it a part of you.

My dad once said "I want my girls to have a hard head and a harder right hook." I took karate lessons for a couple of years (jacking up both ankles in the process, but it was soooo worth it), and while my sister wasn't into it, Daddy still play-boxed, play-coached and generally ingrained into us how to break a hold, throw a punch, gouge an eye, etc. etc. etc.

One night, while my sister was in high school, Daddy (who is, on occasion, more well-intentioned than smart), waited for my sister outside of the front door, intending to play a little joke on her and jump out and scare her. She'd jump and scream a little, everyone would laugh, the end. Not so much. When my dad jumped out and grabbed her from behind, Seester silently went limp and threw an elbow noseward. It connected, my sister ran, and my dad lost a tooth. Later, Seester said she wasn't even thinking, she just did it.

The obvious argument is that knowing how to fight will make you more lightly to start one. With my sister and myself, I've seen the opposite. Now, neither of us are paragons of saintly patience, and god lover 'er, Seester might even in some circles be said to have a "really nasty temper." Despite having been seriously, seriously bullied all through school, I have been in a grand total of one whole fistfight. I was in college, my awful boyfriend, in a fit of rage at a concert, shoved me hard enough to cause me to fall and knock my breath out. I came up swinging and took him to the ground until security showed up. I didn't even black an eye.

This is one more fight than Seester has been. She, in fact, patiently waited for the police to come and drag a ranting girl out of my parent's front yard one day during her Junior year. Why didn't she take the bait? She knew if she went out there and lost her temper, she'd hurt the girl. Probably badly.

While both of us have been annoyed, enraged, and even had our feelings badly hurt, neither of us has really been that scared of someone. I think, for a girl, that's a really huge thing. It's hard for any man to understand how difficult being female can be. You always have to be aware and a little suspicious. If a straight guy goes out on a blind date, the worst case scenario he probably runs through as he's getting ready likely involves a lost wallet or a secret penis. When a straight girl goes out on a blind date, the worst case scenario she runs through is ending up decapitated in a ditch. At the very least, almost every woman I know has a "plan." Someone calls at a certain time or expects a call at a certain time. Enough cash for cab fare home is a must. And seriously, how many non-law enforcement men do you know that carry mace?

I know that the odds of anything happening to my little girl are small. But the truth is, it does happen. At last count, conservatively, one in four women had been sexually assaulted in some way. I know I have been in situations where, if I wasn't confident in my physical ability and didn't know how to extricate myself, I would have completely panicked. I want her to know that kindness is one of the highest virtues, that all people are worthy of love and respect, and that talking things out peacefully should always be the first, second, third, and fourth option. But if none of that works--if it's her or them? I want her to take a motherfucker down.

Drumroll

2009-11-14T05:38:00.001-06:00

Yeah, it's stupid.

2009-11-12T21:21:00.022-06:00

We find out tomorrow if the thing has a penis or not. Which means that I might only have one more day to write about circumcision. And god knows I can't let that opportunity pass me by. So--here ya go!

I will not circumcise my son. Why? Because circumcising babies is stupid. I'm tempted to leave it at that 'cuz really, I haven't heard a non-stupid argument for it. But just for the hell of it, let's look at the most popular reasons parents give for circumcising their sons, and I'll do my best to explain why those reasons are stupid.

1. Most males are circumcised.

No they're not.

2. A boy should look like his dad. If the dad is circumcised, then his son should be as well.

I'm circumcised. Am I bitter about it? *shrug* Nah, and don't think I'm going all Nazi against people who choose circumcision. The National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey reports that in the seventies, 91% of newborn American males were circumcised. My parents were simply and responsibly following the advice of the doctors. The thing is, mine was (slightly) botched due to this thing taking too long to separate the dead tissue from the intact skin, leaving a minor scar and an extra little patch of skin that was intended to have been removed. No damage or anything--and as demonstrated by the existence of this blog, everything works just fine. But what I'm getting at is that I'm really not enthusiastic about putting a little boy through that pain and stress and possible long-term harm solely because I want his penis to sort of look like mine. If there's a more viable reason, then sure, but so far the "we should be Twinkies" argument doesn't make much sense to me.

3. Uncircumcised penises are ugly.

Ah, yes. That horrific little sheath that protects and moistens the glans is absolutely disgusting. What woman in her right mind would want to touch a grody penis like that? This is what I call the Jenny McCarthy Argument, and is best outlined--and debunked--by the bleach-blonded fake-breasted expert herself:

"If you don’t know what an uncircumcised penis looks like, you will once your baby boy is born. When I saw my son’s for the first time, I thought it looked kind of like a wrinkled french fry. I had the hardest time knowing that I would have to be the one to tell the doc, 'Go ahead and take that knife and slice off some skin. AHH!' It seemed so cruel. I was in such an emotional state and this choice was KILLING me. I created this beautiful bun of love! How could I do anything to cause him pain? But I did, and my main reason was stupid, but truthful. I wanted him to have a pretty penis. I always thought the cut ones were prettier, but some disagree. That's fine."
(from Belly Laughs: The Naked Truth About the First Year of Mommyhood)

4. Uncircumcised penises are dirty. They're hard to clean. They leak gross stuff.

Oh come on. All you have to do is pull back a flap of skin for three seconds when you take a shower. As the great wordsmith Penn Jillette once said, "Really, how hard is it to get a boy to touch himself in the shower?" The real issue is that for some reason most parents would rather eat a shotgun than teach their son how to properly bathe himself, or...god forbid...do it for him if he's too young. It's much easier to simply cut off that offending flap, yeah?

5. Uncircumcised penises = AIDS!!!!!!!

Or to put it boringly: if an uncircumcised male has unprotected vaginal sex with an HIV-positive female, he is at a slightly elevated risk of contracting HIV because the inner tissue of the intact foreskin provides an additional site to harbor the virus.

This, of course, is a non-issue. Why? Because my son will know about sexually transmitted diseases and responsibility and will not be having unprotected vaginal sex with HIV-positive females.

6. The Bible says you should do it.

Then the Bible is wrong.

7. If we don't circumcise our sons, they'll use their foreskins to smuggle drugs.

Lolz.

Peace,
Daniel

PLACE YOUR BETS!

2009-11-05T08:28:00.012-06:00

ONLY ONE DAY LEFT! GET YOUR VOTE IN!

It's time! I'm giving you a week to get in on the pool. If you've ever commented or mentioned IRL that you read this blog, you're on the spreadsheet. If you're a lurker who has never made him/herself know, put your bet in the comments, and I'll happily add you. Updates added to this post as they come in.

Quick Update

2009-11-02T16:49:00.003-06:00

Had a really great meeting with the nutritionist today! She was sweet, friendly, non-judgmental, accommodating of my shyness about food journals (that's a whole 'nother blog we aren't doing, ever), and over all super helpful. We found out that I'm eating approximately half the calories I need each day and talked about specific foods. She even gave me a clever little list of how to pack more calories into foods I already like (bagel with dense cream cheese vs. whipped, full fat yogurt in my veggie smoothies, and Jesus help me actual butter on popcorn), which was just a little surreal. But mostly she said do my best and don't stress myself out because that will just make everything worse. She said if calorie counting was too "diet-y" then to aim for specific foods (three snacks a day with a carb and a fatty protein and a fruit or sweet), etc.

Hopefully I'm not cursing myself by saying this, but my experience with St. John's has been nothing but very, very positive. In many ways, I've had a charmed pregnancy so far (knock wood!). Morning sickness wasn't bad, flexible job hours, feminist doctors, husband with a serious yen for pregnant women, etc. So despite my loudmouth progressive tendencies to piss and moan, things have been pretty good on a personal level. Next week: BOY OR GIRL???

Yep, you win. America sucks.

2009-10-28T12:50:00.014-05:00

RICH FAT WHITE MALE BORN-AGAIN NEO-CONSERVATIVE REAGAN-SUCKING REPUBLICAN CONGRESSMAN AND/OR FOXNEWS SPINSTER, CIRCA JULY 2009: If these young, working, lower-middle class idiots would only take better care of themselves and get off their lazy butts and exercise and stop eating cheap food with poor nutrients and start using the preventative options their job benefits' health insurance plans offered instead of milking rich, fat, white, male, god-fearing taxpayers like myself then we wouldn't have such high healthcare costs.

ME: Well, as much as I hate this asshole, he kinda has a point. I turn 30 this year, and I really should start taking better care of myself. I've been under a lot of stress recently, you know, with my wife being in the hospital and the sudden realization that we have a baby on the way and knowing that money will be pretty tight soon since she'll have to reduce her work hours because of the pregnancy and birth of the child. And several years ago, when I was under a lot of stress I fell into a deep depression that I was only able to shake after months of treatment and doctor visits and a long period of recovery. Obviously, with my wife being pregnant, she's going to need my full support and attention, plus we can't afford to have me racking up medical expenses for something I could conceivably prevent, as long as I don't ignore the symptoms. I'll nip it in the bud so it doesn't become a serious (and expensive) problem. Plus, on a personal note, I'd rather not find myself in a crippling, near-suicidal state again anytime soon. I'll just swallow my pride and ask the doc to check this thing out 'coz, you know, that's what responsible guys do.

INSURANCE POLICY: Yeah we'll cover that, as long as the doctor is in our network. You have up to 26 visits per year. You'll have a copay of $25 per visit, but we'll pay for the rest (um, with the money your job is giving us every month).

ME: Wow, 26 visits? That's great! These guys are really looking out for me. There's no way I'll need to go 26 times, so a couple of $25 copays will be totally worth it. Private health insurance is da bomb! (smiles at camera, teeth twinkle)

PSYCHOTHERAPIST: Hi Daniel! Sit down. Uh, yes, I'm still in that network. I'm proud of you for coming. You've obviously made some really great progress since we last met a couple years ago. That doesn't happen often--you've definitely taken control of this thing, and it shows real courage that you've decided to confront it early. We'll meet a couple more times and I'm confident you'll do just fine.

ME: Kick ass.

MY WIFE: I'm so glad you did that. I know it was hard for you, but I'm really proud of you. I love you so much. You're going to be an awesome father.

PRESIDENT OBAMA: blah blah blah cash for clunkers blah blah

GLENN BECK: Obama hates white people! He's also a poopy-face!

SOME GUY CLUTCHING A TEABAG WHO HAS NO IDEA WHAT THE BOSTON TEA PARTY ACTUALLY WAS: Obama is a socialist! He's also a poopy-face!

SOME OTHER GUY CLUTCHING A COPY OF OBAMA'S BIRTH CERTIFICATE: This is fake! Show us the real one! You know, the one that says that Obama is really a Kenyan-born poopy-face!

ME: LOL these guys are dorks.

*****

Three months later. The mail has just arrived:

ME: Hey, it's my doctor bill. I wonder what I owe.

DOCTOR BILL: Patient owes $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

ME: WTF?

*****

Same scene, translated from original Japanese:

ME: What does the doctor bill say about his power level?

DOCTOR BILL: Patient owes OVER NINE THOUSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND!!!!

ME: What, nine thousand?!? There's no WAY that can be right!!!!!

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LvFsrlTe40Q#t=0m45s)

*****

DENNIS, TO WHOM MY BILL SAYS I SHOULD DIRECT MY QUESTIONS: I'm sorry, I'm either in the middle of a call or away from my desk. Please leave your name, number, and brief message...

ME: Um, hi. My name is Daniel and I have a question about my bill. Please call me at...

Time passes.

LADY FROM INSURANCE COMPANY: Hello, thank you for calling the (I'd rather not list the name of my insurance provider, so I'll just call it "Screw Cross Screw Shield") customer service line. How may I help you?

ME: Hi, I have a question about my bill.

LADY FROM THE INSURANCE COMPANY: *sigh* Alright, dumbass, what do you not understand?

ME: Well my bill says I'm responsible for a really big payment. But I'm looking at my policy guidelines and it says this stuff should have been covered.

LADY FROM THE INSURANCE COMPANY: LOL yeah you *would* think that, ya fuckin' moron.

ME: But I went to this same doctor with the same policy for the same thing a couple years ago and I didn't have to pay anywhere near this much--did my policy change or something?

LADY FROM THE INSURANCE COMPANY: How the fuck should I know? Call your benefits rep and quit wasting my goddamn time. Oh yeah, have a nice day an' shit.

ME: Uh...ok.

BENEFITS REPRESENTATIVE: What the fuck do you want?

ME: (repeats previous question)

BENEFITS REPRESENTATIVE: Fuck if I know if the policy changed.

ME: Well, is there a way to check?

BENEFITS REPRESENTATIVE: *sigh* All RIGHT already. Hang on. Oh I see. That was back before we switched from (former, decent insurer) to Screw Cross Screw Shield. Dickhead.

ME: Yeah I know, but they said the coverage would be the same.

BENEFITS REPRESENTATIVE: ....

ME: Right?

BENEFITS REPRESENTATIVE: Your point?

ME: Um, I guess I'm just wondering why it changed.

BENEFITS REPRESENTATIVE: We did it for teh lolz. *click*

PRESIDENT OBAMA, AFTER SUCKING ON A HELIUM BALLOON: Eeeek! You Republicans are so mean! OKAY! I'll shut up about a public option! You're right, I'm wrong, private insurers don't need regulation! Yes, poor people don't deserve to be healthy! Just stop calling me a poopy-face! WAAAAAH!

MY PREGNANT WIFE, SPEAKING TELEPATHICALLY TO ME: Wow, this is why people have abortions isn't it?

ME, SPEAKING TELEPATHICALLY TO MY PREGNANT WIFE: Wow, I think you're right. But we don't want to do that....do we?

MY PREGNANT WIFE, SPEAKING TELEPATHICALLY TO ME: Oh no, of course not! Um....right?

ME, SPEAKING TELEPATHICALLY TO MY PREGNANT WIFE: No, absolutely not! Um....?

US, SIMULTANEOUSLY: We'll be ok. We'll be ok. We'll be ok.

ME: Man, I sure wish this whole health insurance thing made more sense.

RICH FAT WHITE MALE BORN-AGAIN NEO-CONSERVATIVE REAGAN-SUCKING REPUBLICAN CONGRESSMAN AND/OR FOXNEWS SPINSTER: Well, it's simple really. If we help people, it's socialism. And you know what else? I saw on Wikipedia that the word Nazi is short for National Socialist Party. Obviously, if we make it easier for poor people to pay their medical expenses, we'll be just like Nazi Germany.

ME: Wait, but didn't Jesus say something about helping the sick and the poor?

RICH FAT WHITE MALE BORN-AGAIN NEO-CONSERVATIVE REAGAN-SUCKING REPUBLICAN CONGRESSMAN AND/OR FOXNEWS SPINSTER: You know what else he said? (regurgitates some bible passage that mentions sheep and bowls and lamps and fruit and some other shit that has absolutely no relevance to the current discussion)

ME: Well, I just figured that if people who couldn't afford private insurance still had a way to visit the doctor when they were sick that wouldn't cause them such economic strain, and if the private insurers would be better about helping people prevent illnesses instead of only covering catastrophic situations after a high deductible is met, things might be a little less difficult all around.

RICH FAT WHITE MALE BORN-AGAIN NEO-CONSERVATIVE REAGAN-SUCKING REPUBLICAN CONGRESSMAN AND/OR FOXNEWS SPINSTER: No, that's socialism. Which is the exact same thing as communism. Which goes against capitalism, which is the same thing as democracy, and everything America stands for. See? You hate America.

ME: Hey, hold on a second. I'm all for capitalism and democracy and all that. I love this country! Have you SEEN my huge collection of Captain America crap? All I'm saying is that I just wish people didn't have to go broke because they needed to visit the doctor!

RICH FAT WHITE MALE BORN-AGAIN NEO-CONSERVATIVE REAGAN-SUCKING REPUBLICAN CONGRESSMAN AND/OR FOXNEWS SPINSTER: Spoken like a true freedom-hating socialist.

ME: Oh fine. You win. I hate this goddamn country. Call me bin fucking Laden.

Fragments Against the Boo-hooins

2009-10-27T10:11:00.004-05:00

With an excess of hormones, as you may well imagine or know, comes an excess of mood swings. I am mired in some serious crabbing right now, and the standard advice ("But think of how wonderful the baby is!" "Count your blessings!" "So many people have it so much worse!") is just infuriating me. There's not a damn thing rational about this, I'm just going to be pissy for a while.

Having said that, I'd like to collect some stories to make these irrationally pain-in-the-ass times go a little smoother. So tell me a story! Sweet is good. Funny is good. Schadenfreude is always good. Cute, charming, strange--all are welcome here! The involvement of children, animals, other pregnant women, me, you, funny grandmas and special event disasters are a bonus! Feel free to tell multiple stories!

Girls vs. Boys

2009-10-24T08:59:00.010-05:00

In approximately three weeks we find out if the little thing is male or female. I still can't decide which I'm hoping for.

For the longest time, long before Holly was pregnant and before we even talked about marriage, I was looking forward to having a son. I'm positive this is based on my own experiences as a boy, my relationship with my father, and, well, just because I'm a male myself and thus pretty sure how us guys work.

I'm not, nor have ever been, a "guy's guy" type of guy--I've never been competitive, I had no interest in sports (even during the five seasons I played soccer), I was never much of a girl chaser, I don't care about cars or guns or shaving utensils and so on. But I was a Boy Scout so I went camping a lot. I started playing guitar in 5th grade to impress a girl. And while I said I don't care about cars, I can name the year of production of a Ford Mustang made between 1964 and 1973 after seeing it for two seconds.

So deep down I've been looking forward to doing all over again the fun stuff my daddy did with me. He was almost always the "dad in charge" during the Boy Scout campouts. He took me to blues festivals when I was teenie-weenie (I saw Stevie Ray Vaughan when I was five! Chuck Berry when I was ten!). He drove a 1966 Mustang and took me to the classic car shows. We saw testosterone-fueled movies like Batman and Indiana Jones.

But I also want a girl. Why? Girls are cuter than boys. I tend to bond better with girls. Girls like their daddies. Girls are all cuddly-wuddly. Plus it's a lot easier to pick out girls' names.

Aaaaaaand here's where we say "back da fuck up."

Since when can girls not go camping? Since when are boys not able to be cute? Since when do girls not like blues music? Since when to boys not like their daddies?

And so I was really surprised at what I was doing. I never think this way! At least...I never thought I did. Gender roles must have been so firmly ingrained--though not by my parents--that this became my default brain setting when I began thinking about having kids of my own. I suppose that just from being a boy and not having any sisters, I assumed that the things I enjoyed as a kid could only be enjoyed by a boy.

But look at all the "girly" stuff I did as a child. We went antiquing, visited art museums, read lots of books...my brother and I even had a doll house for awhile. I can identify McCoy pottery from a mile away. Put me in an art gallery and I'll show you the Cezannes, the Singer Sargents, the Ruebenses, the Titians, the Botticellis, the Van Goghs, the Renoirs, the Matisses...and I'll bitch endlessly about Toulouse-Lautrec and Kandinsky.

When I was an adolescent, my mom began taking me to see the serious, socially conscious movies of the time--just the two of us--and afterward we'd drive around discussing them. Philadelphia. Schindler's List. Dead Man Walking. Beloved. Crooklyn. The Shawshank Redemption. I didn't really understand what she was doing at the time. At first, I was excited about seeing "grown-up" movies and doing something special with my mama, but eventually I figured it out. Seriously, how many boys get to talk about homophobia and capital punishment and abortion and racism with their mothers?

So. My girl will know all about Robert Johnson's antics at the crossroads. My boy will be able to spot a Gauguin as soon as he enters the room. And there's a good chance they'll be pretentious dicks before they finish kindergarten.

It's as simple as that.

Peace,
Daniel

There's a Rumbly in My Tumbly

2009-10-21T14:30:00.001-05:00

Well, it seems like somebody has decided to make her(?) presence known. Hello, baby. Have fun going poke poke poke on my insides. I like it a lot. Maybe less at 3 a.m., but what are you going to do?

(Un)Fed Up

2009-10-18T19:50:00.006-05:00

I have had it all the way up to HERE. A quote from the standard "what's going on this week" pregnancy web page from week 17 (numbers and emphasis mine [except the blue stuff, I can't make the links go away]):

"What's turning you into a one-woman demolition derby at the buffet? 1. What has you outeating your spouse (and often, eating food off his plate?) Simple — you're taking signals from your baby, who's getting bigger and hungrier. Just a few sensible words of advice, however, as you interpret those signals: 2. Though it may be a relief to enjoy food again after three months of queasies (and aversions), you may want to proceed to the dinner table with caution. Keep in mind that no matter how big or hungry your baby is, eating for two should never be taken literally during pregnancy; 3.if it is, you'll end up looking like two…of you. Now's a good time to play weight gain catch-up if you didn't gain enough (or even lost) weight during the first trimester. But if you find your weight gain is getting ahead of itself, you may want to reel your appetite in just a tad. 4. Remember, too, as you're diving fork-first into that second plateful of pasta, that there's no better time than now to foster the optimal eating habits during pregnancy that will fuel the growth of your healthy baby."

1. That's a nice sexist, heteronormative sentence there. Where to start? a) all women have male partners b) all pregnant women are married (again, to male partners), c) all women eat less than all men at all times unless SOMETHING CATASTROPHIC HAPPENS.

2. Don't you DARE enjoy food, Wifey, even when pregnant, even when starving due to being crippled by intense hormones, because that way lies fatness. Being pregnant is NO EXCUSE for not obsessing over every encounter with food and leaving trepidation about eating behind and listening to your body's urges and cravings. You body is stupid and incompetent, despite the fact that it is clearly smart enough to GROW ANOTHER PERSON.

3. Ooooooh, I see. THAT'S what this is about. Well God for-fucking-bid that you aren't svelte and sexy and conventionally attractive while pregnant. As Sue Sylvester said in Glee, "That's no excuse."

4. Oh, silly pregnant lady. Thinking you can eat TWO WHOLE SERVINGS OF PASTA. Now that's just silly. Aren't we cleverly hyperbolic? I mean, TWO WHOLE SERVINGS OF PASTA????? Eaten by a girl? Even if she's pregnant???? Isn't that just absurd!

To be fair, one blog did address that mythic issue (that, really, can't possibly exist anywhere) of not gaining weight. It warned of the dangers of gaining weight through "milkshakes and not wholesome foods." Really? Dairy isn't wholesome? I'll be damned. It suggested you "order that large salad instead of the small one (but keep the dressing on the side!) or eating two handfulls of almonds instead of just one." Seriously? Seriously??

Dear Readers, I have a confession. I just want to know what fruit or inanimate object my fetus is the size of this week, and what kind of parts it has now. Maybe what kind of weird crap I can expect my body to do. Do we have to do this Danger-Will-Robinson-You-Musten't-Get-Fat thing every single week? And do we really have to amp it up to a fever pitch the week my OB/GYN saw that I'd lost 4 more lbs. (putting me at about 20 lbs. lost), looked at me very seriously and said as though speaking to a dull child, "You have. to. gain. weight. Ok? Really." I was given the choice of being referred to a nutritionist or given medicine that would make me gain weight. I picked the nutritionist, but--shock of shocks--it sounds like the insurance company is resisting.

I'm going to spend a little time with this. I'm starting to wonder if, subconsciously, I'm taking some of this shaming to heart. Hopefully not, but even if I'm not, somebody is and that is not at all ok. I don't really have any deep thoughts right now, I just really needed to rant. I'm mad as hell and not going to take it anymore.

ETA: Ok, I found a pretty decent resource, and here's the breakdown: If you gain too little weight, your baby may have trouble eating and breathing and may have trouble learning. If you gain too much, you may have trouble getting back to your pre-pregnancy weight and have a slightly increased chance of having a C-section. So let me get this straight: gasping, starving, learning disabled baby > potentially being a fatty. I give up.

Deep Thoughts, With K. (via Facebook Messenger)

2009-10-13T17:14:00.003-05:00

4:57pmHolly

I'm way calmer than I ever though I'd be.

Something happened when I got pregnant and some kind of apathy hormones kicked in.

It's weird. I'm the most anxious person I know. But not so much now.

I kind of think it has to do with how completely traumatic the beginning was.

5:01pmK.

my sister got those same hormones - they're awesome

exactly

5:02pmHolly

I hear it's pretty common. The human race would have died out long ago if not.

5:02pmK.

good point

or every mother would have a nervous breakdown

5:03pmHolly

Either that or it's just so crazy absurd that you're growing a human being inside of your body like an organ and it's going to come out and turn into an adult that your brain says "Fuck it, dude. I'm out."

5:03pmK.

hahahahaha

at some point it is all so surreal that there's no point in reality checks

5:04pmHolly

Yeah. The point where you're sitting there doing your work and realize "I just got kicked. By a foot. *FROM INSIDE!*" there's really no sense in trying to logic at it anymore.

5:04pmK.

lol i could see that

5:05pmHolly

I mean, I have two brains right now. If it's a boy, I have a penis. Human consciousness has not evolved to deal with that.

Speaking of getting kicked...

(Prattling about the Decemberists concert)

5:06pmK.

you might have a penis.

that's awesome

i really never thought about that

5:07pmHolly

Yeah, it's not something you really think about while making a pot roast or cleaning the toilet.

5:07pmK.

i hope not

5:07pmHolly

Well, now you will. Ha.

5:08pmK.

holly has a penis. hee hee. i'm apparently 6.

well, maybe holly has a penis

5:08pmHolly

Or two vaginas, which is equally weird.

Oh! Two uteruses! Like Russian stacking dolls!

5:08pmK.

hmmmmm

hahaha

does she have eggs in there?

when does that happen?

i mean, you're born with all the eggs you'll have

5:09pmHolly

YES! That happens early.

5:09pmK.

so at some point they have to grow

INSANE.

(Then K. had to go home and Holly had to go to a meeting.)

Let's Play BS!

2009-10-10T22:36:00.006-05:00

1. My cold came back. This is bullshit.

2. My morning sickness (which happens late at night) came back WORSE THAN BEFORE. This is also bullshit.

3. I got my first stretchy waist mama jeans. This is actually not bullshit, and I happen to like them very, very much and they make my butt look really cute.

4. SH and AH taked care of me this weekend <3

5. I was literally #51 in line at Indie Emporium. Goodie bags stopped at 50. And I lost my money. Double bullshit.

6. My dad brought me all the dried fruit in the world. My boss said she'd feel sooooo bad if she wound up eating all the dried peaches. I called bullshit. There is no way any mere mortal could eat all the peaches I have without doing horrible damage to themselves.

7. If I have to be sick, at least there's a disaster movie marathon on SciFi. I love watching bullshit.

8. Westboro Baptist is protesting at--get this--BA High School Monday. I hope they drown in a vat of flaming bullshit.

9. Ok, I'm done, actually.

Agony the Way God Intended

2009-09-29T12:10:00.003-05:00

While it's still early, I'm already starting to look into the various options a woman of the new millennium has when it comes to the actual birthin' part of birthin' babies. Specifically, "natural" childbirth vs...um, unnatural? Giving birth to cyborgs? Like almost anything else involving pregnancy or motherhood, it's almost impossible to find information that isn't biased, hysterical, reactionary, or mean.

Mostly, there's a lot of martyrdom and self-hatred expressed, a lot of judging other people, and a lot of women who had emergency medical intervention feeling like/being told they are failures. On my own, I'll still be persuing some nice, fair, logical, balanced science to throw at this problem. In the mean time, I'm really concerned about the tone of the whole debate and some of the irritating fallacies expressed by the natural side. This is not me putting down natural childbirth! This is not even me deciding not to go for it. This is me attacking the shaming, fearmongering, and bad arguments. That's why I'm not going after the small amount of actual medical info I've found talking about risks of reactions, etc. and women who choose natural child birth because they think any risk no matter how small is too big. Fair enough.

The thing that gets me most is the whole "women have been doing it this way for thousands of years" ideology. Know what else they've been doing for thousands of years? The thing is, I don't think it's quite fair to compare our lifestyles today, where most women max out at two, living, healthy children born under medical supervision of some sort with the help of vitamins, ultrasounds, tests, special drinks, time off work, etc. etc. etc. to a time when you kept pooping out kid after kid after kid hoping that maybe half of them would live long enough to take over the farm before you bled out yourself delivering baby #18. I mean, fair enough, women have been birthing children drug-free up until about 150 years ago. However: "childbirth pains were greatly feared by women. Young girls were encouraged to witness and hear women birth their babies so that they could 'mentally prepare' for their turn to give birth to their own baby." (The History of Childbirth). When good old Queen Vicky chloroformed herself into oblivion for the first time, she hardly sat on the info, and the women of England most certainly did not turn up their noses.

Then there's the argument that women "are made to have children" and even some that say it should not hurt at all. Despite what some might say, nature is not a flawless system. Evolution had its trade-offs, and when it came to ease in bearing children vs. pretty much anything else, ease in bearing children threw paper to everthing else's scissors almost every time. Our hips are made to walk upright, narrowing and realigning them in a way that is inconvenient for birth. Our giant brains fit in giant heads that just barely, barely fit through, even with a gaping hole in the skull and a gestation that puts a baby out there when its juuuuuuuuuuuuuuust developed enough to not die instantly. Mother Nature, like any other mother, is awesome and amazing and wonderful...and has her faults. My own mother literally heals the sick and raises the dead, but woe unto any plant that falls under her care because its time on this earth is passed. (Except, ironically, she can grow african violets, which is like having the only edible thing you can cook be canard en croute.) Until nature spontaneously cures TB and cancer, I'm not going to throw all my faith in it.

The (nonscientific) argument I most understand is the "it's an amazing physical accomplishment akin to running a marathon" idea. It's also one of the least judgmental. It's very personal and doesn't really try to justify anything but the feeling of "I climbed Everest because it was there."

I understand being impressed with your body. I get more impressed with mine every day. When we first found out I was pregnant, I vowed not to learn any details about all the shenanigans that went on in the beginning until I was out of my first trimester. Well, here I am, and I found out that this kid I'm growing is one tough little bastard. Emdometriosis and a diagnosis of probable compromised fertility is serious business. Eleven years of nearly continuous birth control use is serious business. Rupturing an ovarian cyst while pregnant is really fucking serious business. So I think this kid (and me) could probably tough it out. The thing is, I'm already sufficiently impressed with my body (and everyone else's for that matter) for all the stuff it does in a regular day. And I kind of feel like me and the little guy might deserve a break. Or maybe we're feeling ornery and want to squat on the hospital floor, take a tequila shot off a hot nurse's abs, bite a leather strap and say "Now that's how you DO IT, beeches!" I don't know yet and probably won't know for sure until that first godawful contraction hits.

One thing I never heard about from either side was how the guy felt. I totally get that it's not about him, but doesn't it have to be difficult and scary for a man to see the woman he loves in excruciating pain for hours--if not days?

I'd love to hear from any of you on this topic, even if you haven't had kids.

When I'm a Mother... (stolen from Daniel)

2009-09-19T21:20:00.011-05:00

...I promise not to do this:

The Uncanny Valley is an only slightly worse place for a baby than a convention of sex offender dingos. If I'm a rare freakin' orchid, s/he sure as hell will be, too.

I will also not do this:

I will do my best to make sure my kid never hears me say a negative thing about my looks or my body. If I hate myself, I'm telling my kid "half of you sucks."

In the same vein, I will not do this:

Unless, of course, it is said fondly.

I will also do everything I can to not do this:

Because a kid has to make mistakes, get feeling/knees hurt, be punished, not get caught, and take a chance to be a well-rounded, independent person.

Unfortunately, I will also probably not do this, either:

Because I just barely do it enough to have clean underpants as it is now, and when I could be doing this instead:

Well, really, what do you expect?

Nipples

2009-09-15T23:44:00.002-05:00

More Stuff I Didn't Know Happened When You Got Pregnant

2009-09-13T14:34:00.004-05:00

Thanks to Spring and her post on the movie Away We Go, I knew one of the dark secrets of pregnancy--that your smell changes. However, there are legions of other things I didn't know until they happened. A few:

1. Spidey Senses My sense of smell--even when I'm congested--can detect someone smoking a cigarette in F5 winds six miles away.

2. Stupidity Yesterday I couldn't remember my boss's last name. There are many more examples of me forgetting, missing, or doing completely ridiculous things, but, surprise surprise, I can't remember any specifics right now.

3. Bleeding Gums Holly Nobody bothered to mention that when you brush your teeth, your uber-sensitive gums gush blood like you've been in a bar fight.

4. Liver Aches At some point, sleeping on your right side--the side I always sleep on--becomes uncomfortable because your enormous uterus starts smashing your liver. Seriously.

5. Other People This is one of the positives. People you don't know, people you've never met, people who can't stand you (true story! It happened on Facebook!), start crapping their pants in excitement because you're growing people, like it's not something that happens a billion times a day and you're the first person to ever reproduce. When I told my class about it (had to explain why I suddenly needed to dash out of the room sometimes), the girls in the class smiled so hard I thought the tops of their heads were going to fall off. Even people with, like, a hundred kids think it's a big deal. And when they hear it's your first, OMFG U R MADE OF SPUN SUGAR GLASS AND ARE A RARE ORCHID!!!! I don't know why I was so baffled and shocked by this, but, well, I'm not complaining.

6. Apathy/Freaking Out At the Same Time! Pretty self-explanatory. For 99% of everything in the world, I cannot be arsed to give even the slightest inclination of a fuck. Something going on at work? Meh. Dishes in the sink? Whatever. The other 1%? Jesus H. Christ on a rosemary cracker, it is the end of the goddam world! I consider this a positive thing, due to the 99% not caring, as my natural state is kind of the other way around.

Comfort Food

2009-09-06T19:22:00.008-05:00

My mother had waited her entire life for this.

She could literally--not figuratively, not emotionally, but LITERALLY--save someone by feeding them. Mom's solution to any problem has always been a plate full of something delicious in the beige spectrum. So when I called with my latest doctor update, that I wasn't eating enough, that nothing sounded good, except, well, the stuff she makes--the stuff I've poo-pooed for being unhealthy and lacking in vegetables and vitamins and having way too much dairy and fat--it had to have felt like the end of an M. Night Shyamalan movie where everything just kind of clicks together and HA, take that oh ye of little faith.

Yesterday the entire clan showed up bearing frozen bieroks (German food--sausage and hamburger and cabbage stuffed into a hot roll), frozen chicken dorito casserole (exactly what it sounds like), and God help me, an entire pineapple sour cream pie! She had offered to bring pork chops in chicken noodle soup with mashed potatos, but that couldn't be frozen, and Daniel and Daddy really wanted some of Daniel's table-poundingly awesome burgers. So Seester, Daddy and I ate an entire bag of Cheetos while Daniel fired up the grill, which utterly delighted my neice. Then he ground up some prime steak into hamburger, which utterly delighted my dad. Mom and Seester went to Target (their town doesn't have one, and they LOVE them some Target) and got me a shirt that I could cram my every-growing rack into. Then Seester gave me an awesomely sassy haircut while Daniel practiced doing things one handed, with Neice on his other arm. At nap time, everyone packed up and left. And it was awesome.

I'm a lot like my dad, and we've always gotten along by being able to relate to each other. We're both nervous, a little emotional, stubborn, and intensely loyal to our causes. Mom and I, however, are very different. She plays everything close to the chest and is not prone to extremes of any emotion--which is a pretty damn good quality in an ER nurse. At our worst, I've thought she's cold and she's thought I was histrionic or just plain insane. She's said before that she doesn't get me and doesn't think it's possible to do so. What I do know is that my Mom doesn't like seeing her kids miserable, or even unhappy. But I know she takes pride in being able to take care of us (maybe that's where that unflappable calm comes from). I think sometimes she doesn't really know what to do with a full grown woman with her life together and a fierce sense of independence, but she does know how to take care of someone who needs it. My family has its troubles, like any family. But when it really matters, I know there will be someone there with a tinfoil covered dish of beige.

Bein' smart is good.

2009-09-05T16:45:00.012-05:00

Rahm Emanuel: Gee, I dunno boss, this whole thing with telling kids about the importance of going to school and working hard is really pissing off those uneducated birther teabag types. Don't you think it's getting a little out of hand?

Barack Obama: Relax holmes, I got this. Just get me Earnhardt on the phone.

Rahm Emanuel: LOL wut?

(Obama engages in a muffled 20-second phone conversation)

Barack Obama: There, problem solved. Rahm, why are you such a pussy?

Weighty Matters

2009-08-31T20:09:00.012-05:00

So in addition to seeing a flopping, flipping, jumping bean of a Blueberry Butthole on Friday, I was also given the news that, since becoming pregnant, I've lost ten pounds and this is NOT OK, not so much because of the number itself, but the fact that my weight loss is getting faster (three pounds in the first six weeks, six pounds between my last appointment and this one, with one random pound in there to not grow on) and the fact that it's caused less by getting sick than just plain not eating.

One would think that this was cute, funny, and easily remedied. Then I had to go get all thinky.

I've been shocked by the role acculturation has played in my reaction and my journey to figure out how to fix this. For one, as many of you know, I've been a body acceptance activist for quite some time and a feminist for longer than I even know what that meant. Yet still--still--my first reaction to this news was pride. What kind of sick fuck gets off on potentially harming her unborn child? One that is so beat down by years of body-shaming that thinness trumps all other things. One that has garnered great praise in the past for drastic weight loss, despite the fact that it was accomplished by being deeply, deeply depressed and/or very sick.

But anyway. That all changes when you're pregnant, right? Ha. I went to the internet to see exactly why it was important for me to gain weight and what could happen if I continued to lose weight (and not eat). I Googled "weight loss during pregnancy" and got almost nothing but--I shit you not--ads for weight loss diets that are "safe" during pregnancy, including Pregnancy Weight Watchers. When I could find stuff about weight and pregnancy, it was nothing but "OMG, don't gain too much weight while pregnant! You'll never take it off! Your baby will be big! (um--isn't that a good thing?) You'll be ugly forever! Oh, and, uh, yeah, don't gain too little or anything, I guess. But mostly don't gain too much!" I could never find a damn thing about what happens if you don't gain enough weight. Even perfectly reasonable people I've talked to have said things to the effect of "Oh, don't listen to your doctor, you're lucky." Pardon? I get sad sometimes and it's hurting my baby. I'm lucky?

Could it be because the women in pregnancy magazines look like this?

Congratulations! It's a Hipster!

Nary a cankle, bat wing, double chin, or stretch mark to be found.

So I don't really have a point here. I guess I'm just disappointed that the one and only time during a woman's life I thought that maybe, just maybe, her body would not be commodified for its decorativeness, I was dead wrong.

And now we'll turn this back over to Daniel so he can be sweet and funny and charming so that people will keep reading. Ignore that strange hormonal feminazi behind the curtain!

--H

P.S.--My (beautiful, awesome, insightful, tough-as-nails) doctor is referring me to a counselor because she thinks I'm at risk for pre-natal/post-partum depression because I'm kind of the nervous sort (you're all shocked, I know) and the weight loss and sleeplessness was The Final Straw. How cool is she, anyway?

Holy Guacamole!

2009-08-28T18:57:00.003-05:00

The second ultrasound was today! We got ourselves a nine-week old fetus the size of a garlic clove, or maybe just a fava bean, and the little bastard's already kicking and squirming and flopping around like a total spazz.

It's funny. I was trying to find a video of an ultrasound at nine weeks, and though there are a bunch, I didn't feel like posting it here because, well, I'm already thinking "uh-uh, that one's not as cute as MINE!"

peace,
Daniel

When I'm a Father...

2009-08-26T23:19:00.020-05:00

...I will never do this:

since my kid will likely not be a cocker spaniel. I'm not big on Iraqi prisoner torture either, but for the most part I just hate dogs.

I'm not going to do this either:

as I would prefer that my daughter at least make it to 4th grade before being sexualized and exploited.

And I won't do this:

because I don't want to teach my son that he should hit people that don't do what he tells them to.

Nor will I do this:

for reasons that should be blatantly fucking obvious.

And while many of you think I'm the type, rest assured I won't make my kid wear stupid political crap like this:

Really, really. I promise.

Okay, well, maybe this one:

Also available in pink!

peace,
Daniel

It's a, Um, Glob?

2009-08-04T11:41:00.004-05:00

First ultrasound! We got to see a flickery little heartbeat, which was, for some reason, the funniest damn thing I'd ever seen in my life. It's about the size of two risotto grains of rice and only PRETENDS to look like something. Because the tech kept calling the placenta "the baby's swimming pool" (and correcting Daniel when he said "embryo," and not knowing how many millimeters are in a centimeter), my brain conjured up an image of a very dark water park, and subsequently made the pictures match:

IN MY HEAD:

The REAL Frequently Asked Question: "Were You Trying?"

2009-07-30T19:06:00.006-05:00

When someone finds out we're expecting, the first question out of their mouths is almost invariably "Were you trying?" I know it's a well-intentioned and perfectly legitimate question. But, when you think about it, it's also shockingly intrusive to be so casually flung about.

I mean, there's really only one right answer: "Yes, of course we were!" Because even a "No, but it's still pretty cool" gets a shift in the glance--an analysis--"are they really happy about it?" No one is going to say "No, it totally sucks, and if I didn't think abortion was murder of a human being, I'd have the damn thing scraped out, like, yesterday."

Here's the thing, and what I usually tell people when they ask: We're nearly 30 years old. We know how babies get made. Ergo, we know how to NOT make a baby. So I guess you could say we were "trying" in as much as we did knowingly and willfully have sexual intercourse without the use of a contraceptive. But we weren't "trying" in the way most people mean it. We didn't say "Hey! Let's make a baby!" That smacks of effort. And if there's one thing we don't do, it's effort.

I think the real question, the one that no one wants to ask (except for my doctor--more on that later) is "Is this good news?" If we're telling you, it's good news. See, along with being old enough to know how to get pregnant, we're liberal enough to believe that, if it was really a very bad thing, I wouldn't have to stay pregnant. No one likes to say that, but it's true. I have options. I did not choose that option, but I'm so glad it was my choice to make.

When Dr. H visited me in the hospital that Wednesday morning, I had been crying. Fear, uncertainty, pain, fatigue...everything converged into me being completely overwhelmed. She walked in and saw me pale and puffy eyed and confirmed that yes, I am indeed pregnant and likely going to stay that way for a good long while. Then she asked us both "Is this good news?"

At the time I was horrified. Like I said before--nobody likes to talk about that. But after a moment to digest, it made me realize that she had actually asked me a wonderful, astute, extremely compassionate question. "Is this good news?" What if I had said "No?" I fully believe she would have talked to me about my options--all of them--and listened and offered good counsel. I have such great respect for her, seeing past the stereotype of all women being naturally thrilled to be a mother, and as an individual with varying feelings. The first time she asked a woman that question, it was probably hard. And the first time a woman answered "No," it was probably even harder. But she did it anyway.

So, in short, don't ask me if we were trying. The answer is "No." Not in the way you mean. And there's every chance you'll get the wrong impression from that answer. Ask me if this is good news. The answer is a scared but excited "Yes."

--H

In The Beginning, or The Facebook Note

2009-07-30T18:48:00.007-05:00

This is the Facebook post that started it all! --H

Holly's pregnant...and I'm pretty sure it's mine.

Yep, it was confirmed yesterday at our trip to the doctor. Here's the long story for those of you who care, and for the three of you who don't already know. Jesus effing Christ, word spreads fast! Apparently in emailing Holly's cousin, I found out that she and her grandma knew a full day before the gynecologist.

Anyway, on Monday morning Holly woke up with severe pain in her belly. After some rest and painkillers, she went into work, but called me about two hours later, needing me to come get her and take her home--when I got there she was doubled over and could barely walk. So, yeah...we made a last-minute appointment with her doctor, (H: which I tried to cancel, but got stared at) who, after poking around and drawing her blood, suggested she may have appendicitis. They sent her down to radiology for a CAT scan. She guzzled a bottle of delicious banana-flavored (H: mixed berry, actually) barium and we sat down to watch Oprah interview Elizabeth Edwards ("So, Mrs. Edwards, let me tell you how your struggle with breast cancer, the death of your teenage son, your husband's extramarital affair, and his possible illegitimate child affects ME, Oprah Winfrey, personally...!"). Naturally, I went to get a cup of coffee which in a hospital takes about an hour and a half, and when I returned, they were taking Holly back to have...an ultrasound? Hmm. Okay, whatever.

So, the young wand-bearer laid Holly back on the bed and began working his magic. We asked him why we're having an ultrasound instead of a CAT scan, and he casually explained that when a patient is pregnant, they avoid radiation where possible. Holly and I looked at each other, blinked, and simultaneously screamed "WHAT?!?!?" at the poor little man. His expression instantly dropped and like a scared little kitten, mewed "...they...didn't...*tell*...you...?". He mumbled something about hormones and white blood cells and the urine test coming back negative but the blood test coming back positive, and that actually this may not even be a pregnancy at all, then clicked some buttons on the machine for the longest five minutes that has ever passed. Eventually, they sent us home so we could sit around eating our fingernails, with explicit instructions to go to the emergency room if there's any change whatsoever in Holly's symptoms.

Well, at 11:00 that night, Holly's pain got considerably worse so we took her to the ER at St. John's. We didn't have to wait too long to get her into observation, but we ended up being there for about 4 hours, talking to this doctor and that doctor and this nurse and that surgeon, with the overall consensus being "it's likely appendicitis and/or a fallopian fertilization but no one can know for sure because we can't do this really simple, sure-fire way of finding out on a woman who may or may not be 15 minutes pregnant--but if you were a man, this would be really easy" (yeah, one guy actually told Holly that last part). (H: Seriously? Over half the population is female and you can't figure out if MY APPENDIX IS GOING TO RUPTURE because I have lady parts?) So, at 4am they checked her into the hospital to "keep an eye on her", which as we later learned, translated to "until we can round up a gynecologist, who might actually be able to figure out what the fuck is going on, which probably won't be until late tomorrow".

Checking into the hospital was certainly...enlightening. Through all this, Holly was doing very well considering her pain, exhaustion, and uncertainty. She was cracking jokes, staying positive, allowing herself to be excited about the possible pregnancy...until the moment they wheeled her into her room and effectively slammed the door in my face. She was in a shared room, and the shadowy, coughing, wheezing form in the next bed happened to be a woman, so I was not allowed in the room (I could go in long enough to try to keep her from bawling, to tell her I'd be "sleeping" in the hallway right outside the door). The nurse explained it all to me: "I'm sorry, you see, we're a *Catholic* hospital, so we can't let you in there unaccompanied overnight if the room is shared by another patient." (Patient confidentiality is observed during overnight hospital stays solely because it's part of the Catechism? Man, the Holy Virgin was really ahead of her time!). So the nurse set me up on a chair outside the door with a blanket and a pillow, and although he was a nice and helpful guy, he proceeded to piss me off by adding the words "bro" and "man" and "buddy" to the end of everything he told me. "I'm gonna set her up with a morphine drip so she can sleep, bro." "You comfortable, m' man?" "Need another pillow, buddy?" Um, sorry sir, I'm not your bro, I'm not your man, I'm not your buddy--I'm the completely helpless husband of the crying, frightened woman in excruciating pain in the next room.

So anyway, about two or three hours later I was allowed back in the room. Holly was feeling much better (morphine!) and at that point we were waiting for the OB/GYN. Holly said I should let her mom (an RN) know what's going on and be available to talk to the doctor should he or she actually show up sometime during the week. Of course, Holly's parents effectively said "hell no!", hopped in the car, and were there within two hours. (H: They said "hell no" because we initially told them there was no reason to come up. PROOFREADING FAIL.) And thank freakin' god they did! (H: Bcs. D might have been a little bit of a wreck) I called my family and my coworkers and filled them in, and naturally everyone was prepared to drop what they were doing and come help us.

While Holly continued infusing herself with her morphine, (H: I asked for it, like, twice) the nurse told me the doctor would come see her about 8:00 in the morning (about an hour from then). Around 2:00 in afternoon the shifts changed and our new nurse came in and introduced herself. We told her we were waiting for the gynecologist and asked her when we might see him/her. The nurse went to check, and reported back that due to a "miscommunication" no one had bothered call the gynecologist (wtf?), but that they have now, and she'll be in soon. (H: I have zero recollection of this. Morphine) Sure enough, within 30 minutes she was there, told us that she was confident Holly is in fact pregnant, that they are still ruling out appendicitis and an ectopic pregnancy, but what likely had happened was an ovarian cyst had ruptured. She requested we stay an extra night and so not to inconvenience the Pope, she moved us to a private room. (H: actually, mom whipped out her check book and moved us to a private room...)

Leaving Holly in the company and care of her parents, I ran home to take a shower and grab some clothes and books. My mom met me at the house, gave me a sandwich and cash, hugged me, and told me to lay down for a little bit, which of course I didn't do. When I got back to the hospital (which took forever in 5:00 traffic), both of our sets of parents were there chatting with Holly, who was propped up in her bed looking happy and refreshed, eating Jello. A couple friends stopped by and the collective love from them, my parents, and Holly's parents successfully cheered my lady up and calmed me the hell down.

The next day, a different gynecologist talked to us, told us everyone was pretty sure Holly's healthy, made an appointment at the woman's clinic for Friday, and sent us on our way. We came home to the pleasant discovery that my mother-in-law had cleaned and scrubbed our kitchen, and a few minutes later my mom showed up with bags full of organic groceries and a heart full of love and advice. After talking with us and holding Holly's hand while I did...something...I don't even remember what (cleaned the catbox? ate a sandwich? hopefully not in that order?), she left. So we sat twiddling our thumbs, pretending to be calm and not at all worried or scared, and did our best to watch movies, play video games, screw around on the internet, read books, and talk about the upcoming GI Joe movie for the next two days. We both spent a couple hours at our jobs, you know, for something to do.

Then yesterday (Friday) we met with the kind lady who will be Holly's OB/GYN, and she was awesome. Quick, funny, smart-assed, blunt, and sincere--just what we need. She told us that it's very, very likely that Holly's fine and the pregnancy is normal, all the blood work is looking like it should be. The only thing is that we found out about the pregnancy long before most women, so it's just going to take a little longer to get into that "in-the-clear" peace of mind. Then she and Holly totally crushed on Barack Obama omg he's like *soooo* totally hawt lol, and we went home. (H: She was at the inauguration. She had pictures!) And SLEPT for about 45 hours straight.

So, there ya go. Who's happy?!

peace,
Daniel

FAQ

2009-07-29T18:55:00.005-05:00

Great. Another blog about someone's embryo. Why do we need this?
Because we couldn't find stuff we liked and assumed other people couldn't either. Most pregnancy guides we found are sexist and assume all men are assholes who would rather be shot than be responsible or participate and most women are too busy having the vapors to create an independent thought. So basically we just wanted to do what we do best: bitch.

What's with the name?
One thing we noticed is that everyone assumes that your personality will 100% completely change in every way because you have a kid. We're not saying it doesn't change your life at all...we just don't think that the presence of a Mini-Us is going to turn us into racists, homophobes, jerks, equestrians, Japanese or anything else drastically different than our usual friend-loving, analytic, neurotic, peace-loving, over-educated basic selves. For example, we were told over and over when we were looking to buy a house that, although we dearly love our neighborhood and very much wanted to live there, "all that will change when you have kids!" Well, here we are and we still adore our little neighborhood, even though it's *gasp* north of 31st street! (One concession? Pregnancy HAS turned Holly into a Jello lover. Which is pretty weird. )

Why did you delete my comment?
Because you were a jerk. Disagreeing is cool. We love ourselves a good discussion. But don't be a jerk. Even if you're agreeing with us, don't.

This Changes Nothing

Future Rocket Scientist Fairy Princess

COFFEE TIME!

Review Time!

The Birth: One Tale, Two Perspectives (Part 1, Holly)

Nothing = Changed

Welcome to Earth

The Next Time You See a Pregnant Woman

Oh My God, Really?

Mad as hell

Meet Cute

Fantasy Childbirth League Draft Round 1

Controversies That Never Crossed Our Minds

Spring shows what God can do with a drab and dirty world. ~Virgil A. Kraft

Vonnegut Was Wrong

8 Months! Yum.

Best and Worst: Shower Edition

How To Not Be A Shithead To Your Pregnant Wife (For Beginners)

Hrm...Well Now...

Words of Wisdom from a Future Dad

Daddy's Little Fatty

I Love Lamp

Holy Crap, You Guys!

Help Us Please

Baby Schwag!

Recycled: Rites of Passage

Vengeance!

This is Not a Thanksgiving Post

Seriously?

Come Up Swinging

*Drumroll*

Yeah, it's stupid.

PLACE YOUR BETS!

Quick Update

Yep, you win. America sucks.

Fragments Against the Boo-hooins

Girls vs. Boys

There's a Rumbly in My Tumbly

(Un)Fed Up

Deep Thoughts, With K. (via Facebook Messenger)

4:57pmHolly

5:01pmK.

5:02pmHolly

5:02pmK.

5:03pmHolly

5:03pmK.

5:04pmHolly

5:04pmK.

5:05pmHolly

5:06pmK.

you might have a penis.

5:07pmHolly

5:07pmK.

5:07pmHolly

5:08pmK.

5:08pmHolly

5:08pmK.

5:09pmHolly

5:09pmK.

Let's Play BS!

Agony the Way God Intended

When I'm a Mother... (stolen from Daniel)

Nipples

More Stuff I Didn't Know Happened When You Got Pregnant

Comfort Food

Bein' smart is good.

Weighty Matters

Holy Guacamole!

When I'm a Father...

It's a, Um, Glob?

The REAL Frequently Asked Question: "Were You Trying?"

In The Beginning, or The Facebook Note

FAQ

Drumroll