The King and the Prince

When my wife and I first got married, she complained to me that she didn't feel as special anymore with her parents.  She said that every time she talked to them, they would spend the whole time asking about me.  How was I doing?  What was I doing?  How was my job going?  It irked her, because they wouldn't even ask about her after the "me" inquiry.

Now, when she talks to them, they only ask about the baby.  I suddenly feel neglected and less special.  I guess this is how my wife felt all of those years being relegated to second place.  I guess I should count my blessings that at least I'm not in third place like my wife now is.  Actually, now that I think about it, I wouldn't be surprised if she leaped-frogged me since she's the one carrying the baby.  Great!  I feel even worse now.  I AM in third place!

The worst part is that they call my son the "coming king."  Seriously?!  We already have a king in this household, and he's neither dead nor ready to abdicate his throne yet!  Call him the "coming prince" if you like, but that's it.  He'll have his day, but until then, the king is securely installed on the throne...in third place.

The Baby Whisperer

I told my wife this morning that I would like to feel the baby kicking in her belly at least once during this pregnancy.  I have seen it in movies, and I have heard her talking about it; and I want to experience the movement firsthand.  So, this afternoon, she was relaxing on the couch, and she told me to come sit next to her.  She said the baby was flailing all over the place, so this was the perfect time to feel him.

I plopped down on the couch next to her and put my hand in the spot she told me his feet were, and...nothing.  Not a single movement from inside her.  I stayed like that for half an hour until my arm started to hurt, while she dozed away on the couch.  The moment I removed my hand, he apparently started to kick again, so much so that he actually woke her up.  I immediately put my hand on her stomach, and...nothing.  Not even a flutter.  We tried several times, and he would never move while my hand was on her.

So, we have decided that I'm the baby whisperer.  It's like he knows it's my hand and calms down.  I can hear him now saying to himself, "Oh no, mom really means business this time.  She brought in the big guns.  That's dad out there, so I need to behave."  While I'm missing out on the kicking now, it's not without its merits later on.  My wife said that I have a gift, and I'm going to get him every single time that he's fussy, so I can calm him down.

That funny thing is that this isn't the first time that this "gift" has manifested itself.  When I was visiting CC in the hospital a couple of weeks ago, I did the same thing with his new baby.  He was screaming bloody murder while his mom was holding him.  The moment I picked him up, he completely stopped crying.  He just lay in my arms looking at me with curiosity until I finally rocked him to sleep.  Eventually, I put him back in his little bed, and he started to cry and squirm almost immediately.  I just laid my hand on his little chest, and he calmed down.  The moment I removed it, he'd start fussing again.  So, I just gently stroked his head and face until he went into a deep sleep.

Maybe it is a gift after all.  Who knew I had this in me all these years?

The Sickening

Since she has been pregnant, my wife has had a higher sensitivity to smells.  Things that the rest of us ignore or pass over seem to really set her off.  But the one thing that seems worse than all of the others is the smell of methane (passing gas) or fecal matter (going to the bathroom...for a while), which we found out the hard way.

We had just gone to bed last night, when I had a terrible rumbling in my stomach.  I suspect I had some bad eggnog...or perhaps just too much of it...but whatever it was, it was causing my stomach to gurgle and bubble.  Hoping to relieve some of the pressure inside me, I gently, quietly released a fart under the covers.  (Now, it should be know that we each have separate covers, having learned long ago that neither of us is good at sharing them.)  As farts are wont to do, it rose up under the covers and sought to escape through the only opening possible...the edge right by my face.  To say that it smelled terrible would be an understatement.  It was hideous.  There are port-a-potties that smell better than this did.  I had to do something, so I flung the cover back to allow it to dissipate and de-concentrate throughout the room.

In less time than it took to release the offending odor in the first place, my wife caught a whiff of it and became instantly nauseous.  With all the power she had left, she sat up, rolled off the bed, waddled to the bathroom, and promptly threw up for the next ten minutes.  She didn't even make it to the toilet.  She just threw up right in my sink.  (Serves me right, I suppose.)

My first thought was concern for her; making sure she was okay, tending to her needs, and cleaning up after her.  But after the feelings had subsided, and she went to take another shower, I started to laugh.  I had just achieved the dubious honor of being the first male in my family to ever make his wife throw up by passing gas!  It's definitely not something I want to repeat.

For the rest of the night, I had to get up and go into the other room whenever my stomach was acting up to ensure that I didn't offend her again.  I was exhausted by the next day, but at least she didn't have another episode.

Last Christmas

Anyone who knows me, knows that Christmas is my favorite holiday of the year.  I love it because of the spirit that comes out of people during this time of year.  A spirit that appears missing the rest of the year.  People are nicer and happier (as a rule).  They will bend and compromise on things that they might not have before.  People suddenly find a generous streak and a servant's heart.  And of course there's the fact that it's my birthday, and that I get to share the day with My Savior, Jesus.

That's right, I'm a Christmas baby.  And yes, before you ask, it was hard growing up as a Christmas baby.  Yes, people inevitably combined my birthday and Christmas presents together, because it was cheaper.  You could always see that moment when they realized that they had forgotten to get something specifically for my birthday, and they would casually slide one of my Christmas presents to the side with their foot.  It didn't matter that it was wrapped in Christmas paper or even that I saw them do it.  They would vehemently claim that it was always designated for my birthday.

Besides getting the shaft on gifts, I also got the shaft on birthday parties.  I mean when you think about it, everyone you know is out of town visiting family, so nobody is around to celebrate with you.  For several years, I'd have to have parties at the end of January when everyone was back.  But the worst problem occurred when I was 16, and I had to wait three extra days to get my driver's license because everything was closed.

So, whereas everyone else has two special days a year when they can count on presents and celebration, I wait all year long for this single day to have all of my joy at once.  I wait for the phone calls and text messages.  I revel in the attention.  My brother even tones down the insults and roasting a tiny amount.  For this one day of the year, I have a sliver of importance.  I am mildly special.

This year was no exception...that is until my brother-in-law called me to wish me Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday.  And that's when he put it all into perspective.  He said, "You better enjoy it, because this is the last year that it's about you.  Starting next year, it'll be all about the baby."  It hit me like a ton of bricks.  He was right.  My day in the sun was over.  This was my last Christmas.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I didn't really care.  I would gladly give up all of the Christmas and birthday presents for the rest of my life for my little baby boy.  I would gladly step aside and let him receive and be the center of attention.  I already love him that much.  To be honest, I didn't even wait.  I was buying him gifts this year already, and he's not even here yet!  I can't wait to share my special day with my son, the way Jesus shares it with me.

Christmas is for the boys!

The Stocking

We got the baby a stocking, because this is technically his first Christmas, despite the fact that he spent it in utero.  We didn't go so far as to put anything in it yet, because our ridiculousness only goes so far, but it's hanging on the mantel with the rest of the family...snuggled next to ours.  We were picking through all of the stockings, rejecting each one for not being quite right.  Some were okay, but they just didn't say "baby" to us.  And that's when we found it; on a peg over our heads off to the side.  The moment I pulled it down, I knew it was the one.  When I showed it to my wife, she confirmed that she agreed as well.  We had our baby stocking.

The stocking itself is shaped like a cute little elf with curly hair coming from under the edge of his hat, an actual bell jingling on the point of his hat, a scarf around his neck, and little elf ears that stick straight out of the sides of the stocking.  With a pleasant smile and a twinkle in his little elf eyes, he is the cutest thing.  To go with it, we also got an elf stocking hanger that looks almost identical to the stocking.  That way both of them match and our baby will have a stocking and hanger all his own...no sharing with anyone!

Slap the Baby

After that last post, I was thinking about the act of slapping the baby moments after they're born.  I realize that it was done to clear the baby's lungs of fluid and stimulate crying, but I can't help but wonder what the baby must have thought at that moment. 

Welcome to the world! [Smack!]

We have waited so long for you, we're so happy you're here! [Smack!]

This is to prepare you for the next 80 years of life! [Smack!]

And the baby is over there like, "What the heck!?  I was perfectly warm and content where I was.  I had everything I needed, and nobody bothered me.  Sure it was a bit crowded, but I could deal with that...I was becoming a yoga master after all.  But you couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?!  You squeeze me through a tube, blind me with intense light, expose me to all sorts of sensory overload, freeze me to death, and if that wasn't enough...you slap me too!  I've had enough.  Put me back, I'm not dealing with you morons anymore.  James Bond never had to put up with this crap!"

Baby High

I was asking my wife today how it's possible for a woman to have an epidural when it's bad for her to take medicine all during her pregnancy.  It seems to me that the baby would still get a shot of the medicine during labor, and that had me worried that we would be doing him harm.  She responded that while he would get some of the drugs into his system, it would be minimal as it takes the drugs a while to navigate the system and get into the bloodstream, and he wouldn't be exposed to them for very long.

I asked her what the drugs do, and she said that they calm her, reduce the pain she feels, and lowers her heart rate.  Essentially, that's what happens to the baby as well.  I guess that's why so many babies come out of the womb with that high, totally-relaxed look on their face...at least until someone slaps them out of it!

Baby Sprinkler

My friend CC had his baby two days ago.  It was a boy, and he decided to come two weeks early.  If I’m going to be honest, I’m actually kind of happy about this fact.  His son was due right around Christmas, which meant that there was a good chance that he would arrive ON Christmas.  This would mean that I would have to share a birthday with someone else other than Jesus, and after 40 years of being the only one, I just didn’t know if I can do that.  But luckily, we dodged another bullet on that one.

Unfortunately, there were some minor complications with the baby, so they are keeping him in the hospital for a few days for treatment.  After being completely confined to the walls of the hospital for four days (two and a half days of labor), he finally texted me and asked if I could come up tonight and keep them company; give them a distraction from the monotony of the routine.  I gladly accepted and headed up after work.

Since I have a baby due in the next couple of months, the topic of conversation obviously centered around babies, and more importantly what it feels like to be a new parent.  So, they were haranguing me with stories about their adventures…and misadventures, if we’re being honest.  We talked about learning to feed him, burp him, swaddle him, hold him, and change him.  They had taken some classes, but when the moment came, they were blanking on the proper technique.  We also have a son coming, which presents special challenges, during changing diapers.  So, I asked my friend the question that is on everyone’s mind about little, baby boys…have you gotten shot in the face yet?  To which he replied, “Not yet.”  But he did have a fun story about how hard his son has been trying to shoot him, which I wanted to share here.

CC’s technique for changing his son is to get the wipes ready, take the old diaper off, grab both of the baby’s legs and pull them toward the baby’s face (if he tries to shoot my friend, then he’ll only get himself!), clean him up with the wipes, and then step away to wash his hands before putting the new diaper on.  It was during this hand-washing moment that the incident happened.  CC had turned his back for maybe twenty seconds at most, and when he turned back his son had a stream of water shooting out of him straight up into the air.  The stream was wildly going everywhere and coating every surface.  There was pee dripping from the ceiling, the blinds by the window, and the walls across the room.  A nurse had unluckily stepped into the room to check on things, and she had to instinctively hide behind her clipboard as pee ricocheted off the other side.  In a matter of seconds, the scene had become complete and utter destruction…like one of those disaster movies on TV that my wife is so fond of watching.  My friend stood there in open-mouthed disbelief for several seconds before jumping into action and covering the source.

Yeah…so, I have THAT to look forward to!

Embroidered Burping Cloths

We received a gift today from the clinic we went through for our egg donation.  They had shipped us some embroidered burping cloths with Troy's name stitched into every one.  Truly an unexpected gift and way above and beyond the normal level of service.  We were very touched by this gesture of kindness and support.

The Dinosaur and the Llama

When I was three, I broke my elbow.  Without getting into too many details that will irritate me all over again, even 35 years later, I was forcibly thrown off the monkey bars at my daycare by a little girl.  It's actually quite surprising that this early traumatic experience didn't turn me away from girls completely, but they are too adorable to stay mad at for long.  That is in a general sense, because I'm still mad at the one that threw me off the monkey bars.

When I was in the hospital getting my cast put on, my father brought me a stuffed brontosaurus to make me feel better.  I instantly loved that little, brown, furry doll; and with my extensive creativity, I named him Dino.  I carried that thing around everywhere I went.  He was my constant companion.  Due to the fact that my hands were so small, I gripped him by his neck...which after a few years, meant the stuffing parted ways, his neck became limp, and his head flopped to the side.  I didn't care.  I still loved him.

So, when it came time to think about the perfect stuffed animal for my son, I wanted something comparable.  Something that he would cherish as much as I cherished that stuffed dinosaur.  So, I got him a llama...long neck and all.  Now, he will have the opportunity to drag that little llama around by his neck until the stuffing parts ways and his head flops to the side.  Like father, like son.

Sugar Free

Well, my wife got the all clear, and she does not have gestational diabetes.  Woo hoo!  She was really stressing about this, so it's a huge burden off her shoulders.  Although I can't tell if it was the prospect of having diabetes or the prospect of having to drink that intensely sweet fluid again that was giving her more stress.  Either way, she is sugar free!

Laughter is the Best Medicine

My wife is so concerned that any sudden movements or jolting of the baby could be hazardous to his health.  To this end, she gets on to me every time I make her laugh.  Well, yesterday, we asked the doctor about stomach contractions, especially in the form of laughter, and she started chuckling.  She said it is actually good for my wife, as it not only helps relieve stress, but is also euphoric for the baby.

Apparently, stress during pregnancy can greatly shape a child's temperament later in life.  Women with lower levels of stress have been proven to have children with lower levels of anxiety and the ability to better cope with stress later in life.  Women with higher levels of stress have been proven to have children with greater chances of depression.  Physically, laughing makes the baby bounce up and down in a uterine trampoline.  And who doesn't like bouncy castles?!  Am I right?

So, I have taken it as my personal mission now to make her laugh as much as possible!  My son can thank me later for the awesome ride.  I guess laughter truly is the best medicine.

The Defensive End

We found out today that out little guy is about a week and a half ahead of schedule.  He's also moved up into her stomach area now, which would account for why my wife feels so much pressure on her stomach and ribs lately.  According to the measurements, he's 3 lbs 2 oz, which is a huge growth spurt since the last time.  According to the percentile chart, his ideal weight should be around 2 lbs 8 oz, so a JJ Watt-sized little boy is still on the table!  Of course my wife is worried she might have gestational diabetes, which is a cause of larger babies.  I'm going to keep hoping for a defensive end!

Silence is Golden

This pregnancy has taken a lot out of my wife, and she wakes up exhausted every morning.  So, she has taken to sleeping in the car while I drive her to work.  This leaves me with quite a bit of alone time as I zoom down the freeway and try not to disturb her sleep (not as easy as you might think with the stress of morning traffic).  This is not an easy task at all for someone that likes to talk and interact with other human beings as much as I do.  I mean, I will talk to myself, or God, all the way to work if nobody is in the car with me.  So, sitting in silence is murder!

But for all of those doubters out there that don't think I can actually pull it off, I will have you know that I CAN actually be silent for two straight hours.  Of course I store up all the things I would have said and unload them like a tsunami on the first person I see!