The following are things I learned in childhood the hard way, and I’d like Peter to not have to follow in his dad’s footsteps.
1. Scraping your knee on the sidewalk while wearing shorts does not feel good.
2. Orthodontists lie.
3. Rose gardens are flammable.
4. The human foot isn’t necessarily flammable, but it can burn.
5. If you bury a time capsule with stuff you’ll want back a week later, make a map of where you buried it.
6. Whenever you feel nauseous in a car, ask for the car to be pulled over.
7. Keep your feet away from horses’ feet.
8. Little girls with crushes are dangerous – especially when armed with sporting goods.
9. Being hit by a car sucks.
10. Water parks are fun, but severely sunburnt shoulders aren’t.
Sure, some of them are easy, common-sense things (who would actually believe anything an orthodontist says???), but others require a certain real life experience for the truth to become evident. Amorous girls with golf balls would be a perfect example of the latter.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Things I’d Like Peter To Learn the Easy Way
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
School's out!
Being the last class there was discussion of postpartum stuff, and one of the things mentioned was the need for new bras due to changes in a mother’s upper-body dimensions. Ok, that makes sense. Then we were told that the lactation consultants at the hospital are certified bra fitters. Now, I’m a guy, and the world of women is a mysterious place, but if I had heard about “certified bra fitters” anywhere else I would have been suspicious. Seriously, it sounds like some horrible come-on line that a drunk guy would try in desperation, when all else failed. They need to make up a new word for that area of expertise. Like “brassierienne” or “lactosnuggification expert.”
As promised, we took the tour of the birthing and recovery facilities. It’s nice and modern and clean. There actually weren’t many rooms being used at the time, so hopefully it will be like that when we’re there. On the tour the obnoxious guy from last week was loudly munching on a bag of Cheetos and guzzling a coke. I really hope that couple isn’t due the same time we are.
Peter’s big enough now that when he shifts his position you see the bump made by his butt moving around on his mommy’s belly, like if you stuck your tongue into your cheek and then moved it. It’s reassuring in that he’s moving around like he’s supposed to, yet it’s also alarming to see my wife’s abdomen doing that. When it gets to the point where you see elbows or hands causing bulges I might get weak-kneed.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Yesterday was another Monday
During the interview the doctor had a couple of medical students observing him. We didn’t mind that, but they looked like high schoolers in lab coats. I’m happy that I didn’t blurt out “seriously???” when told they were med students. I mean, Doogie Howser was a 16 year old doctor, so it’s not like there’s no precedent, right?
Over the weekend I strapped in the base of the carseat. It took longer than I thought, and the hooks that it latches on to were hidden a little, but it’s in. Now I need to get a 10 pound ham to put in the seat and practice putting it in and taking it out.
We have the last birthing class at the hospital tonight, and we get the tour of the birthing facilities. I think that should be fun. I haven’t had a field trip in years. I hope the gift shop is open.
Friday, March 23, 2007
waiting and preparation are such a drag
Then we had a brestfeeding class in the evening. It was informative, I guess. I didn’t know that spit-up breast milk doesn’t stain your clothes, while formula does. Or that breast-fed babies smell better. Peter’s Mom would always try to get me to smell babies whenever the stork visited friends or family. I would invariably decline (“I can smell him fine from here, Hon”), as baby sniffing sounds like something that could get you sent to rehab, or worse. Now I’m going to have to compare the aroma of a breast-fed baby versus that of a formula-fed baby, just so I can verify what I’ve been taught. Empirical data is required.
The class was taught by a lactation consultant / doula. Peter’s Mom contacted her earlier about possibly doula-ing the birth. The lady does know her stuff, but she’s… commanding. Peter’s Mom referred to her as the East German Doula after talking to her on the phone. We’ll probably just try to run the show ourselves this time…
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Put money on it

My psychic prediction is this:
Peter will be born on April 29th, at 11:00-ish in the morning. He will be 7 pounds 14 ounces. Length? No clue, except that per the ultrasound he’s got long limbs and a little belly, so he could be a gangly baby. Say 21 inches.
A clerk in a jewelery shop some months back said “uh oh” when told the due date. April’s birthstone is diamond. “May isn’t much better – it’s emerald.” Then I told him it’s a boy. “Oh, good for you.” Maybe Peter will be content with some Diamond Walnuts. Well, when he can eat solid food, anyway.
If he his born on the 29th, that would make him a Sunday child. Me, I was a Monday’s child, so I was fair of face, supposedly. Sunday’s child is actually “the child that is born on the Sabbath day.” Unless you’re Jewish, I guess. So what will he be if he’s born on the Sabbath day? He’ll be “bonny and blithe, and good and gay.”
Bonny?
“1. Physically attractive or appealing; pretty.
2. Excellent.”
Hey, that’s pretty cool. "This is my excellent son, Peter."
Blithe?
“1. Carefree and lighthearted.
2. Lacking or showing a lack of due concern; casual: spoke with blithe ignorance of the true situation.”
Well, ok, but I don’t want him blowing off doing his homework.
Good?
Yes, I’ll take that.
Gay?
… I’m going to have to put a parental control block on Bravo on the cable box. No watching Project Runway with mommy. If he wants to watch TV, he can watch a documentary about Hitler’s plan to invade Antarctica on the History Channel with daddy. Especially if he’s bonny.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Hypnobirthing
the mother's sense of the passage of time be altered so that an hour can feel like 10-20 minutes.
I'm sure I'll have more to say about it once the boy is out.
back to school...
After the discussion of anesthesia, we tried out labor positions in a studio down the hall. We had to wear clothespins on our finger or ear to emulate labor (or something like that) while doing the positions. I’m assuming when the birthing comes we will be required to wear clothespins again. It must be the new thing. After the labor positions we had a relaxation exercise (that sounds like an oxymoron, but I digress). Everyone gets quiet and comfy while the instructor reads a script about waterfalls and limp limbs. Meanwhile, the guy next to us can’t shut up all the while; yammering on, “quietly” of course, to his wife or girlfriend while everyone else is quiet and relaxed (or trying to be). I saw him later in the parking structure getting into his car (passenger side, mind you) while talking on his celphone and smoking a cigarette. Not to sound like the Surgeon General, but I don't think it's a good idea to be smoking in a sealed-up car with your very pregnant wife/girlfriend. Am I wrong about that?
Monday, March 19, 2007
6 Weeks
We'll see how much time I have to write in this thing coming up to the birth of the baby. I hope to post "often" but I am not willing to define that word at the moment, so I guess I'm hedging my bets.
Tomorrow is the third of five childbirth classes at the hospital. Yesterday we had the final Hypnobirthing class (although we're having a follow-up session in a month). I appreciate the education I'm getting, but I'm really tired of seeing videos of other women giving birth. The miracle of life is great and all that, but it was starting to make me nauseous. We saw a video about waterbirthing in Russia yesterday, and I swear it looked like some psycho-hippy love cult, with naked people running and swiming around a rocky inlet in the Black Sea, with babies popping out and going for a swim with mommy. And that's doesn't even cover the gross bits.
Ok, I'm done for now. I think I just grossed myself out.
What this is for...
P.S. I hope to write about things other than the end stages of the digestive system. Really.