Doin Time

They say the worst thing about prison is all the time you have on your hands to do nothing...a man could go crazy that way....

So let me be clear before all of you parents start replying about how "Your gonna wish you had all that time with nothing to do, blah blah blah". What I'm talking about is think back to when you were sitting in a house full of baby stuff with a wife that's a stone's throw away from 36 weeks pregnant (with the demeanor of an alley cat might I add, you know, sweet...bitie...sweet...scratchy...sweet...SHUT THE HELL UP DAVE THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT-IE) and nothing to do but look at each other and wonder when the baby's finally gonna get here.

First of all, the shower stuff is over. ( a HUGE thanks to all of you for your wonderful gifts!!) No longer does our living room look like my parents house on Christmas morning, (for those of you who don't know, we couldn't even see the tree this year...) although what cruel twist of fate it is to get a cornucopia of gifts and not one be for you...but I digress. I have mastered the art of putting things together with nothing more than a impossibly tiny allen wrench and a set of instructions in French, (Suck it Rosetta Stone!!) and have now glimpsed a future full of doll houses, play strollers, play houses, toy kitchens, and other father torturing "necessities" that kids come with. (What ever happened to being satisfied with an old ass board game with half the pieces missing at grandma's house??) Although I feel it's necessary here to blow my own triumphant horn merely to point out that my beloved sat quietly on the couch the entire time waiting for a freak-out that never came, and yes she will vouch for me on this. At no time did I throw the ridiculously small friggin wrench, pick up whatever item I was working on and politely throw it out the front door, or call said item a "Siberian Sack of Shit". Which, b-t-dub has been, and continues to this day to be, one of my dad's preferred sayings. Which then leads one to ask, just what do the people Siberia make, and if in fact all of the stuff is crappy?

Next of course is the room, which is only missing a baby. Seriously, I believe that if someone were to drop one off on our doorstep, they'd have everything they need. And just today, Jen even packed an overnight bag for the hospital, not that we think she'll go before her due date, but my wife has a tendency to prepare a little early for things. Speaking of my wife, let me share with you a little peek of what our household has been like lately.

Now that we're this far along and have, according to the Dr., a 6lb and counting Peanut a few things have changed. I still sit and watch the woman I married shuffle slowly around the house muttering to herself about the heat, and speaking to a child that can barely hear her, let alone understand her...But now, I also get to see the once very cute tummy that moved gracefully, and so adorably under Jen's shirts react like a wolverine...in a pillow case...with rabies... Seriously most times it doesn't even look cute anymore, just painful!! It's actually kinda scary, I mean I've continuously made reference to the kitchen scene in Alien, but this is the first time I ever really believed that she may come shooting out of what was once my beloveds belly button! And to go along with this, bedtime is now less like sleeping with the one you love, and more like an adventure with the ghost of Jacob Marley (yes the guy from A Christmas Carol). Every time there's a turn (and there's one about every hour thanks to our little bundle of "joy") Jen wails like the dead and I'm not positive, but I believe she kicks me and wakes me up on general principal for, (as she likes to refer to it) "doing this to her". And let me let you in on a secret that no one told me. Pregnant women have amazingly realistic dreams, which are mostly bad or scary, and you can bet your ass always your fault. So if the wailing and the kicking or the constant flushing (due to a baby head squeezing Jen's bladder roughly the size of pea) doesn't happen to wake you, she will...and want you to explain why you did all the bad things in her dreams.

So as I said before, here we are, waiting for the big day which is unfortunately still 4 whole weeks away. All our I's crossed, and our T's dotted...waiting...patiently....doin nothin.....just waitin.....GOOD GOD I WISH SHE'D HURRY UP AND GET HERE!!!

Holy Heart Attack Batman

So here I am stuck in Kansas for work, and what's the phone call I get the other day? It's none other than my lovely wife in a panic because she'd just fell down in the middle of the parking lot at our house while getting the mail!! Ok, before you start dialing our numbers in a freaked out frenzy, don't worry, mom and baby are a-ok (yes she did go to the dr). But seriously?! This is NOT a call you wanna get from 5hrs away! I am however happy to report that at my first official emergency situation, I was as cool as the other side of the pillow. Instead of hood-sliding across my work truck and driving like a friggin maniac I remained calm and made sure Jenni did the same. SO, am I tooting my own horn? Damn skippy I am!

Other than that excitement, everything is going completely awesome. Well, actually it's completely boring, but in this case that's awesome! Our countdown is officially into the single digits with only 9 short weeks till due-date. On last visit, our doctor informed us that little miss Peanut is going to be a very long baby, and I (to Jen's chagrin) made what I thought was a very funny reference to the delivery being like one of those never-ending handkerchiefs that magicians use. I like to think that the doc found it hilarious and just didn't laugh cause Jenni gave me one of her patented dirty looks. Also, more often than not these days, Jen's tummy resembles what I can only describe as an old-school (not the crappy "wave-reducing") water bed mattress. Which brings up the question, what in the world is she doing in there? I mean come ON, I've heard of "jimmy leg" but sometimes it just seems a bit ridiculous how much she moves around. And I'm very confident that Jen feels the same way because just this morning I received this text, and I quote "Your daughter and I are having a disagreement. She has developed the ability to kick me in the ribs on the front right side and thinks it's appropriate to do so often. I have tried and failed to convince her otherwise. See what you can do".

Now that text first of all cracked me up but, it brought up a few things that I'd like to bring to your attention. First and foremost, did you notice that even though she's not even here yet, when Peanut's doing something "wrong" she's MY daughter. Something tells me this is only the tip of the iceberg with that....Secondly, I've noticed a disturbing new trend. The closer we get to the big day, the more Jen resembles a senile old person. Case in point, some elderly folks "shuffle" more than walk, and now, so does my wife. Some of those in there "prime" complain about the heat, and now, so does my wife. One of the most telling examples, is there are a lot of our seniors that tend to talk to themselves, and now dear readers, so does my wife. Nothing is as strange as watching your partner shuffle through the house fanning herself, and talking to her own stomach as it moves like one of the quarter operated beds in a cheap motel. Oh, and if you're wondering why I put this particular paragraph at the end, it seems these days my beautiful wife is a little more, shall we say "scattered" than normal, so there's a pretty good chance she won't make it this far into the blog ;). Till next time....