On the Road

We haven't posted for a while, this one's going to be a quickie (not the afternoon delight kind either, you sickos).

Jen and I are heading down South to visit Jim, Greta, and baby Seamus this evening, then it's off to New Jersey to celebrate Passover (mmm...gefilte fish).

Our cat sitter is lined up, the car has gas, we are ready to go.

I will be blogging throughout the trip, so check back in a day or two.

Shalom.

Revelations: Renovations, Book 1.

Okay, I lied.

I said I wasn't going to ask Jen to help me with my around-the-house projects.

Today, I decided, come Hell or high water, I was going to make progress on the the nursery renovations. To make said progress, I needed Jen's help. So I asked for it. She gladly, and without resentment, took up arms to assist me in our war for aesthetic freedom and liberty. As the getting-very-pregnant Jenny said, "Fighting the forces of entropy is hard work. I'm either with you, my dear Brad, or I'm against you."

I was proud to serve with her today on the front lines of construction. We accomplished a lot. First, we stuffed all of the giant holes in the wall with insulation. Then we patched the holes with drywall. After that, we applied the first layer of drywall compound (also known as "mud).

This may sound easy: one, two, three, presto-chango, no more holes. It is not easy, especially with the steep angle that the roof forms with the floor. Much of this work was done with me laying on my side and/or back, twisted into painful shapes. Note the picture to the left. I am working and straining so hard that my back-fat has squeezed out of the space between my pajama bottoms and my shirt.
Oh, the humanity.

The cats weren't much help either. All three of them were running around me, chasing each other, and doing things they shouldn't be doing.

For example, Ichabod was eating fiberglass insulation. I got it out of his mouth before he could swallow, but the damage was done. He had so much fiberglass embedded in his tongue that when he licked my arm, I started bleeding.

Filbert, too, was up to mischief. While I was in the middle of screwing-up a sheet of drywall, he wanted to play his favorite game, "Who's the Baby?" He jumped into the pack-and-play and started howling like some kind of ape.

I don't know what we're going to do with these cats; they are insane.

Well, that's the progress report, and I'm glad there's progress to report. If all goes well, we should be painting by next week.

Will my Baby Love Me? I Don't Have a Curly Tail and I Can't Breathe Under Water...

Although he has no idea what the heck I say to him through Jen's fleshy baby cage, I read to the gestating Gaius for the 1st time the other night.

The book was Mister Seahorse by Eric Carle. It is a story about the different kinds of fish-fathers that care for their young fish-babies (Mr. Seahorse, pictured right, is one them).

Although I am not a fish, I enjoyed this story very much. And I must admit, I felt scared and self-conscious when I started to read it aloud.

But why?

Maybe it's because I am still a little frightened at the prospect of becoming a Daddy. Or perhaps it's because I am afraid that Gaius will emerge from Jen's womb with the expectation that I am going to carry him around in my belly, just like Mr. Seahorse.

Whatever the psychological reasons for this initial fear, it abated halfway through my reading of Mister Seahorse. I started to enjoy reading to Gaius through Jen's belly. Some of you will think this is hippy nonsense, a waste of time. That is fine. I used to think it was hippy nonsense, too. But the closer our due-date gets, the idea of a baby is being replaced with the fact of a baby. This is causing me to want to do real baby-type-things. Like reading books, singing, and shaking.

Seriously, it was such a joy to read this book to Gaius, and I look forward to reading it to him again when he is here, in the baby flesh.

I want to thank my very-generous friend Maria for giving Mister Seahorse to me on my 33rd birthday (she also gave us a huge amount of other baby-stuff that I will tell you about later).

It was the perfect gift for an expecting father.

Even for one that can't breathe underwater or carry a baby in his belly.

Vote for the Worst!

Quick post for all of you American Idol fans.

I would like to officially announce my support for the worst American Idol ever, Sanjaya.

I can't get enough of this kid. His whispering-Michael-Jackson-like singing, prancing about, and preternaturally-white smile have me hooked.

If he's so bad, then why vote for this guy?

To see all of the reasons why you should vote for Sanjaya, I encourage you to check out the website Vote for the Worst.

Remember, every vote counts and Sanjaya needs yours!

Milestones

All the baby books say its of the utmost importance to approach my impending labor without fear. Fear causes tension, which constricts the muscles, making birth more difficult. So, I have been reflecting on the milestones I have achieved in my life.

Last August, I climbed Mt. Washington - the highest mountain on the east coast. This was something I talked about frequently and believed that I needed extensive training to do. When Brad suggested we hike this elusive mountain as the first leg of our Maine vacation (yes, Mt. Washington is in NH - it was the first stop) I really didn't think that I would make it and swore he was crazy for even suggesting it. I was looking forward to some relaxing hikes in Acadia instead. However, he insisted that we could do it and here is the proof that he wasn't all that crazy after all!

This being the most recent milestone, I won't bore you with the details of things like deciding to stay in Israel by myself for a few days during my undergraduate years, getting married at 23, deciding to get my MBA, buying our first house - all scary and exciting events that I now look upon with pride.

And that, my friends, is how I intend to deal with the fear of bringing my new baby into this world. Just like climbing Mt. Washington - deliberately, carefully, with exhaustion and one step at a time.

Snow Fair

We got a lot of snow last night, almost a foot.

Because we live on a very busy country highway, I love how quiet it gets during a snowstorm. At night, as the flakes fall, one of my favorite things to do is to look out the window and watch the road disappear underneath a blanket of white.

Then morning comes, and with it, the harsh reality: somebody has to remove all of this snow from our steps and driveway.

I start hating the snow. It is cold and disgusting, a nuisance. It's not even safe to look at-- you can go blind if you stare at it for too long. I want the snow gone.

In days past, removing the snow would have been easy, a real no-brainer. Jen and I would put on our coats, mittens, and hats, and head on outside to get rid of the snow, together. Even with the benefit of an atmosphere-pollutin' snow-blower (shut up, Al Gore, you electricity hog), Jen's woman-power and shoveling were a key part of the snow-removal process.

Now, things have changed. Jen is pregnant. There are a lot of things she can't do anymore. Clean the cats' litter boxes, drag the garbage cans down to the road, or shovel snow. There is no woman-power available. Just man-power. Some men are very manly and tough--they know how to tap into and utilize all of their man-power. Not me. On a good day, I can only muster-up about one-half of a man-power. So basically, I know I'm about to walk out the door and get my rather large behind handed to me by Mother Nature.

So, even though it's totally despicable, I ask my 6+ months pregnant wife, "Are you sure you can't shovel?" Jen stares at me.

"You're kidding, right?". I can see it in her eyes. What is the spineless creature that I once thought was a man? I don't even try to save face; there's no point. I have shown my true color, and it is banana slug yellow.

I slowly crawl my way outside, leaving behind a slimy trail of shame.

For the next two hours I shovel the steps and clear the driveway with the snow-blower. It is hard work. And I'm not pregnant. I can't believe I actually asked Jen to come out here and help me. I look up to the gray sky. Dear Jesus, what have I become?

Okay, I didn't talk to Jesus, but I did feel worse about asking my pregnant wife to shovel snow. I can't get over what an unlovable monster she must think I am.

I finish the snow removal and head back into the house.

The cats are waiting for me at the door, just like always.

And so is Jen. With a steaming hot cup of coffee. "Thank you for shoveling," she says, and gives me a hug. I hug back, feeling the warm baby-bump that is her belly between us. I realize something. I would do anything for her and Gaius.

"I love you," I say, holding her with one hand and my cup of coffee with the other.

No apologies are needed. This is what love is all about.

"Good," Jen says, "I love you, too. The cat boxes need to be cleaned."

Danger: Pool Closed!

Last night, Jen brought home several books about birthing.

One of these books is about "more natural" birthing approaches, such as home-birthing and water-birthing.

The more I read, the more I am convinced that we should integrate some of these approaches.

Water-birthing, in particular, has caught my attention. It seems like it is a much more comfortable and soothing way to bring a baby into the world, and to enter the world if you are a baby (or a baby born on fire).

I was amazed to read that, as long as the placenta stays attached to the wall of the uterus, a baby can live under water for many minutes without risk of injury. That is so cool. Of course, all of the books recommend getting the baby out of the water as quickly as possible; no need to flirt with danger.

Jen and I still need to attend prenatal classes and agree on a birthing plan together, but this is where my mind is at right now. I wonder if it's because I'm a Pisces, and Gaius, if he is born on or very close to his due date, will be a Cancer? Both Zodiac water signs.

Not Just a River in Egypt

Lately, I've been wondering how the cats are going to get along with the baby when he comes.

Right now, our three cats, Ramen Noodles, Filbert, and Ichabod Diesel Von Bitey, are the life-center of our home. Not counting a few plants or ourselves, these little beings receive most, if not all, of our nourishing energy. The cats are accustomed to a very high level of attention. We treat them like children. Obviously, this is going to change when a real child arrives.

But how to best manage this change? Last night, I narrowed it down to two options:

Option 1: Try and pay more attention to the cats, overcompensate for bringing home an attention-stealing baby.

Option 2: Pretend-like-nothing-is-different-and-hope-the-cats-don't notice-the-new-human strategy.

Terrible options, right? So I asked myself, "What would Jesus do if he lived with three cats and was having a baby?" Like a thunderbolt from the hand of Zeus, the answer hit me. Jesus would tell the truth.

One at a time, I told them.

When I told Filbert, he wasn't even phased; he looked at me, blinked, and walked away. Cool. It was like he didn't even care. One down, two to go.

Ichabod took it a little harder. After telling him, he bit my thumb and hid in the basement for three hours. Being the youngest cat, I guess I should have expected a reaction like this.

Ramen Noodles, on the other hand, surprised me. At 9+ years, he is the oldest of the three, our feline elder statesman-- the Jimmy Carter of cats. On hearing the news that a baby would soon be joining our family, Ramen became defensive. He looked around room for a way to escape from me and my news of change.

I had him cornered.

Were Ramen an ostrich, he would have stuck his head deep in the sand. But Ramen is not an ostrich. He is a cat... a cat that admires ostriches. So Ramen improvised and stuck his head in the nearest thing that resembled a hole: a drinking glass.



I assure you, this is no trick or Photoshop shenanigan. Ramen had his head in the glass for seventy eight minutes. I thought he was going to die. When he pulled his head out, he would not look at me or Jen. He went into the other room and crawled under under the hutch. I have not seen him since.

Is this what parenthood is going to be like?

If so, I'm tempted to say being a parent is for the birds.

Or cats.

You're Putting a Baby Where?!?

In all of those baby magazines and emails they send expecting parents, there are pictures of what a baby's nursery is supposed to look like. Gleaming hardwood floors, bright and cheery paint, and stately furniture.

And then there is the second bedroom of our Cape-style house, which used to be a cow barn. To say it "needs work" would be polite. Three years ago, when Jen and I moved in, we did not choose this room for our own sleeping quarters. Now we are going to put a infant in it.

Allow us to give you a tour.

This is the view, from the hallway, of what will soon be Gaius's bedroom. Note the cans of paint beneath the window. We picked a nice, bright color for the walls called "bicycle yellow". If we want to get this paint on the walls, we need to start soon. Once it starts warming-up, the temperature upstairs can reach 90 degrees on a hot day-- too hot for painting. Not even the air-condition will help. Time is ticking.

The next picture is the left side of the nursery. If you look closely, you can see giant nails on the 3rd beam from the left. We should probably remove these. And that metal stove-pipe-looking thing? It's an old metal stove pipe, no longer attached to anything. Just the right size for a baby to crawl into and fall through. Since my plasma T.V. is right below this pipe, we cannot allow this to happen.

You will also note a crib and a high chair. These were graciously donated by my good friend Paul. His daughters are grown and no longer need them, so Jen and I are thankful to be able use them for Gaius and save ourselves a couple hundred dollars. Thanks, Pablo!

Our cat Filbert, also sends his thanks. One of his favorite games to play is, "Who's the Baby?". It goes like this. I say to Filbert, "Who's the baby?!?!" Filbert's tail fluffs-up, he runs into the nursery, and jumps into the crib. I keep saying "Who's the baby?", Filbert purrs, roles around, and drools on the mattress. So much fun, this game, although a little disturbing. What's going to happen when the real baby shows up? Are we going to have a man-vs.-beast style show-down in the crib? My money would have to be on Filbert, at least for the first 6 months.

This next, and last, picture is the right side of the nursery. Needs a lot of work, folks. Giant hole to patch, old water-damaged dry wall to cut out and replace, and more nails to remove. Did I mention that all 8 of the 12-foot wood beams need to be taped-off with painter's tape? By my calculations that's 192 feet of tape. Oh man. I hope Jen can balance on a ladder 10 feet up in the air.

Yes, that's a pack-n-play on the floor. Another too-generous gift from my friend Paul. We are planning to use this as a bassinet/co-sleeper at first, then as a baby-cage when Gaius starts crawling around and he needs to be contained.

As you can see, we have our work cut out for us. Fear not. We have developed a 5-step plan for turning this hazardous old hay-loft into a cozy little nursery:

1. Patch holes in the wall.

2. Prime holes.

3. Tape-off all wood that is not to become bicycle-yellow.

4. Paint.

5. Argue throughout.


Just kidding about Step #3, That's way to much tape.

Well, there you have it. A tour of our nursery-to-be. We will post updates on the ongoing improvements to this room as they occur.

A Briefy History of Worms

Where to begin?

How about an answer to the question, "Why blog about our impending parenthood?".

That's easy. Friends and family are not as close as we would like them to be. Our schedules are busy and it's hard to find time to make those phone calls we're always meaning to make. A blog allows you, our loved ones and friends, to keep current with us during this time in our lives.

So, I'd say this story really begins on October 27, 2006, our 5th wedding anniversary.

Jen walked through the kitchen door and said, "I peed on a stick." She removed the stick-shaped pregnancy-testing device from her handbag. There was a blue line on it. Pregnant, on our anniversary, no less. We were stunned.

That was 18 weeks ago. We are still stunned. The journey up to this, the halfway point (24 weeks) has been amazing. Here are some of the highlights:

The first ultrasound picture. 8 weeks old here, no idea as to the sex, but we heard the tiny little heartbeat for the first time.

The next ultrasound picture, done around 18 weeks, took my breath away. We saw the baby moving, flipping around, and curling up into a ball. Oh, and we saw his penis. A boy! We left the OBGYN's office with a name picked out for our son: Gaius Sebastian.




And here is "The Belly" at 24 weeks.



We are now more than half-way to the finish line. However, being "halfway" to Gaius's arrival is no consolation. There is so much to do. Go to baby classes, figure out a birthing plan, get the nursery together, and say goodbye, once and for all, to life as we knew it.

That pretty much brings you up to speed on where we are at right now.

It is our plan to post updates at least once a week, hopefully more, so please check back with us and leave your comments.