As part of training for eventual “Father of the Year” status and in preparation for the storming of my wife’s inner thighs, I have begun watching a few DVDs about the intricacies of childbirth.
Not all of the DVDs are tutorials, though the very first one we watched featured an obnoxious woman who fancied herself a comedienne. With every nugget of information she parceled out about the shape of the inside of my wife’s vagina, she performed an excruciating little skit that was – and I don’t speak from experience – more painful than labor. I don’t want to speak for my wife, but can we please keep any and all attempts at laughter away from her genitals?
Last night we took a breather from Gilda Radner’s Guide to Reproduction and moved on to The Business of Being Born, a documentary exploring the world of midwifery and why if you deliver your baby in the hospital you’re a slave to the system and the reason for global warming.
Get my thoughts after the jump…
With this countdown running down in my head, I feel like Jack Bauer.
At least once a week now, if not every other day, I am faced with some new experience that serves as a stark reminder of just how close I am to the birth of my son, aka “The Day The Music (and the drinking and the sleeping and the going-to-the-movies and the not-having-feces-and-puke-on-my-hands-and-clothes-and-walls-all-the-time) Died.”
Two weekends ago we had a baby shower. It was delightful; good friends, good gifts, good times. At least I assume it was delightful; I was at the bar. But the entire time, like the foreboding tuba in Jaws or Edgar Allen Poe’s telltale heart, I swear I could hear the faint cries of a baby growing in volume.
This past weekend I painted the nursery. I could have sworn that I could make out, hidden behind the strong odor of fresh paint, the vague scent of a dirty diaper.
Last night we took a tour of the hospital where the magic will happen. So many wars had been fought in that delivery room that it felt like the beach at Normandy. I am not lying when I say that I saw, scratched on the side of the delivery bed, the phrase “Kilroy Was Here” scribbled in what looked like a baby’s shaky handwriting. Damn those babies and their illegible penmanship!
The writing is on the wall, and the sides of delivery beds as well, apparently, and B-Day is approaching. Rapidly. It’s actually getting quite scary.
Soon enough those imagined cries and smells and poorly scribbled messages will be all too real. I’ll no longer be writing about fears and anxieties; I’ll be writing about realities and escape plans.
But at least I’m done with the painting.
If you are as psyched for Mad Men’s return this Sunday, then you’ll definitely get a kick out of this video that’s floating around.
She’s one hell of a good mom.
What's in the box, Al?
1995’s heartwarming blockbuster Se7en, in which a good Christian man attempts to educate a brash young detective in the consequences of sin, features a moving scene in which a young Gwyneth Paltrow reveals that she is pregnant, and that she is scared to bring a baby into the bleak, violent world depicted in the film.
This is a concern many new parents have: do we have the right to introduce a living being into the world, knowing that we’ll be subjecting the child to a lifetime of misery and despair?
God I hope my kid’s not this dumb. They’re DROIDS, not robots, genius.
With apologies to “Firefly,” the word “shiny” is my new euphemism for “gay.”
It’s been really hot lately.
I live on the fourth floor and my window unit A/C only accomplishes so much. So there have been quite a few nights over the past month or so during which I’ve found myself unable to sleep. During these intervals of insomnia, my mind has been occupied with a variety of different subjects, not the least of which is the rapidly approaching birthday of my son.
I don’t know that you can call these episodes nightmares, since as I mentioned I am wide awake, but they are terrifying nonetheless. I’m under a lot of pressure.
My life will never be the same. In about two months, there will suddenly be another person living in my house. My life will never be solely mine again. So many things are about to change, so many questions plague me…
Check them out after the jump.
Earlier this week – like a slap in the face! – MONEY Magazine released its list of the top places to live in the country. The rankings are based on a number of factors: jobs, crime rate, education system, culture, etc.
Unfortunately, most of the towns on the list seem to be in Missouri, Minnesota or somewhere else in the middle. The 8th ranked town on MONEY’s list is Fisher, IN, for pete’s sake. Fisher’s one downside? It’s “short on charm.” Are we sure it’s in Indiana?
The chance of moving anywhere on that list isn’t incredibly likely for me, due to both the aforementioned “middle” issue and the fact that moving would require the towing along of a newborn baby. Unless we squeezed him into one of those roof units…
This trailer definitely makes it look like more of a road trip flick than one about becoming a father, but these two look hilarious together, and if a movie about impending fatherhood wasn’t already on my radar, my wife’s crush on RDJ certainly puts it there.
The trailer’s first scene secured my ticket.
So I spent the weekend back in Boston, at the wedding of a friend. He is just about the last of the old crew to tie the knot – in fact, most of the founding members have moved onto the child-bearing portion of our evening, with yours truly joining their ranks oh-so-shortly – so a lot of the boys were back in town. Hanging down at Pino’s (Go Eagles!).
Being that my gorgeous, pregnant wife accompanied me to the wedding – and the fact that I’m becoming a father is about the only thing I ever think about these days – babies were a hot topic of conversation all weekend. And if there was one thing that put a damper on what was a fantastic, incredibly fun weekend of festitivies, it was the blunt honesty of my friends who already have kids. They were pulling no punches when it came to giving me the dirt on being a dad, and some of those punches went right to the kidneys.
That is, according to the baby books and websites I’ve been reading for the past seven months, he is.
All these baby prep guides provide updates by the week/month/trimester, giving you some insight into how the kid is developing, and for some reason, just about every single time they compare your growing baby to some kind of fruit or vegetable.
Keep reading to see the full grocery list of baby comparisons….