Thursday, March 29, 2007

Things I’d Like Peter To Learn the Easy Way

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.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

School's out!

We have now completed two classes (three if you count the breastfeeding one-night session) and have yet to be presented with a diploma. I’m very disappointed. What’s the point of education if not being presented with a document that says you finished the required courses? When Peter comes out and demands to see his parents’ credentials, all we can show him is a couple folders filled with handouts and notes. Nothing with a gold foil sticker, nothing with a crimped seal, nothing printed on parchment. The only thing we can do now is buy one from a diploma mill. If I’m going to do that, I should pick up an MBA, too.

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

Yesterday at lunchtime we ran out to interview a pediatrician, and we were both pretty satisfied with the talk, so now we can tell the doctors “yes” when they ask if we have one. He doesn’t have access to the hospital and we’ll have to bring the li’l bundle of joy up to Fox Point a couple days after he’s discharged from the hospital for a visit.

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

Yesterday we had the week 34 checkup. We had to wait for a while – at least 20 minutes sitting in the examination room - before the midwife saw us (and by “us” I mean Peter’s Mom – I’m pretty much the supportive spectator in these things). The only thing that was done other than checking the blood pressure and weight was measuring the belly size and listening for the heartbeat. Oh, and the rather hard poking and prodding of Mom’s belly to find the baby’s head, which took a long time due to Peter tucking himself in. I can’t say I had actual expectations of what these visits would be like, but I must have imagined them being somewhat more exciting than just measurements. Not that I’m complaining – the last thing I want is to hear the doctor yelling “I need 30 cc’s of Spanakopitrex, stat!”

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

Peter at Minus 20 Weeks


Hypnobirthing

Hypnobirthing is a method of natural childbirth that takes the idea that pregnancy and childbirth are natural processes that women's bodies are designed for, and that it doesn't have to be a scary and painful thing. Modern medical science tends to be a problem solving profession, and pregnancy and childbirth thus get treated like a problem. The "hypno-" part of that isn't like the guy with the swinging pocketwatch telling you that you're getting sleepy, very sleepy. Instead, an expectant mother will practice relaxation techniques that should help her body stay loose during labor, instead of the muscles all tightening up and making for an unpleasant experience. It can also cause
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...

Last night we attended the birthing class at the hospital. The topic of the day was Medical Interventions. So we were shown a video going over medications, epidurals, suction extraction (the last thing I want to hear while my wife is in labor is the whine of a vacuum’s motor), episiotomies (ugh! Why???), and so on. Our plan is to have Peter delivered naturally, via Hynobirthing, with no drugs, scalpels or household appliances involved. Peter’s Mom was not digging the video. And when the examples of medical devices that could be used were passed around they didn’t get much of an examination by us. And if I could have voiced the “Aaaaaagh!!!!” that was in my head when the description of the insertion of the in-utero fetal monitor… Well, at least the guy next to me was just as squeamish.

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

Peter is due April 30th, 6 weeks from today. I suppose it's nice that the due date is on a Monday, it makes keeping track of the new weeks easier. Keeping track of the week's number is the difficult thing. I don't know how many times I asked Peter's Mom what week it was. I'm better at it now, though. My math on the fly isn't always the best, but a third grader could track the numerical countdown to 40, so why not me? So this is week 34. Yay!

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...

I decided to put up a blog to document the growth of my son because, well, I thought it might be an easy way to let people know what's up with the baby without having to repeat "he sprayed me while changing his diaper, again" too many times. So I can write "got sprayed, again" and maybe that will work. Oh, I'm sure I'll be running around for the first couple months regaling everyone with tales of diaper changes gone awry, but I like to think long-term. A year from now, who wants to hear me tell them about being peed on? But when written out it sounds more elegant. Right?

P.S. I hope to write about things other than the end stages of the digestive system. Really.