Holy Crap! I only have how long left?

Yes readers, this pretty much seems to be the sentiment that runs through my head on a regular basis lately. We are at week 27 already, can you believe it? I swear it seems that yesterday I was saying to Jenni, "Hey I think I'm gonna start a blog about this pregnancy thing." So to say things are a little crazy are putting it mildly.

First of all, we have a painted nursery with a crib installed and according to Jen's ever increasing bust size, I can say that Peanut will be well fed to say the least. Now, as a man, what I see is that we have a room to put the baby in, a place for her to sleep, and food ready to be given. What Jen sees, is (apparently) the most under prepared room in all of baby history! I've seen a lot of to do lists in my day, but never have I seen a list of lists to make!! You heard me right, the love of my life brought home a list of lists "we" need to make and then of course get rid of in a timely manner. So as we speak, lists of items to buy, clean, assemble, get rid of, hide in storage, and make "baby friendly" are being compiled and given to me to review as if I could possible have anything to add. Which, by the way has yet to happen to this point. All I know is that there were less items being checked and re-checked by the crack team of rocket scientists assembled at NASA for a shuttle launch.

One fun thing that's been going on is that Peanut has really began to try out her dance moves, and (to my delight) is now bashing Jenni's insides with such violent force that I can feel her on the outside now. And if you were wondering, yes apparently I've already annoyed my daughter, due to the fact that the other night while I was talking to her, she decided she'd had enough and kicked me in the mouth. It's here that I must (for reasons of tradition) insert the similarities of a baby moving to the coolest scene in Alien where the little creature busts out of that guys stomach. Which I have to say is one of the best parts of watching Jen's bump wiggle and move. This comparison is a necessary part of pregnancy...well at least for me it is. Just like every time we fly anywhere it's necessary for me to slam down the widow shade, turn to Jen and say, "There's something on the wing, Some...thing on the wing" and you can bet your ass I do my best William Shattner voice while I say it.

So, what else can I say? We are about %98 sure that Peanut's name is gonna be Zoey, about once a week, me and Jen take turns freaking out about the impending "bundle of joy" (mine usually include bolting upright and saying with bulging eyes "what the hell did we do?"). You know, all the quote un-quote normal things that soon to be parents go through. I do know that I'm excited to be going to out parenting class soon. Not because I really wanna learn how to change a diaper, (believe me, I got that part down) but more for the entertainment value of it all. Cause let's be honest, there's no way I'm gonna be able to be in a classroom all day with things like fake baby's and plastic vagina's and not get in trouble somehow. When I mention this to Jen (as I stifle giggles) she works on her evil mom looks and threatens my life. But we both know in our hearts how that day's gonna go....(Psst, don't worry, I promise to write all the juicy details here for your viewing pleasure)

So until next time, I hope you enjoy this update, don't forget to tell all your friends to read this (gotta be famous you know) and remember, tying little action figures on the end of strings attached to your pregnant wife's clothes to make her look like a balloon in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade is only funny to you... ;)

The Zombie-Pregnancy Interaction Theory

Hello readers, I hope all of you had a great holiday season and survived another long stint of time with your families. Did you know that in some countries that's actually a punishment for crimes? As you know, I haven't updated lately due to our own holiday tornado tour. (It's kinda like the Beatles Magical Mystery Tour without the LSD) But now that the smell of fresh baked cookies is out of the air, the last little (completely frustrating) piece of shiny garland hair has been picked up, and we've started another new year, I decided it was time to get my butt back in gear and let you know where we are. So I invite you once again to join me on this crazy (and sometimes hilarious) journey they call pregnancy...

So as it stands today, we are officially 23 weeks pregnant and Jen is looking more beautiful by the day. She got a ton of really cute maternity clothes and is now able to stop dressing like a disgruntled teenager wearing her boyfriend's jacket (aka my clothes) and start dressing in the cute, form fitting clothes that show off her adorable baby bump. I can only imagine that wearing these new clothes allows her a freedom that all of us wish secretly for....not having to suck in. Although, with the new clothes I'm noticing a disturbing trend.....

I'm not sure, but I think if I were to do some research, I'd find that there seems to be some magnetic properties between a baby bump and the human hand. After quiet observation I've came to the conclusion that even the most anti-social of individuals (in this case, my best friend Trevor) seems to be attracted, if not drawn by the above stated magnetic force towards Jennifer's stomach. I've observed these actions in many settings. For example, I theorize that if you put a noticeably pregnant woman in a room full of people, they will be drawn to her like zombies to a freshly wounded victim, arms outstretched, slowly walking (as if not to scare their prey), and mumbling incoherent statements that sound disturbingly a lot like Braaaiinnnsss, (on further review the mumblings were actually cooing sounds and various baby-like words). On contact, the drove of zombie-like people begin not to devour the victim as I'd feared, but to touch, pat, shake, and sometimes talk to the baby bump, sometimes completely ignoring what I'm calling the host body (in this case Jenni). Now does this pack have a leader or a known hierarchy? I'm still working on that, but I feel safe with these preliminary results. First of all, you have the Grandmas or "Alpha mothers". They are typically identified by horrible looking sweatshirts with the claim of "World's Best Granny" or "The Spoilin' Starts Here" printed on front and on some occasions tear-filled eyes. Be warned that these "Alpha mothers" are highly territorial and will attack if given the slightest hint of danger to the host.

Following the Alphas, you have the "Beta mothers" which consist of Aunts, friends, co-workers, and various other strangers that have been pregnant before. The Betas are the largest group, and seem to have the duties of overwhelming the host with loads of information about being pregnant, and what the host should do during this joyous time. This information is not always helpful, and in most cases seems to do nothing more than scare the host into fits of panic about the impending baby. Beta's can be identified by slightly trendier clothes than that of the Alpha's, and also by their distinctive calls. You'll be able to recognize the call of the Beta by listening for things like "I've got some great advice..." or anything pertaining to episiotomy stitches.

The last group in this hoard is the Deltas. I know what you're thinking, Deltas sound like a group of hot sorority girls, but let me warn you, they are not. Deltas are split into two factions. The first is made up of 99 percent men, and are by far, the least threatening to the host. This faction of Deltas deal mainly with the host's mate (me) and are identified by their sad, worn, faces and dull lifeless eyes. These Deltas are known by their calls of "Kiss your sex life goodbye...", and "Do you know how expensive kids are...", and also by their plumage (clothes) which are almost always determined by the Alphas or Deltas they're mated with. Please note, that in my research I've came across a disturbing group of Deltas that are comprised of "new dads" that can be as dangerous as Betas and in some cases, even Alphas. These dangerous Deltas are known to have a somewhat rabid look in there eyes, strange white, sour smelling stains on their clothes, and may try to convince you to watch his mate's birthing video.

The Second and potentially most energetic faction of Deltas are comprised of women that are moms-in-training. These Deltas will wait on the outside of the pack, biding their time for an opening. Notice the slightly crazed look in their eyes, and the way their hands seem to constantly twitch in anticipation of the impending baby bump contact. These Deltas are known to isolate the host and will use this time to find out when during the month the host was most likely to conceive, and inquire if said host did anything to help this process along such as stand on her head or lay against the wall with her legs up in the air.

As I said before, these are just preliminary results and may be subjected to changes at any time. As protection for the host, I feel as though I must be on guard at all times, nimble and cunning as a cat, with the strength of a bear, to do battle with any of these groups, as they may be encountered anywhere. So please, if you see a host in public, and a mob of zombie-like people approaching, heed my advice and remember, if you stand very still, and suck in, you should be completely safe.

The Big Day

First of all, I'd like to say something to Peanut. Hey Peanut, just wanna let you know that I love you more than anything in the world and you have to understand that what you're about to read is how I was feeling today and has nothing to do with how I feel about you now. I'm sure you're gonna think your old man is crazy and probably laugh at me but I just wanted to make sure you know how important you are to me. Oh! And what the hell were you thinking trying to leave the house dressed like that?! Are you insane? (Just covering my bases.)

That being said, I wanna tell you dear readers about the crazy day I've just had. We are officially 20 weeks along and Jenni is looking more beautiful each day. I find the growing baby bump absolutely adorable even if she thinks she looks like a freak. Today was our second sonogram, and boy was it a doozie!! I have never wanted to see another penis in my entire life more than I wanted to see one today. However, as the fates may have it, my son did not have a penis. Instead, Erin the tech informed us that we have a beautiful baby girl on the way. And yes, I did make sure and ask her if she was sure he wasn't just being shy and hiding his junk. After she laughed at me, (rude) she informed us that she looks about 5 different times before she actually says anything. Now to say I was shocked would be the understatement of the century!

Don't get me wrong, I am still absolutely in love with Peanut. But in one fail swoop, I went from seeing my boy win the state football championship to thinking about boyfriends, dance lessons, wedding gowns, menstruation (yuck by the way), makeup, boyfriends, prom dresses, the Jonas Brothers (screaming insane girls and their miserable dads that have to take them to the concerts), training bras, boyfriends and every single Disney princess movie that my dear sweet sister made me watch when she was growing up. You know, it's a lot like asking for a steak in a restaurant and them bringing you fish. Sure, both of them are food, but obviously completely different.

Now I know what you all are saying, because I've heard it all before. "She's gonna be the biggest daddy's girl in the world and you're gonna be completely whipped!" I'm fully aware of this fact and that's what has me going crazy as we speak. I can actually feel myself getting older right now. I'm convinced this is God's way of getting me back for all the bad things I've ever done, and boy is He giving it to me good! Just the idea that eventually I'm gonna have to look at some walking erection sitting in my living room talking about how he promises to have her back by curfew makes me want to storm through downtown like Godzilla in Hong Kong. Sure, am I well aware that this is years from now, but this is what happens when you go from "Hey son how many girls did you dance with?" to "I swear to God, that if you don't go put some more clothes on, I will lock you in the basement till you're 30!"

So after sitting in shock for a few hours, and realizing that in fact there is no boy in there, I've made up my mind that having a girl is probably gonna be just as bad as I imagine it, but only because if she turns out to be as beautiful as her mother I'm in for a lot of sleepless nights, and way more gray hair.

And for those of you who are thinking, "Hmm, this post doesn't have near the flair that the others have...." Give me a friggin break, I just found out I'm gonna have a girl!

I feel good...is something wrong??

This is the panicked message I received on Tuesday. Yes, my lovely wife was completely freaking out because she felt, wait for it...normal. "Should I call the Dr?", she asked me. Now, in my head, this is what I was thinking, "Uh...no, this is what you've been praying for for months now, and p.s. take off your pants!". What I said (because face it ladies, if guys actually said what they wanted to, most times it would end with p.s. take off your pants AND we'd be in a lot more trouble than we already are) was, "Honey, if you think that you need to call the Dr, then you absolutely should." So (of course) she decided that she would call the Dr, and after 24hrs of panicking over feeling completely awesome, we made the trip to the office and once again was able to hear Peanut's strong heartbeat. It should be noted here, that the only reason the Dr called us in is to make sure that Jenni wouldn't be stressed out over the holidays. However, by calling us in, she not only stressed Jen out, she sent her into an all out tailspin. So please, if there are any doctors that just happen to read this (AHEM, dear sis-in-law Susan) please understand that when you call a pregnant woman into your office for an unscheduled visit, make it known up front that there is NO NEED TO WORRY!

So here we are at 17 weeks already! Jen is convinced we need to go buy our very own Doppler to allow her to listen to the heartbeat whenever she sees fit, and I have to argue against her (which is as dangerous as filling your mouth with Pop Rocks and chugging a Coke) because I keep getting a vision of her walking around in public with a goo covered belly and the strangest looking ipod any one's ever seen. Seriously, think about that vision for a minute and you'll realize why we don't own one...it's disturbing. Speaking of strange looks and such, please allow me to dust off my soap box for a minute, cause I SAYA! I said, I said I SAYA, I feel a sermon comin on!

Listen, I completely understand that for some folks, I don't exactly fit the stereotype of "normal" looking. And for the most part, I even take pride in the fact that I seem to scare the very old (and young) with my mere presence. But time has come to put something to rest, I DO NOT BEAT MY WIFE! Now, please retract that look of confusion (or horror) and continue to read, I'll explain. It's been understood that Jen is the balanced one in our relationship, the "normie", or if you'll indulge me the yin to my yang, the Paula Abdul to my MC Skat Kat (yes I know the name of the cartoon rapper from the video), or the Zippidy to my Doodah. Ok, so maybe the last one was a little ridiculous but you get my point. But here lately, thanks in large part to the blessing of a gift we call hormones, I've been getting nothing but mean and hateful looks from the fairer sex out there. Whenever Jenni decides to cry, like when she sees an old couple, or a baby, or a cute puppy, or hears a song, or gets hungry, or when the damn doctor CALLS US IN FOR NO REASON, or (strangely enough) when she sees Marshika Hargitay (yes the Law and Order chic) on tv, and I'm there to comfort her, everyone looks at me like I'm the next Son of Sam. It's as if every woman out there shoots daggers out of her eyes and directs them at me, and silently tells Jen, "Honey, you don't have to take this kind of treatment, he's a bad man." And does my beautiful wife help me out here? Maybe cry at home? Or at least not in public? No. So there I sit at (fill in any place here) smiling awkwardly as she sobs into a never ending stream of tissues. (Which b-t-dub comes from MY pockets so she doesn't have to carry them!) So please all of you store clerks, restaurant hosts and waiters, movie ticket takers, seemingly innocent passers by, and little old ladies (I'm talking to YOU lady from the doctor's office!) remember that she's crying for any number of reasons, not because her mean looking husband just roughed her up out back with a phone book. Hmmm, maybe I should get a shirt that says "I didn't make her cry... she's just pregnant"....

Well enough of that...Oh! I almost forgot, we now officially have a baby's room, which is conveniently located in our very own new house!! We are about 80% unpacked and sailing right along. And if you're wondering how it was to move with a pregnant wife who enjoys being in charge....well, I'll fill you in on that one some other time. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!

P.S. Do me a favor, and if you like this blog, recommend it to others and there's now a link to email any of the blogs you find particularly interesting near the end of the last paragraph.

And if you look to your left, you'll see your first trimester waving goodbye...

I'm pretty sure that I expected a lot of different things with pregnancy; crazy demands for weird food from a seemingly possessed woman at 3am, the ever shifting tides of emotions producing such drastic waves, any surfer would be jealous, and the endless reassurance that comes with a rapidly expanding stomach. One thing I didn't expect is that it seems to be flying by. We are now at 14 weeks, practically 15 and the first trimester ends with not a bang, but with a blast of pickle juice infused air as it passes into the realm of "You know...it wasn't really that bad...".



So as most of you know, we are at the stage where you see the doctor about every four weeks, and this was the time we would be able to finally hear Peanut's heartbeat, so we were very excited! Going to see the doctor is always an experience and living up to her full potential, Jen (as always) provided me with way more material that I could ever cram into this blog. It begins immediately as she slaps my hand as I so stupidly try and read a magazine as we wait for our name to be called. "I can't believe you touched that!" "Do you have any idea how many germs there are in here?" And need I remind you this is my beautiful wife hissing at me like Kaa from the Jungle Book, NOT, my mother. Although both have mastered the art of what I like to call "Scolding with a Smile". It's that thing women do where they're yelling (or hissing) at you in public when you've done something stupid, yet appear to be smiling like nothing's wrong...you know the trick. So as I'm sitting there with a bruised ego (and wrist), mumbling under my breath some smart ass comment about how YES, I actually do know how many germs there are here, our name is called. For those of you who have never been to a visit like this, it can be a bit overwhelming.



First of all, don't think of this area behind the waiting room door as a safe one. Consider it more like a battleground, full of not just your pregnant wife, but many, many more. Treat all of them like you would a dominant silver back gorilla, keep your head down, don't make eye contact, and if at all possible, give them as much space as they need to get around. Also, prepare for a constant stream of a fun game called "Am I as big as her?". This newly found game can be fun for young and old alike as long as you remember the one (and ONLY) right answer every time she asks, which of course is, "Are you INSANE? There's no WAY you're her size, and I don't think you'll EVER be that big!" Trust me. Follow that answer guideline and you'll always come out a winner. Now somewhere through the sea of urine samples, and the line of depressed/angry looking women lined up in front of the scales, lies your safe haven, the doctor's room, where if you're lucky, the doctor will be in to see you after a short (45 min) wait.



I feel obligated here to tell you a few things that may help you understand this next scene a little. I'm what some people call.....immature. I play with the little stick thingies in the jars by the sink, try and assemble and disassemble the lady parts model then try again to beat my fastest record, and yes (to Jen's chagrin) I laugh every time I hear my wife say vagina. I don't know why I do these things, I'm sure it'll go away eventually....



So the doctor comes in a let's us know that all is going as it should be, everything seems normal, including Jen's growing hatred for all things sweet, and then they talked about some stuff where I just kinda zoned out for a bit (sorry hon). Oh and if you were wondering, yes they did say the magic word, and yes, I did try my best to stifle the bouts of laughter. But then after the obligatory squirt of insanely cold goo, we where able to finally hear Peanut! He was pumping away at 150bpm and (next to Jen saying "yes" when I proposed) was the best I've ever heard. It was like he was sayin "hi, I'm down here". I think as we were leaving, we both were grinning like the criminally insane, and floating on cloud nine. And as we were leaving the office, after the gauntlet had been ran, I can now look back and say, "It wasn't really that bad....." See ya soon everyone!

Caution: Baby bump ahead...

So there I was, laying comfortably on the couch on a Sunday secretly relishing the fact that I had the remote, and nothing but a cornucopia of football in my near future. This is in large part due to the fact that now that my darling wife is with child, she stares (for no less than an hour and half mind you) at herself in the mirror in various stages of dress. My only indications that this is going on is that: a) I have the remote (see above) b) whenever I try and go near the bathroom I find that it has better security than any government agency, and only Danny Ocean and his team of master thieves would be able to steal a peek through the door, and c) she's a little too quiet, (kinda like when a little kid sneaks off to poop in their diaper) except, of course, for these melancholy sighs that emanate out of the bathroom as if to say "Well at least I used to be attractive...".

Now, I know what you're thinking. If I were a good husband, I'd forget about the ecstasy that is Sunday football, and I'd gently purr to her sweet nothings outside the closed door. But the truth is, I love watching football, and these days, even a sappy commercial causes Jenni to begin weeping so uncontrollably that Barbra Walters herself couldn't ask for better results. So yes, I was being selfish and I'm not ashamed to say it. Now getting back on track, there I was laying in the warm Sunday sunshine with my brain completely turned off (yes ladies, when we say we're not thinking of anything it's really true) and enjoying the games. This is where things took a surprising turn....

Jenni walks out of the bathroom, (looking AMAZING b-t-dub) and says to me with a scowl, "I look absolutely HUGE today!!" Here is where I (as only the greatest husbands do), walk over to her, take her in my arms and kiss her softly and lovingly and tell her how she's the most beautiful thing that God has ever made and how I would literally turn into a pile of goo without her. Only I didn't say fudge...(yeah that's a shout out to A Christmas Story if you're keeping score). In all my infinite wisdom, not even bothering to get off the couch, let alone taking my eyes off the game, I say to her "Baby, you look just like you always have..." Oh, my friends, if only words like that were like spaghetti just waiting to be sucked back up I'd would have never experienced what followed.

There have been reports of women, in emergency situations, transforming into superheroes and lifting cars off their children, beating up 10 large men, and all sorts of amazing feats of bravery. There are not however, to my knowledge any reports on how a woman (let alone a pregnant one) transforms physically and emotionally when the one they've vowed to love for better or worse says something stupid. It starts with her face, slowly twisting into something that resembles equal parts heartbreak and hatred. Tears well in her eyes, the nostrils flare, color rushes to her face faster than someone that's farted in church and gone is the sweet alto voice I've grown accustom to, only to be replaced with the voice of Beelzebub himself. What ensues is a 30 minute master class in back pedalling taught by yours truly, lots of reassurance that it's Peanut getting bigger not her, and a constant stream of tissues with two re-applications of make-up.

Alas, this is my first experience with seeing a baby bump on my wife and, (as soon as I started paying attention) I realized that it really is Peanut in there, and as far as I'm concerned, Jenni is still the most beautiful woman I know. So in summation, we officially have a "bump" (Huzzah!), tomorrow we are 13 weeks along, and Thursday is day that Peanut's heartbeat will be heard for the first time. :) Stay tuned for our further "Adventures in Baby-growing" coming soon.

It only comes out at night....

A fitting title I think as we quickly approach All Hallows Eve. The following may not be a nightmare to many, but for a select few it will be one of the few truly scary times in their life...read on if you dare....Muhahahahaha

Are you aware that if you order the same thing multiple times from Ruby Tuesday's that the cooks start to remember you??? I've now had the pleasure of making regular runs for Senora Chicken pasta. Which, may I point out is not even on the menu anymore. Oh and of course it wouldn't be any fun unless I had to order it with outlandish demands that only a lady in such a delicate condition (ha) could possibly want. Here is a cliff notes version of how it normally plays out. "I'd like to order Senora Chicken Pasta please." (here's where the wait staff give you a look of confusion) "Yes, I'm aware that is hasn't been on the menu for awhile now, and yes I know you no longer have the black bean salsa that goes on the top...".

Allow me here to break for a second and issue a brief statement. I do not, nor will ever enjoy messing with those in the food industry. I firmly believe (in large part thanks to all my friends that work(ed) in the food services) that the more you agitate said food industry worker, the more likely you are to eat something that can only be described (at best) as saliva. This being said, I now return you to your regularly scheduled blog....

... and that's ok, she never cared for it anyway." It's at this point the waiter usually tells me that besides the aforementioned salsa, they will be happy (please feel free to practice your "I really care about my job" smile here) to place the order for me. "Great!" I say, "however, there is a few more things...1. Could you please also eliminate the cilantro and tomatoes that used to go on top? 2. I'm gonna need you to add extra cheese. Not just a little extra, add the normal amount of cheese, then, add a second helping of cheese to the pasta. And if after that, you think to yourself I'm positive this is what he meant by extra cheese, add another serving of cheese."

This is my friends, is becoming my new and provocative dance that I get to experience on an ever more frequent basis. Oh and for the record, The order usually comes in around 10:30pm, the time when ALL waiters are so happy to take a complicated order such as this one.

Now that that's all out of my system, I would like to happily point out that by the time most of you read this, we will be officially 12 weeks pregnant. I can't believe that (technically) 1/3 of this wild ride is over already. Jen is doing fantastic, feeling much better than she has been (thanks to pickles) and as you may have guessed experiencing a few cravings :).

Geeze, this one seems to have gotten a bit wordy on me. My apologies to all those followers with ADD. Although, I feel remiss about not ending with the Halloween theme that I opened with, so without further adieu....

....and when the frightened girl looked back at the car, she saw a BLOODY HOOK hanging from the door handle!!!