Mr. Mom

I've been home with the girls since early July (thanks, economy!), thus the sparse updating. It's not that I don't have occasional downtime - I do. But that is usually spent doing things that don't require higher brain function. As Mr. Mom, I'm really bad at cleaning, but made a sauce tonight with smoked paprika. So I'm half-way there.

Alina & Evie, now 3-and-a-half and 14 months, love playing with each other. Unfortunately, and I suppose unsurprisingly, Alina wants everything Evie is playing with despite being surrounded by a mountain of fuzzy creatures and bleep-blop. Evie has a very specific objection sound, like a pterodactyl or banshee, when her sister steals a toy from her. It helps to be able to identify this sound from the other room. It allows me to simply yell, "Alina, give it back to her!" without running into the room. Couch Parenting. Sometimes Alina will carry her younger sister, in a modified heimlich hold, into the room and place her at my feet. Sometimes it's because she wants Evie out of her business and other times it's to move her away from danger. "Alina, gentle!" is a popular order.

Evie, the younger, hunts for death. She is a lot more adventurous than her sister was at that age in many ways. It's like she's our Boy. I've caught her scaling everything from kitchen cabinet shelves, open drawers, a rolling wire laundry cart, and any flat surface at eye level (stools, ottomans, chairs, etc). I can't run towards her yelling NO because she tends to throw herself back when she's excited or think I'm playing a game. My tactic is to walk by her like I don't even see her and then snatch her when she's not expecting it. Then it get into the nononono stuff. Suffice is to say that all stools are turned upside down in our house for a reason. So now instead of worrying about her climbing, I just need to keep an eye out for unintentional impalement. Babies put everything in their mouth, but it was really uncanny how Evie would find the one thing in the room that was the most inappropriate thing to sample orally. She would actually crawl over her toys to get to the torn corner of an envelope, mystery crumb, or tracked-in foliage from the outside. Now that she's walking and a little wiser, she'll pick things up off the ground, turn to me and hold it up, say Da-Da, and I'll ask her to give it to me. She'll walk over and hand it to me with a smile. I thank her profusely for the offering. The way she is right now is really the closest I'll ever come in my life to owning a chimp.

Evie is also the lightest sleeper in the universe. Maybe it helped that her older sister spent her infant years in an apartment above a busy, bus routed street, but this new kid will actually wake up if your head breaks the threshold of the doorway to the room where she slumbers. Do you know what that means?! She was awakened by the movement of air particles in her environment! There's really no quieter sound than that!

Alina, the older, is basically a full-on person. I don't even change my vocabulary on her behalf anymore. She just gets everything now. Most of the time, my wife and I debate where the hell she picks up some of the things she says. Last night, for example, she said in anticipation of dinner, "Mom, how's my chicken coming?" Recently she told me she was "really disappointed" about not being able to go somewhere she liked and also that my "breath smells terrible."

She started what I'm told is nursery school last week. I'm still a little fuzzy on the terminology. Apparently, Preschool, Nursery School, and Pre-K are all different things. Maybe it was the steroids the doctors gave her when she had Croup but, at 42 inches, she towers over these kids. The mini-bookbags they give out actually didn't fit her and they needed to go upstairs to get an older kid version. She should do well there. I mean, lets face it, we're in Queens. Most of these kids are hearing two languages at home. We got to sit in on the first day of school and MAN is she a brown-noser. Constantly telling the teacher of her accomplishments and never passes up an opportunity to tell anecdotes that relate to whatever the class is doing. Oh, and she also told the teacher "I share my snack with Grandma Betty" despite the fact that she only met her a few times and has been deceased for 6 months. So, she has playdates with dead people too. Social butterfly.

Up To Speed

I plan to get better at blogging. I have more time on my hands now. More on that later. Until then, here are some ruminations and babblings from around the online world that I've put out.

• Alina got me a beer from the fridge for the first time and it's on St. Patrick's Day!! She's enabling at a sixth grade level.
• I am being offered genetic counseling through my heath plan to see what horrible diseases I might get. What an awful idea.
• I am full of sushi and regret.
• Alina thinks putting yougurt on our seedlings will make them grow. I disagree, but she's helming this experiment.
• Swear words really lose their punch when you have to spell them out loud instead of saying them. Earmuffs!
• One week until Florida. Two weeks until Wife ends maternity leave. Three weeks until we fire the babysitter.
• Having trouble explaining to the toddler that there are no fairies on the Staten Island Ferry.
  
• Just made my browser block FoxNews.com, RushLimbaugh.com, & GlennBeck.com for when my Republican father babysits during the day.
  
• Wondering if the kids will drink nighttime Tylenol in a sippy cup just before the flight tomorrow.
  
• I have nothing nice to say about Northwest Airlines so I'm not going to say anything at all .... except that they can suck the sweat off a dead man's balls.
  
• Liked the sun, surf, and sand but will miss having our hotel's 2nd bathroom most of all.
• We're concerned about the Cheez Whiz content of that 7 Eleven gasoline we just purchased in FL.
  
• I have misplaced the only thermometer that hasn't been in someone's butt.
  
• Bravo Mets. Way to maximize the use of that boring exterior stadium wall with megalith billboards. Bob's Discount Furniture?
  
• I just used a men's room with an infant strapped to his chest. That was interesting. Can't really see where you're aiming. You just have to believe! There is no spoon!
  
• I'm wondering if this blatant bribery to the toddler for using the potty will backfire.
  
• Hate that I haven't been able to kick this cough, but love that I sound like Barry White.
• I wish the words "preschool" and "tuition" were never in the same sentence.
  
• I'm amused that every time a rapper gets arrested, the news makes a point of saying their real name. "Killa X, whose real name is Clarence Higgenbottom, was arraigned....."
  
• I have walking pneumonia!
  
• 9-month old is furniture walking and our 3-year old just said "Fuck". Where does the time go?
  
• I'm torn. The more obnoxious my 3-year old is, the funnier the 10-month old finds her. I'm no enemy of laughter, but she's annoying me tonight.
  
• Evie sees dead people. While strolling by a large Queens graveyard, she waved, laughed, and played blanket peek-a-boo with someone who wasn't there. Alina said "there's a big scary man".
  
• I love that the Carney selling fried Twinkies has a bluetooth headset.
  
• I just met my 15-yr old sister's 18-yr old boyfriend. Visions of homicide dance in my head.
• 200 wine tastings later and I am expected to be able to pronounce Viognier? Bite me.
  
• Just put Baby Orajel on the infant's toothbrush instead of toothpaste. Whoops! Good n numb now! My name is Tha Tha tonight.
  
• Latest Pet Peeve - Getting your hair cut in a place where everyone goes by cutesie nicknames. You're not a stripper, Magenta!
  
• Dora the Explorer sells perfume. Bitch.
  
• Note to self: $12 pants will last about as many days as dollars spent on them.
  
• Fairly certain that folding toddler & infant laundry is my least favorite chore in the universe. Little. Tiny. Piles. Everywhere.
  
• Using an electric razor while driving in morning traffic is legal, right?
  
• If you were born in 1991, you can buy cigarettes. If you were born in 1992, I can totally buy them for you.
  
• Morning spent spouting phrases like "necklaces don't belong in the refrigerator!"
  
• Learning that Creativity, like a muscle, will wither if not routinely exercised. . See?!
  
• Awww! Did the big bad lightning keep my fellow NYers deprived of sleep? Welcome to my world, bitches :)
  
• Maybe if I make a mix tape for the economy, she'll come back to me.
  
• Really loving this slow paced Italian wine and food thing, but don't they know this baby sitter is charging $15/hr? Sheesh!
• Told my wife I didn't think she was very creative. She thought I said she looked pretty. I went with it.
• Summer Friday. Home. Raining. I see a couch fort in my future. Hey kids, make your own! This one's mine!
  
• Really ready to redeem my night-out-with-friends coupon tonight.
  
• Tyrone, Pablo, Tasha, and Uniqua get way more screen time than Austin. The Backyardigans are totally racist, man.
  
• Wife Conditioning Proof Alpha: I can now wrap birthday presents with Christmas wrapping paper.
  
• Lets be clear. If you get a candle or lotion as a gift, that person does not know you.
  
• A Neo-Nazi organization is participating in the adopt-a-highway program. The state had to oblige but now plans to rename the road the Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel Highway.
  
• Only two types of people are at the laundromat at 7:30AM - parents of pukey kids and murderers cleaning their sheets.
• Fuck fire walking. Try going barefoot over Lego in the dark - and you're not allowed to scream.
  
• On hold music is the William Tell Overture. This composer had a serious cocaine problem.
• Items in garbage: Pickles Mustard Diapers Garlic Asparagus Raw Meat. I don't condone chemical weaponry but someone drop this on our enemies.
  
• Billboard : Music :: World Series : World
  
• Would an example of pedophile profiling be pulling the guy out of line with glasses and a mustache? Maybe he has a van with no windows?
  
• The church annex across the street is using a circular saw at 9pm. I'm making my toddler yell "STOP IT, JESUS!" out the window.
  
• Little disappointed I'm getting laid off on June 30th. But, discovering that (+Unemployment) - (Daycare Costs for 2 kids) = only a minor dent in the family wallet. Mister Mom, here I come!

1st Parent-Teacher Conference

When I heard I was to attend one of these, I was a little surprised. Alina goes to a place for three hours, two days a week. They do projects and songs and things that you'd expect little people to do. It's not really a school. She's only 3, so what would they have to say about her? Was she in trouble? Does she bite kids? Does she draw pictures of Jesus riding a giant phallus?

When we get there, we see all the mildly nervous and somewhat inconvenienced mothers in the waiting room. It's 10AM on a weekday and I'm the only Dad there. Smatterings of kiddie art are strewn about. I imagine what the labels would be were it a gallery. Painted Cheerios On Construction Paper. Pasted Macaroni and Pipe Cleaners on Egg Carton. Our name is called. Oh my! Will she go to Stanford or Vassar?!

We get into the room and the two Magic Garden wannabes whip out this checklist. It's broken out into sections and varying levels of development and they've checked off all the things she can do and left the things she can't do unchecked. They start talking to us about how she's doing, but they've left this checklist just sitting there on the table. So, I'm not really listening to them because I want to see the Scorecard! Give me the Scores and the Stats! I'm a guy. As I was reading upside down I noticed things that she can totally do but were not checked. It was hard for me not to blurt out, "Bullshit! She can jump on one leg! Honey, go over there and show them how you jump on one leg. " Apparently jumping on one leg is a physical milestone. But you'd think that all moves are. Crawling, walking, running, spinning, bicycle kick to your enemy's chin - I need to make my own checklist.

Spill It, Slacker

It's a strange set of affairs when I need to look through photos and Facebook updates to remember what has been going with our family over the last couple of months. Dumbledore has his pensive, I have photo albums and tweets. Lets see, where to begin.

We've had and have been to many little person birthdays as of late. We had Alina's third birthday, though I don't remember much of it. I spent most of it running out for things because we were truly ill prepared this year. In fact, this may be the last time we do a birthday at our house because it's just too crazy. We're also not that good at it. Imagine preparing a house for a party where adults can enjoy themselves. Now imagine preparing a house for a party where 3-year olds can enjoy themselves. Now combine both actions into one whirlwind, 2-hour smorgasbord of balloons, beer, bouncy houses, and hors d'oeuvres. Alina had picked out the invitations at the store. She's in a typical princess and fairies stage, so she was drawn to the Tinkerbell invites. After we sent them out, we got several phone calls from parents asking if it was a Fairy theme party and if their kid should dress up. Yeah, we were confused too. Since Alina's party was first in this string of kiddie soirees, it didn't really occur to us that this is what people do and expect. We started getting invites with princess themes, pirate themes, ballerina themes. Where's Daddy's tutu? So the closest we came to a theme was the color red, since Alina's birthday falls so close to Valentine's. I gave her three long stem roses for the three years she has been in my life. This seems like a good tradition to follow. In following through on this, I discovered that the roses on February 11th are waaaaay nicer than the roses at 6:47PM on February 14th. Go figure.

On the Evie front, she now has two top and two bottom teeth that she'll occasionally grind, giving me the DTs. Additionally, she has decided that baby food is not her thing. She would much rather have what you're eating/drinking. So, that's what we do, save the obvious things like peanut butter and tequila shots. She says Da-Da now and as a result, Katrina says she won't go back to work until she says Ma-Ma. Notice: If you run into my youngest daughter, run some drills, won't you? We could use the income. Item: Both girls got to ride the Roosevelt Island Tram for the first time. Evie was super freaked out with this, but didn't cry. Flying to Florida next month should be interesting.

Some recent photos:

Pirate Baby!

Don't eat the yellow snow

Sistering

It's really hard to get them both looking at the camera and staying in focus at the same time. Parent Tip: Turn on the TV and hold the camera just above it. Really sells the illusion of an attention span (tip not in practice for current photo above).

Don't Do Anything Ever

I'm always giving instruction to Alina in telling her what NOT to do. Don't touch that, don't leave that on the floor, don't step off the sidewalk without holding my hand, don't headbutt your sister, don't eat your boogers, etc. I started to notice that this bombardment of common sense instruction had seeped its way into my everyday life too. Take my commute for example. A mixture of announcements both live and recorded decree:

Hold onto the handrail, please face forward while riding the escalator, stand clear of the closing doors, step away from the platform edge, do not walk or ride between subway cars, for your safety please do not block the doors while the train is in the station, be aware of your surroundings, your bags are subject to search by the NYPD, strollers and push carts and pull carts are not permitted on the escalator, avoid the sides of the escalator, have a safe day, and (our own brand of freakout) If You See Something, Say Something.

No wonder no one listens. After a while it all becomes white noise. If I actually paid attention to all the warnings and cautions meant for people like me, I'd conclude that the world thinks I am inconsiderate and stupid. One can only assume that all of these instructions came as a result of some numb nuts doing just the thing they're warning against. I wonder how much money gets spent to legislate stupidity. Dipshit 'A' decides to ride on the outside of the train and gets turned into beef stew. Then, state lawmakers have to take the time to make a law against doing so. They make signs telling us not to do it and automated voices tell us not to do it. Oy! On the upside for the state, most stupidity laws are fineable if you're not dead afterwards - like texting while driving.

I invite you all to see what dumb laws are on the books in your state. These are mine http://www.dumblaws.com/laws/united-states/new-york.

Yes We Can (update my blog) ! !

Where to start on this Inauguration Day, in Daddydom? It has been too long. We went through a really rough patch with colds. I had laryngitis, Alina had bronchitis, Evie had 102 fever and runny nose/cough and wouldn't eat, Katrina had a fever (we don't seem to have any adult thermometers) and cough. On top of everything Evie was also teething. She popped one tooth on the bottom last week, about two months earlier than Alina's came. Apparently, it's just different for everyone. Some kids are even born with teeth, our Doctor said. See said tooth below!


Alina has really gotten into role playing with her, for lack of a better term, action figures. They're Cinderella action figures, but they're still action figures! It started a couple of months ago when I would take one of her stuffed animals and have it gesture to her, but not speak. Waving, dancing, nodding yes and no, etc. She would speak to the animal and I would respond with the appropriate movement. Eventually, she would pick up her own stuffed animal and we'd go on an adventure together. Granted, just about every adventure starts out with her asking, "Do you wanna go to my birthday party?" but we can go from there. I used to do long form improv, you know! Soon she started playing both parts on her own and it's hilarious and mildly scary to watch. Sometimes the drama betwixt the two characters gets out of hand. They'd start arguing with each other and Alina would inevitably start getting emotional. When there weren't any toys around, she'd do it with her feet and hands. The right foot would be arguing with her left foot over something like, "That's mine, no it's mine!" If I started doing that it would be decidedly less cute.

Sittin' and Grinnin'

Whirlwind Holidays

I had to work last weekend and put in 12-hour days for about two weeks straight. I was looking forward to a weekend of rest, but the holidays are upon us! Friday night after work I took the train up to Stamford to meet up with the girls and ended up spending the night there. The next day we drove up to South Salem for a Christmas Party with friends and then drove back to Queens to meet up with my parents and little sister who spent the night. Why? The next morning, we were due to show up at FAO Schwarz at 8AM to attend this event where people with little little kids can go through the store before it opens and shop, eat, do activities, and oddly enough, dissuade Gilbert Gottfried's daughter from stealing your daughter's shoes. When the floodgates at FAO opened at 10AM our next stop on this relaxing weekend? MACY'S to see Santa. This was our 3rd year in a row doing this, so I guess it's officially a tradition. Then that ended. Going home? NOPE. We're off to Connecticut for my mother-in-law's Christmas Party, so she can show off her grandchildren. We drive back to Queens and spend the night fiercely cleaning. Why? Because for the next few days we're going to have house guests that consist of a Mom, a 2-year old and an 8-month old. So that makes, wait for it, FOUR kids under the age of 3 in our apartment (all girls) for a few days. I woke up this morning and couldn't speak. Between not sleeping, inhaling a bevy of chemicals, and being around so many people at once I seem to have come down with some kind of laryngitis. My mother-in-law got it the day before me, but if you ask her, SHE didn't give it to me. Just an amazing coincidence, I suppose. But, I came to work anyway so I don't get anyone ill. Maybe I'll sleep under my desk.

E is for Empathy

Alina has started taking sides and empathizing with the other parent. If anyone raises their voice, even if it's just to tell a joke, Alina will assume that an argument has broken out and automatically assume the one who is louder is in the wrong. Most of the time that could be true, I suppose. She'll start waving her arms in the air and say, "No no no no. No, Daddy, no," then turn to the other person with a sympathetic face and say, "It's okay, Mommy. It's okay." Or vice versa, depending on who she has judged as being wrong.

To go along with with this new emotion, she also has started fawning at adorable things like babies, animals, or baby animals. "Awwwwww, look Daddy, that's so beautiful," she'll say, or "so cute!"

Double Stroller!

Jesus H. Christ in a chicken basket, we got a double stroller. It's a megalith! It's an Escalade! It doesn't fit through all the doorways in our house! But we apparently need it, especially for times like this:

For a little while, Alina rode in the foot rest of our original jogging stroller. But it wasn't made for that. The front-heavy result would make you unwillingly veer into the street on crooked sidewalks. That, and little Evie likes to kick and grab her big sister's hair when she's sitting there. As much as I try to reason with the 2-year old that her baby sister "doesn't know any better," it doesn't stop the kicking or hair pulling from happening. Toddlers are results driven creatures. Alina thinks, "She doesn't know any better, got it. But she's still doing it and you're letting her!"

For the purchase of this item, we used a Bed Bath & Beyond 20% off coupon that we got in the mail at a store called Buy Buy Baby, since they take them. They fought us on it, of course. The next time we got the coupon in the mail it said "no strollers" on it. HA! It was our first time at Buy Buy Baby and I have to say, staff-wise, it was like going from Kindergarten to Harvard. The store actually has a knowledgeable Sales Staff on the floor as opposed to the wandering Babies r Us dipshits who seem to have just returned from cashing their medical experiment participation check.

P.S. So much for saving money on recycling Alina's clothes. When it started to get cold, we finally realized that these kids are off-season. One was born in winter, the other in summer. So, when I went through Alina's old winter coats to give to Evelyn, I only found ones that fit a 1-month old and a 9-month old. So they were all too big and too small. I can't believe we didn't think of that!

Halloween

Ladybug and little Dumbo

Evie's First Laugh

Is something funny? Probably not. I think it's more fright laughter. Like in a haunted house, skydiving, or after beating up a hobo. More videos are here http://www.youtube.com/user/earonoff

The Up Toilet Seat Heard 'Round the World

Everyone went away for a whole week to hang out at my mother's house. Being home alone, I thought I would be going out every night, getting stupid, making plans. Turns out, I didn't miss plans or going out. I missed "nothing". Coming home, turning off my brain and doing absolutely nothing. It was pretty glorious. No one to bathe, no one to feed. Unfortunately, my brain didn't know how to process this and it rewarded me by giving me a major bout of insomnia. I probably got less sleep with everyone gone than when they're here. Luckily, I had the Presidential debate on my DVR. That's some good white noise.

When everyone's home, not only does Evie the infant sleep in our bed, but refuses to sleep unless she's on her stomach. This is bad, but would be worse if she couldn't pick her head up. The crib is literally collecting dust. So, suffice is to say I don't sleep in that bed very much and usually opt for the couch. If I'm sleeping closer than 2 feet from her, I pop awake every 30 minutes to see if she's still breathing or to make sure she's not under me. On those now rare occasions when I AM sleeping with them, I lie across the foot of the bed like some kind of animal. I've been relegated to the family pet. Our cat is like, "Dude, that's MY spot. Go back to the couch!"

Mired In Poop & Exhaustion

I remember when Alina was born and it took me a while to know what to say here other than "I'm Tired" and "Poop". It's kinda like that now, just multiplied. At times I wonder if there will ever be an end to poop and exhaustion. Between the cat, fish, iguana, and children, it seems that an inordinate amount of my day is spent dealing in fecal matters. Then, our parents are going to start becoming incontinent and we'll have to deal with them too.

I used to dread shopping. Now, we argue over who gets to go to the store because it's time to be alone with your thoughts, among other things. I actually took great joy in a 4-minute car wash the other day. All enveloped in pink and green foam, the mild vibration of the water and shammies. It was so ... peaceful. I'm finding joy in the smallest things. Like Buffalo Wing flavored Pretzels and the fact that my cell phone can ID songs just by listening to them. What's wrong with me?

Evie turned 8 weeks old this week and she's starting to come out of her hold-me-or-I-cry phase. When Alina was that old, you could hang her on a hook by the onesie and she wouldn't make a peep. We knew we couldn't bat .1000 in the serene infant department. That would've been too lucky. Wife and I have different approaches to crying. I contend that it's just how she communicates and isn't always something that I can fix. Outside of the usual: Gas, Change Me, Burp Me, Feed Me - sometimes she's just fussy. Sometimes she's just tired. I can't make her sleep, but she'll keep herself awake crying because she's tired and wants to sleep. It's irrational, but it's babies. Sometimes sucking on something helps, other times there's nothing to be done. She just eventually realizes her own exhaustion and drops like a mallet. Katrina always tries to find a way to console and it stresses her out when nothing works. I don't have milk that lets down, so I can't possibly feel the same way. But, when Evie isn't kvetching, she's smiling a lot and looking people in the eye. A personality is starting to form so she's less of a flailing lump and more of a smiling flailing lump.

The standard battery of shots soon approaches so we'll be able to take her places where the diseased roam and the filthy trod - like a gymboree or a subway platform. Alina was born in the winter so not going out until the shots was easy. But this summer baby is going places, ho boy. We started going to Jones Beach in the early evening. There's hardly anyone there, it isn't hot, Alina can play in the sand, and it's very serene. We're not supposed to go where there's people, particularly indoor places. Away from crowds. Brooklyn Botanical Garden, a bevvy of local farms that have either apple, strawberry, or blueberry picking, and the local zoos have been frequented. Malls suck anyway. Not having shots has been a great excuse to breath old fashioned fresh air. Well, with JFK, LGA, LIE, BQE, and the Van Wyck so close by who knows how fresh it is. Luckily, Forest Hills isn't a misnomer. Lots of trees. Lots of birds in those trees. Lots of crap on my car. Oooh! Time for another car wash!

My Infant Can Beat Up Your Infant

What do I look like to you? Some guy who has all the time in the world that he can just sit down at the computer and jovially thwack away at the keyboard whenever the mood strikes? People tell me to blog more. Maybe that the Olympics are over I'll find more time.

Needless to say, the two-child household is a very busy place. Baby clothes in varying sizes take forever to fold. Evie is not a big fan of being placed horizontally so someone is always conveying our little dependent in some fashion. She's also brutally strong, almost frighteningly so. She was lifting her head up from lying on her tummy at 3 weeks and rolling from side to side - occasionally going completely over. I was kinda looking forward to that carefree period where you could put a kid down on the mattress and go brush your teeth. There was a comfort in knowing there was a guarantee that they'd still be in the same spot when you got back. But this one already moves. That, and you never know when Alina will "help" Evie by putting a blanket over her face. Even the pediatrician was aghast at her strength. At the 4-week appointment, they basically knock them around a bit, pull them up by the hands while they're on their back to see if their head flops and hold them up in the air like Superman to see how their bodies react. When the doctor first did this with Alina, our immediate reaction was to put a hand under her head or give an assist. Our nebbishy Jackie Mason-esque doctor would say, "I'm testing her reflexes, not yours." With Evie's exam, he commented, "I don't know what you're feeding her, but you should bottle it and sell it." I too noticed this obscene strength when I would try and move her hands to put a shirt on. It was like arm wrestling and she was winning. So, Katrina's Max Ultra Performance Robo-Juice is going for $24.99 a pint.

Here's a picture for the packaging:

Home Is Where The Hypertension Is

Thought I'd digest being a father of two girls for a couple of weeks before writing anything down. That turned out to be a mistake because I have no mental energy. More on that later.

They wanted us there at 5:15am. That's Really Early. We brought Bagels for the staff. That was like gold. The staff was lovin up on us somthing fierce. I highly recommend it to anyone getting a 7am c-section ..... or any early morning surgery. I wore a blue scrubs suit that made me look like Neo-Natal Devo.


Notice the slits where my pockets are. I needed access to digital camera, phone, camera phone, tips for the surgeons, switchblade (in case they needed me to assist), etc. While I waited and paced around the recovery room while they prepped Katrina in the O.R., I busied myself by adjusting the lighting. I knew I would get the baby while they sewed Mamma back up. And I needed optimal conditions for documentation. They made me sit in a chair and not move, near Katrina's head. Turns out they not only would refuse my help, but they didn't want me to see them loose sponges or take out the wrong baby. I had to stay behind the curtain draped on Katrina's neck. OBs must get sued a lot.

Slice. Baby.

Look! A girl! Think how much we'll save on old clothes. If it was a boy, it'd be wearing pink onesies with the word "Boy" written across the chest in black sharpie. I had a pretty good feeling it was a girl. So much so, that I had pre-written the text message I was going to send out. I was fairly sure after one of the ultrasounds. Also, there was that one time that a nurse slipped and tried to cover it up a couple of months agao: "I'm sure she .... or HE or IT will be just fine." Apparently I was the only one who noticed. Evelyn wasn't 5 minutes old before they asked us if we wanted her to get a Hepatitis B shot. They luvvvv giving babies shots these days. We opted to wait for the pediatrician visit. It seems to me a number of other diseases were more likely to be contracted in a hospital setting, but what do I know.

She came out rather annoyed looking. Who could blame her? The doctor told us she squirmed out of their grasp a couple of times before they could fish her out. I took about 40 pictures of her in the operating room and had trouble finding one where she didn't look like a grumpy old man. Like this:

Never let it be said that I only put cute pictures up on here. Since we've only had c-sections, I haven't seen the squished head forceps baby thing yet. I hear they're very unphotogenic.

Alina couldn't visit because she had snot rockets. She picked up a cold literally the day before the surgery, so she was apart from mother and sister for 4 days. But, when she finally was able to visit, - VIDEO - CLICK ME - something awfully cute happened.


I forgot how small infants are. I have a chicken in my fridge that weighs more than my daughter. Now Alina feels huge. But Evie is a great eater - she came out hungry and hasn't stopped. At one point during her first week, she latched onto Mamma's udders for 2.5 hours. Katrina wasn't ready for that. She remarked, "She's using me as a pacifier!" Sometimes Evie would have trouble latching on. After meeting with a lactation consultant, it was discovered that our newest arrival has a skill that a breastfeeding coach with 30 years of experience had never seen before: She can roll her tongue both ways onto its side. I guess she'll be winning a lot of cherry stem tying contests in high school. So, we have that to look forward to.

After checking them out of the hospital in our two-carseat vehicle, Evie slept for about 22 hours the first day she was home. All of a sudden I was taking care of three people instead of one and was confounded by the amount of garbage we were producing. So far, there have been very few assassination attempts by big sister. If anything, she will kill her with kindness, aka a really big hug that snaps her in two. Alina mostly wants to give her kisses on the head, but will occasionally snuggle with a bit too much vigor. That, and she keeps whacking Katrina's c-section scar. I continually tell Katrina to brush up on her wax on, wax off to deflect incoming toddlers. But, she'll need more time with Mr. Miyagi to perfect it.

Evie has arrived!

Evelyn Mae - 8lbs 4 oz.

The Baby Who Cried Born

I made yet another fruitless trip out to Long Island last week after a phone call from my pregnant wife. Around 11am on Thursday, she called me to say that she's having strong contractions again and was going upstairs to get checked out. She works in the same hospital she's delivering in, so this is convenient. About two hours later, I get another phone call from her saying "They're doing to do the C-Section today." The nurses and residents all told her to call me so I wouldn't miss it. She was even examined internally by her least favorite resident, who we call Fisticuffs, due to her inclination to show the fetus her wristwatch. They were actually ordering anesthesia, so it was feeling like this was it. The contractions usually stop after a couple hundred milliliters of intravenous fluid. They had given her nearly 1000 ml and the contractions hadn't stopped. After volleying a few "You're sure? I'm sure!!" back and forth, she told me to call my mother and she would do the same. This was the pre-agreed upon strategy for the grandparents to make all the phone calls so we didn't have to. Remembering the last 5 visits to the hospital, I still wasn't 100% convinced that this was actually taking place. I even told Katrina, "Don't call your mother until I'm wearing scrubs."

I use the company car service we have at work to shuttle me out there so I don't have to deal with the Long Island Railroad. They won't mind the charge, I thought. It's a special occasion! I sat in a ton of traffic and only got about a third of the way there before I got another phone call telling me that it was called off. Apparently, once the doctor showed up on the scene, he reminded everyone of a hospital policy where they don't do c-sections more than seven days out unless it's an emergency. It would seem that no one knew this but the doctor. So he closed up shop and told Katrina to come back when she was in so much pain she couldn't carry on a conversation. The silver lining is that he put through the paperwork so that she didn't have to go back to work for the rest of her pregnancy - all 6 business days worth - citing stressful work conditions. The official extraction date is Monday, July 21st at 7am.

She was home all day on Friday and had the house to herself for the first time in 4 months. It was also the first time in a while when she had no contractions. So, as long as she doesn't move or think, she'll be just fine. However, when we were at the playground this weekend, I had to put a leash on her so she wouldn't go running after Alina. Mom habits die hard.

Call Me When I Have A Kid

Last week, Katrina calls me at work and tells me in full freakout mode that her water broke. The brief conversation sounded like a David Mamet play:

My water broke!
Your water broke?!
My WATER broke!
When di-
JUST NOW!
Fuck!
I know!
Well I'm-
How are you getting here?
How am I gettin-?
I gotta go upstairs!
Okay I'll get there!
Okay, Bye!
Fuck!

It was about 11:00am so first things first. I put my lunch in the microwave and set it to IMMEDIATELY. Experience Points, son. If this was going down, I knew I wasn't going to be eating for the next 12 hours or so. My mother and little sister were babysitting Alina so the plan was to take the subway out to Forest Hills, get picked up by them, and get a ride out to Long Island.

I started reading my book on the subway - relishing in my coolheadedness. The baby was coming about 4 weeks early afterall. Cause for concern, but not alarm, as we were told this child is tracking to be born about 9 or 10 lbs. Let's say that again. NINE or TEN pounds. It was big enough already to be born without things like steroid injections to inflate the lungs. Got about half a page into my book and realized I was kidding myself. I wasn't absorbing any of the words, my eyes just running over them. I put my book back in my bag. I looked around at the glazed over subway passengers, thinking that none of them had any problems nearly as important as mine. A few minutes later, I buried my head in my hands and let out an audible "UGH" when I realized we hadn't yet settled on a name! How was I going to argue with someone who's anestitized? Perhaps she'd be more agreeable. But when she comes to, she'd probably tackle the mailman before the forms go off to the Bureau of Vital Statistics.

I get to the hospital in what could be considered record time and shoot up to Labor & Delivery. When I ask for Katrina, they tell me she's the freaked out one in Trauma Room 1. Being in a room called Trauma wouldn't put me at ease either. When I walk in, a SonoTech is doing an ultrasound. As it turns out, her water didn't break. It was ..... something else. No, she didn't piss herself. Her plug? I have no idea. The word Mucous came up. But I'm still fuzzy on the details because I was too busy coming to terms with the water not breaking. I mentioned to Katrina that we hadn't picked name yet. She responds, "Oh, I picked them. It's all you can think about just lying here." But she didn't pop so I think there's still time for debate.

This is the fourth or fifth time I've been to the hospital with this pregnancy. Low fetal heart rate, contractions, contractions, alleged water break. All false alarms. Katrina woke up early this morning and said, "I think this is the day, because I'm really nauseous." She was nauseous just before going into labor with Alina - still think it was the Thai food, though. In my half asleep voice, I told her I wasn't moving until someone is holding a scalpel.

Mini Manipulator

We've seen Alina practice crying in the mirror, but she's taking it to a whole new level. It's nice to see my powers of manipulation have passed down through the DNA so completely.

#1
Operation: Two-Headed Gatekeeper

We've all heard of this method. I just didn't think it would happen so quickly.

The 2-year old lies in bed one sleepy weekday morning and asks, "Mommy, I want to watch TV?" Her mother swiftly replies with a resounding No. A few wrinkles form between the baby's wee eyes as she redirects, "I'm going to ask Daddy." I'm in the other room and haven't heard the first part of their conversation when I hear Alina declare "Daddy! I want to watch TV?"

#2
Operation: East Berlin Misdirection

Wife and child are in a diner together, sitting at a booth. The young-in wants to climb over the back of the booth and into the neighboring one. Several tries get thwarted by removing the leading leg that is draped over the seat. Then, the little one tries a different tactic. She says, "Mommy, I want a kiss," puckers her lips, makes the pre-emptive kissy Mmmm sound, and wraps her arms around Mom's neck. She continues to whisper, "I love you Mommy" over and over, pressing her lips against her Mother's cheek. But this is all a ruse! The pressing of the kiss on the cheek prevents Mom from turning her head and seeing that the child is using this as a distraction to swing both legs over the back of the booth. By the time the "kiss" is complete, our climber has successfully placed herself in the adjacent eating nook and several victory bounces on the soft red cushions ensue.

This one blew my mind - a true distraction tactician. She's going to start colluding with the cat: "Okay, you start throwing up on the carpet while I go for the Girl Scout Cookies." Wait, where are those cookies? Maybe they've done this one already!

Get a Hobby

I used to make fun of my father because he would have these hobbies that seemed all-consuming. It wasn't a passing fancy. It was full-on and neck deep with all the accessories. You can almost map out his life chronologically from these phases, from my point of view. Allow me to list them and then generalize my memories of them for comedic purposes. There was:

The Diving Phase - Live lobsters crawling around a NYC apt. The cat was very curious.

The Space Shuttle Phase - He'd get press passes for close-up access to launches and return with slide shows put to Vangelis music.

The Workout Phase - Nautilus equipment and Bruce Springsteen records.

The Hunting Phase - Stuffed birds on the wall and a homemade shotgun shell crank. "Don't forget to add the wad or daddy will blow his face off."

The Sailboat Phase - A 40th birthday present to himself and learned all the lingo like close hauled, broad reach, and boom vang. Can your dad sheet bend and half hitch knots?

The Japanese Phase - Feng Shui and dark red furniture, lamps, hiragana, kanji.

The Dog Phase - Raw turkey necks in the meat grinder at dinnertime. They had better rain parkas then I did.

The Culinary Phase - Utensils, cookware, and spices that are used for one specific food.

Though I jest, I ultimately benefited by osmosis and inclusion in these. The older and more parental I get, I see these less as something to poke fun at and more like something to consider for myself. In your 20s, your hobbies are socializing. You go out, meet up, end up at their apartments until the wee hours. Then people start to move away or move on and while you're still friends with these people, they don't exactly make into your calendar as often. Not that I ever kept a calendar. Then, what do you do with yourself? Of course, you play with your kids and take them places. We even took her to a few parties and she did great! But the mind seeks more stimulation than Merry-go-rounds, Pooh, and zoos can offer. I can see how men turn to obsessing over sports or playing golf. There's distraction, activity, and camaraderie all rolled up into one. I'm not a big fan of sports or golf or model trains .... yet. I guess my father gets extra points for keeping his hobbies interesting. Aside from socializing and perhaps acoustic guitar, I can't think of many things I've done that qualify as a hobby - unless you count acting off-off Broadway. I scuba dive, but only on warm vacations. We traveled a bit, but can't as much now. So what it boils down to is I Need A Hobby. For now, it needs to be inexpensive, not keep me from home, and feed my brain. The banjo? Violin? Smoking meats? Yodeling? Pimp?

Stoopid Doctors

In our litigious society where people sue because their coffee was too hot or their kids are too fat, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised when a doctor goes to DEFCON 1 when perfectly natural, explainable things happen during a pregnancy. Case in point: Yesterday Katrina went to her doctor for the now bi-weekly visit. Well, to be fair, it wasn't her normal doctor. At these visits, sometimes they do an ultrasound and other times they just have a chat or keep it simple, like a blood pressure check and a quick "How ya Feelin'." This time, the doctor used a stethoscope to check the baby's heart rate, which typically runs around 140 bpm. However, she noticed that the heart rate slowed down and then would go back up again. This happened twice. The doctor then said that she wanted Katrina to go to the hospital immediately and wanted to call an ambulance. However, our toddler was with her so that wasn't really an option. More stress icing came next when she stated 'if you need to deliver tonight, the baby is a good weight and will survive'. Jesus H. Tapdancing Christ! That's a load.

I got a frantic phone call as I was in a Falafel joint, getting dinner for everyone, at around 7pm. Since Katrina was going to, at the very least, be strapped to a fetal monitor for several hours, she sped from the doctor to pick me up at a tactical location. My job: Toddler Wrangler. We all go to the hospital and apparently no one was aware that we were coming. After waiting around for about 15 minutes, I mention to someone that the word "Ambulance!" was used by her doctor. Then I had their attention.

Much to my annoyance, the initial doctor never told Katrina how much the fetal heart rate was dipping. So we really had no idea how much of an emergency this was. What we weren't told until much later at the hospital, was that a heart rate dip can occur if the fetus is gripping or lying the umbilical cord. And the kicker, "It happens all the time."

By now, we had been there several hours and they still had Katrina on a restricted diet. That is, a diet of absolutely nothing. The Nothing Diet. They claimed that if they need to do an emergency c-section, she can't have food. Mind you, the entire time we're there, the baby's heart rate never dipped again. But the lack of food and drink was starting to show it's wear. As it turns out, stress and dehydration and starvation can cause CONTRACTIONS. Internal examinations followed to check for dilation. So now we're stuck there even longer because they want to monitor those. The very act of being treated and monitored created more problems then when we went in. I had Katrina's dinner with me, but they wouldn't let me give it her. Since she wasn't allowed to eat with her mouth, they decided it would be best to let her eat with her veins. They propped up this gimundo IV bag and put it on free flow. Now this chemical teat is making Katrina very cold as her body doesn't have enough time to warm the fluid to 98.6 with the new fluid piling in on top of it. Blankets please! This, of course, makes the contractions go away after about 20 minutes.

Throughout the evening, I'm trying to keep Alina off of Mommy's bed with various food distractions and whatever was on Cartoon Network. At night as some of you know, Cartoon Network turns into a very strange place. Courage the Cowardly Dog is uber-trippy and not terribly appropriate for a toddler, but that's why it's on late. Imagine Fantasia meets Ren & Stimpy. On top of everything else, my cell phone was vibrating non-stop and the room phone was ringing off the hook. Various grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc were trying to get the latest news. The nurses started getting annoyed and told us to tell them not to call anymore at this hour. They don't have a receptionist and answer the phone themselves - taking time away from patients.

I've mentioned in a post titled 'Lamazarific' that labor and delivery rooms have bright theater lighting. One thing I geeked out on was that they're controlled remotely with a strobe wand. The lights point and focus to wherever the strobe is. It was very hard not to play with this when the nurses left the room.

There was probably a 0.005% chance that an emergency c-section would result and I guess that's why doctors were prescribing these tactics over the phone. We never actually saw anyone but nurses. But I always find that doctors, particularly OBGYNs, err on the side of Let's Not Get Sued. After going through all that bullshit and getting out at 12:30am (Alina still awake), we got the professional prescription of "Rest and plenty of fluids". Wow, really?? Do I sound bitter? Yeah, I thought so.

Dad vs The Fruit Fly

Is there an apple under my couch somewhere? Is there something unholy going on inside our potted plant? The vegetable eating iguana? The fishes? The cat? The flowers? Where do they come from and why are they here?? DIE! I've been doing battle with these little fuckers morning and night. Sometimes the wife just doesn't understand why I get so insane during battle. It's because it's BATTLE. I get to kill things! And sometimes it's the best part of my day after the long monotonous sludge that is the E Train and a Human Resources career.

My methods of fruity genocide have have varied over the weeks. We started out just clapping our hands at them as if they were mosquitoes. Even Alina got into it, saying "I got the bug!" after clapping her hands, even though she didn't. Just useless, this two-year old is sometimes - time to start carrying some weight, kid. So hand clapping was futile. They're just too fast. Lysol and/or citrus room spray was effective in dropping them but it got too extreme on the lungs and eyes. "Ahh! It burns!" Lysol with a lighter - now that was fun but inefficient and let's be honest, dangerous. Every teenage boy had a pyro period. It was fun to re-visit. Next, I tried a vacuum to suck them out of the air using the narrow hose attachment. Also fun, but limiting because of the power cord and I couldn't tell if they actually DIE DIE! Wielding a half roll of paper towels came next. It equipped me with not only a killing tool but a cleanup supply as well. These things bleed red! Hell, as long as it's theirs. It took a great deal of focus to wind up enough speed and accuracy to do the deed correctly. I felt like that spirit on the subway in "Ghost" who could move things with his mind if he concentrated enough. "All your love, all your anger, all your hate and you let it EXPLODE LIKE A REACTOR!" If you go too slow, you miss. Then my mother showed up with a metal mesh fly swatter. So....simple, so fast. But, as I mentioned, they leave a mark. The solution, which brings me to the present, is to scare them off the wall or ceiling and then swat in mid-air. They either get stuck in the mesh and DIE on impact or they get sent across the room and DIE DIE DIE! I try to send them in the same direction, which is evident if you look in our bathtub or on that big yellow stuffed bunny in the corner of the dining room. We'll probably need to burn that thing .... with Lysol and a lighter perhaps.

Name Wars

The date for the C-Section has been selected. July 21, 2008. Kind of odd selecting someone's birthday ahead of time. If you place any stock in the Zodiac, it could mean the difference between having a child that's tenacious, intuitive, and moody versus one that's creative, fun-loving, and bossy - i.e. Cancer vs Leo (which starts July 23). Of course, this all goes under the presumption of Katrina not going into labor by herself or they don't postpone it. Alina was actually 5 days early.

We must be getting close. I'm already being hounded about all that's left to buy - extra carseat, crib and/or bassinet, stroller, etc. But we still can't come to an agreement as to what the name will be. Since (we've) made the decision not to find out the sex, our work is doubly hard. She picks very nice first names, but doesn't consider how it will sound with our last name: Sebastian, Violet, and Claire are some of the ones she floated recently that I quickly shot down. And she'll come up with ones that rhyme with Alina, not realizing it.

She too has knocked down my recent suggestions of Everett, Hannah, & Harper just as quickly. I've got a couple more in my sleeve that I won't reveal to anyone but Katrina for reasons discussed previously. Mostly because I really like them and don't want any influence to tell me otherwise - especially family. If you're floating names before the baby comes, people feel free to bash openly. Once it's born, they can't say shit - at least not to my face. Suffice is to say, I'm still fighting for my pocketed names. They're pretty flexible. One of them can go male or female and the other can be shortened in 3 ways that sound like names themselves.

We typically don't require much justification for shooting each other down. A audible "yeesh" is usually enough. Sometimes we invoke the popularity clause. If it's too popular according to ssa.gov, it gets shot down. As you can see, I know how to put the anal in "over analyze".

Blogadultery

Once in a while, I cheat on my blog and write on another. It's supposed to be about NYC so take it from that perspective. I wanted to put this here, because the site may go down soon and it was something I actually took time doing.

A View of the Universe + One Month Security

All New York conversations eventually turn to Real Estate. It usually comes before the weather, but after you’ve bragged about that new restaurant find. You know, that cool and cute little Thai place that will eventually get too crowded, become uncool, get more expensive, and dwindle in culinary quality? We’re all about Real Estate because most of us are always moving. Either it’s because our rent for that one-bedroom with the one-ass kitchen has been hiked to $3200, or the neighborhood changes beneath your feet and it no longer holds the same appeal. The Scene. Case in point, chain stores in the East Village (you’re DEAD to me, East Village) or the Trust Fund Ghetto that has become Williamsburg, Brooklyn (I didn’t have enough ironic t-shirts). I don’t know whether to think of The New York Apartment as a natural resource or an 80-year old prostitute. We’re always on the prowl for the new up-and-coming neighborhood, building, or rent-stabilized unit. The latter is more akin to a Sasquatch, White Whale, and endangered species all rolled up into one.

There are very few native New Yorkers in New York so perhaps we’re transient by nature - molting our apartments like crustaceans. Hoping the landlords have paid to paint our new shells. There’s no real sense of home with fond bygone memories. Nothing invested because you’re a lifelong renter. So we scuttle from place to place and it’s never easy. We put ourselves through the misery of moving, often several times per decade or more. It could be the square footage, but you’ll just buy more stuff and need more space later. You may love the view, but chances are a luxury monolith will stymie your skyline vista eventually. Aesthetics? They got those marble counter tops at Home Depot just like everyone else - why have that translate to more rent? Schools? If you’re really concerned about education, you’re either moving to the suburbs or staying in the city and forking out kindergarten tuition. Wouldn’t it be nice if that phrase was an oxymoron?

We all have our methods and tricks to the moving madness. Some go to Craigslist.org, the New York Bible. Bonus: Our Bible has used furniture and casual encounter sections. Jealous? Others enlist scads of brokers to pounce on vacancies and show them like a proud kitty with a dead mouse. Though when I say the word ‘broker’, I usually spit on the ground to get the taste out. But that’s just me right? There are lotteries you can apply for and sweat through. Maybe your name will come up you’ll get that condo in the newly gentrified neighborhood. I hear South Harlem is being called SoHa in Real Estate circles. Too. Damn. Funny.

We have a symbiotic relationship with our city. It moves and we counter. Long after the spread has reached far and wide and the latest opulent high-rise looms twenty feet from JFK airport, New Yorkers will still be accessing the classified ads via the chip in their brain or any other means possible. In the land with limited open space, we create our universe of peace and self between exposed brick and drywall. There is no one like us. We like sushi and barbecue, we simultaneously trend set and trend scoff, we ride four subways to work by day and join pillow fight leagues by night. Don’t try to understand us. We fly the flag of New York City.

Lazy Dad Roundup

Whenever we leave the apartment she asks "Do you have your keys?"

Whenever I drop something or there's a loud noise, I hear from the other room "Are you okay?"

A bevy of YouTube videos are posted HERE.

Her first movie in a theater was officially Horton Hears a Who. The only thing she buried her face in my chest for was the previews. They're often fast and loud.

Katrina went up to Connecticut to have dinner with some old friends. While she was gone, we got messy. Paint and water were everywhere:

We went to Coney Island this past weekend. Astroland got their demolition delayed for another summer. She was finally tall enough to do some of these rides alone. Though technically she really shouldn't be that tall. At least she knows enough to stay seated and keep her belt on.

Buy Buy $Daycare$

From now until the end of Katrina's maternity leave, which starts sometime in late July, Alina will no longer be in a daycare. That's $1,344 a month I won't miss shelling out. As I've mentioned before, Katrina doesn't get paid to be on maternity leave (USA! USA!) so, like before, we're socking away. Alina's daycare made that a very slow process. So now the week looks like this: Katrina is home one day, my mother comes over one day from NJ, my uncle & aunt come over two days, and I take her into the city one day.

My one day is taking her to a daycare center across the street from my job. My company has a Backup Daycare benefit through Bright Horizons where I get 20 days a year either put her in a facility or someone comes over. The subway rides in the morning have been interesting. We get her psyched up by telling her all about going on the choo choo train. Anyone who has been on a subway during morning rush can tell you that it's not quite as romantic as a real Choo Choo. We either get dropped off at the station by Katrina or a taxi, depending on what time she has to be at work. Otherwise, it's a mile walk/stroll. So far, I'm against strollers on the subway. Too much to deal with between stairs, her bag, and herself. The first time we commuted, we took the E express train and stood for part of the time. She held both my hands, standing in front of me as I pressed my back against the side door. Occasionally she'd look up at me a little concerned and then eventually smile. At the first stop, someone got up and we sat down. I guess I have to have boobs to get offered a seat. She'd alternate between sitting in my lap with her thumb in her mouth and standing on my lap looking at posters. I need a Purell pump strapped to my ankle though. She wants to touch everything and it's not a matter of thinking there were filthy people sitting there before you. You KNOW there were filthy people there before you. The 2nd time we commuted, we took the V local train. It takes longer but we're the first stop so all the seats are empty. Besides saying "slow down" to the train, Alina got a little impatient towards the end. Every time the doors opened she'd look up at me and say "All done?" So we counted down on our fingers how many stops were left.

The actual facility I take her to is fantastic and the staff couldn't be nicer. They have separate areas for each age group and NO TV. But like a real, legal daycare, I have many many forms to fill out. And one extra form each time I show up asking me if she's toilet trained, how she goes to sleep, any special objects we brought like a blanket, what food I brought. Everything has to be labeled and we needed to provide pictures and medical histories, etc. I've filled out less forms buying a car.

Disney's Happy Endings

No, this isn't a post about good 'ol Walt and his interludes with Thai hookers. Though that probably happened too. This is about a series of short books that Disney put out using their classic characters and calling it "Happy Endings". These books are for small kids, thus the cardboard pages, and the set that we got as a present includes Cinderella, Beauty & The Beast, and Snow White. It even comes with a CD so one can listen to whimsical music while reading.

Now allow me to point out the ridiculous, especially with the book titled "Snow White: A New Beginning". The 17-page (two sentences on each) story opens thusly:

"Snow White was a lovely princess who lived in a castle. She was kind and generous, and her heart was filled with joy." - Okay, that sounds Disney-ish, right? She has to run into the forest to escape the Queen's evil plans. We don't know what plans those are, but who cares? There are dwarfs to meet, after all. So she sings to some birds and rabbits and finds the dwarf cottage. She cleans the dwarf cottage and falls asleep in their beds. You remembering this so far? The (now nameless) dwarfs come home and "decide to let her stay". I'm not skipping around here. They really cut to the chase. The last three pages go like this:

"The cottage was transformed! Every night, the Dwarfs would sing and play their instruments for Snow White. The Dwarfs were glad to have Snow White live with them. Because of her great kindness, the Dwarfs soon came to love Snow White."

"Snow White was so happy to have found the Dwarfs. When she first ran off into the woods, she had cried, as anyone would. But she didn't give up, and she found a new home."

"In time, Snow White left the Dwarfs to marry a prince. But she often thought of her dear friends in the woods!"

The End? That's It?? No apple, no mirror mirror, no witch, no dying, no saving kiss??? What's the point of this book???? I'll grant you that the witch in Snow White is arguably the scariest antagonist in all of Disney Cinema. But why change it that much, with all the titles available to make into books. I mean, they all have happy endings anyway. But they've reduced this to a story about girl who runs away, moves in with seven men, and cleans up after them. Oh and by the way, one day she marries a prince.

I shudder to think what other stories will get the same short shrift treatment. One day, George Bailey was sad on Christmas. But then his neighbors came over and his daughter played the piano and everyone was singing and happy and George realized that he really did have A Wonderful Life.

Technology!

20-week (ish) 3-D ultrasound

Terrible Twos: It Begins

Favorite New Sentence:
"No I don't wike it."

Favorite New Word/Phrase:
"Now" and "Right Now"

Favorite New Game:
Objects in mouth then run away laughing as we say "Spit that out!"

Favorite New Sound:
Ear piercing scream to scare the cat.

Caught a crying/fretting practice session in the mirror. She walks up to the front closet which has a floor length mirror on it. She puts her hands up to her eyes, pouts, and says "a-hoo a-hoo". Faker!

Now she rats us out to one another. For example, Alina came up to me and said "Daddy! Mommy pushed." She had been attempting to climb the windowsill and Katrina removed her from it. Informant!

Horrible, Horrible Freedom

I went to Portland, Oregon last week to visit some close friends that moved out there over the summer. I also got a chance to see an old High School friend as well. The operative word here is "I" because the journey was embarked upon entirely by myself. That's right! I left the toddler and the pregnant wife at home - and they say chivalry is dead?

The reality of it was that the trip was planned a while ago, initially slotted for the Spring. I was waiting for the weather to get nice and for my Corporate AmEx to accrue enough points to convert into a plane ticket. The points came through early because no one at my job likes to use their AmEx and the new baby on the way made a Spring departure more complicated. We decided that the ideal time for me to go would be during the early 2nd trimester. By then, Katrina doesn't have morning sickness anymore and she's not uncomfortably big. I left on a late Wednesday and came back on an early Tuesday so she'd have weekend assistance and not 5 straight days of single parenthood. It also became apparent that if I didn't go soon, I wouldn't be going anytime in the foreseeable future. Leaving a mom with TWO little kids is a bit of a dick move.

There. Now that I've got my justifications all lined up it's time to say how awesome it was!

The house I stayed at was on Hawthorne Blvd in the Southeast section of Portland. It was very much like the Village/Williamsburg Brooklyn of Portland. The major difference being the less pretentious hipsters. Brooklyn Hipsters look homeless from the neck up and wear $300 jeans with a 27" waist. Portland Hipsters look homeless all over and aren't quite as emaciated. They're big on used clothes, a-hem, I mean "vintage". I've never seen so many used stores in one place. And it's not just clothes. There's furniture, miles of books, electronics, bikes, movies, those giant 70s era porcelain ashtrays with the fifteen divots - when you want everyone to smoke. One store, House of Vintage, is literally 13,000 square feet. There were a lot of dogs and a lot of bikes. Even bike racks on the front of the city bus. Friendliest service ever. From the gas attendant to the waiters, everyone was super nice. Best oysters ever - actually ordered seconds for dessert much to the amazement of my gracious hosts. And oysters are always more fun in Shooter form - in a shot glass with cocktail sauce and lemon juice. I enjoyed the unique venues like the Bagdad where one can have dinner, then move into the $3 theater with a beer in tow - the seating rows all having tables and service.

Then there was nature. Mount Hood, Multnomah Falls, and Roslyn Lake Park:







Note to anyone thinking of walking to the top of Multnomah Falls - the 2nd largest waterfall in the U.S. - you can't see the waterfall from there! I guess we kinda knew that, huffing and sweating uphill for a mile on switchback trails, but at the time we had a "because it's there" attitude. That was quickly replaced with "Why the fuck did we walk up here?" But, now we have stories, I suppose. I think my hosts got their nature fill to the point where the sight of a babbling brook induces cold sweat and heart palpitations. They're still asphalt people.

What did I learn from this time away (other than that I still have an annoyingly high tolerance to alcohol)? I realized that I hadn't yet become a programmed parent. I didn't wake up and feel weird not having a diaper to change or bottle to warm up. Nor did I feel relieved. I missed everyone at home a lot, but you may have trouble convincing my hormonal wife of that. Sometimes we only spoke once a day. The time difference proved to be challenging when it was time to say Goodnight to Alina. Now Katrina needs a spa weekend to be fair, but she gets the DTs when she overnights away from her little one(s). Maybe after she stops breastfeeding so she can eat sushi and bathe in Pinot Noir.

Kiddie Party!

I Hate Your Kid

That's right. Your little A.D.D. punk annoys the shit out of me. If they're not muscling their way between a toy and my kid, they're throwing things indiscriminately that end up hitting her. At a birthday party, they'll sneeze on a table full of food and open presents that aren't theirs. We need to revert to the days when jungle gyms were made of steel and action figures were made of iron. This way, when they get out of line, they'll get injured like they're supposed to - like our Forefathers!. Thin the herd, let them experience consequences. Keep those kids in traction so the rest of us can have some fun. These days, if a kid is doing something they're not supposed to at a playground and takes a spill as a result, there's no repercussion because there's no cement. The ground is made of sponges! By that same logic, we should all put helmets on our kids and have them beat each other with styrofoam mallets. This way, they learn that violence is fun and nothing bad really happens.

We make crayons and paste non-toxic but they eat Lucky Charms and Fluff. We complain that their education system is screwed up while they watch yet another 2-hour American Idol. It's coddling, hypocrisy, and laziness all rolled up into one and it's flavored with Rockin' Blue Raspberry.

Man up (or woman up) and be a fucking parent. I know it was fun when they were all cute and squishy and didn't roll over, but those days are gone. Get to work, people. Your kids are pissing me off and I'm going to start tripping them when you're not looking - which is basically all the time.

Baby #2 Update

I haven't been writing very much about Baby #2. Mostly because I already wrote about Katrina being pregnant and it has roughly been the same experience so far - retch, sleep, eat. A few different cravings and saving graces. Pancakes seem to be only carry-over from the last pregnancy that has yet to wrong Katrina's affinity for nausea. I don't even know what week she's in unless I think really hard about it. I used to be able to spout that statistic at any time of the day. Her tummy did pop a bit earlier this time, so that was new. For the record, we're in the second trimester now and will be doing the sonographical counting of fingers and toes in a couple of weeks - Week 20 of 40.

One thing that is changing is finding out the sex. She doesn't want to know, thus I don't want to know. My argument for knowing has always been that giving birth has enough unknowns, surprises, and complications. Why add another? I thought about complaining, but what can I do? In a stalemate such as this, tie goes to the runner. She's carrying it, I'm not. My sister was mortified by this choice because she has a garage full of blue and pink baby clothes, some of which we originally gave her. She is dying to send us a few boxes to clear some space, but can't until the baby is born. Thus, the first thing out of Katrina's mouth when she sees a doctor or technician has to be IDONTWANNAKNOW, as they have a history of slipping up a pronoun once in a while. He, I mean, It is doing fine.

We've also decided not to disclose our name choices. This pregnancy is already shrouded in mystery, ain't it? So, why did we decide this? First, it seemed that every time we decided on one, a virtual Fibber McGee's closet full of babies with the same name came crashing down upon us. Initially, we had a pretty good footing with the name Zoe Mae. In the weeks to follow, we met girls, boys, even dogs with the name and we just fell out of love with it after that. Secondly, everybody's got an opinion. And unless they're pointing out a fatal mockery-laden flaw embedded within the name that I may have missed, like converting Jackson Aronoff to JackOff, then I don't want to hear it. I'll even hear people say, "I know someone with that name and they're an asshole." Mmmkay thanks - I'll remember that in case I meet your friend one day and need him to save me a spot in line or something.

Of course, if you were to hear it from Katrina, she'd tell you that this pregnancy is very different this time around because she has to chase around a 2-year old. She gets tired fast. My usual response is, "Well stop chasing her then." Though I think when she says chasing, she's talking more about bookending her day by racing to and from daycare drop-offs and pickups while working 10 hours. Then when we're home it's make dinner, eat it, bathtime, stories, bottle, brush teeth, fix lunch for next day, dishwasher - oh look it's 11pm - CRASH!

Aarrrrggghh

I'm ...... planning a birthday party for a two-year old. It's .... cough ..... getting out of hand. Twennnty Seven .... people. People! Help! Gawwwwwwwd

Mini Therapist

Alina saw that her daddy was visibly upset. To make him feel better, she took him by the hand saying, "C'mon, Daddy. C'mon, Daddy" and brought him around the apartment to see all the pets. First, she led him to the fishtank and said, "Wook, Daddy. Fishies!" Next, she gleefully pulled him towards the acrylic enclosure that housed Ecko, the iguana. "Wook, Daddy. Ecko!" Then she tracked down the cat, Embers. "Wook, Daddy. Embers! Kitty!" She smiled. It worked. He felt a lot better.

The first time you save your kid's life, you feel grandiose. A true feat of heroism. She almost fell off the bed, afterall. Bad things could've happened had you not grabbed her ankle. After the 50th time you save your kid's life, you don't even think about it, except maybe to think, "I really wish this kid would stop almost dying. It's getting old." Your virtuous pomp is replaced by a nonchalant glaze. You could even do it while talking on the phone and carrying a plate of corn on the cob. "I'll take that Xacto knife, thank you very much."

Then there's that one time - perhaps #63. That one time when it's just too close and the results could've been worse than you can imagine. Then you can imagine it and you just lose it. Right there at the mailbox.

But ...

How can I be upset when I have all these pets? Right, Alina?

Regressing For A Day

Happy Birthday to me ..... Everybody Out! That was about the extent of the first half of the day. The plan was rest and no responsibility for 8 whole hours. Unfortunately I had an appointment in the mid-afternoon so it wasn't a complete success. But, I found myself in the West Village, which is a nice area to walk around during the week when there aren't many people. Ah, a Gray's Papaya hot dog on a cold day with a papaya "drink" - legally I don't think they can call it juice.

Later that night, Alina brought me a slice of cake with a candle in it. She has gotten very good at that song. Well, it is only four words. Katrina smartly bought just a slice and not a whole cake, but we all shared in its strawberryness. It was interesting to note how messy our apartment gets after one day of not cleaning it, since I took the day off both professionally and personally. It was like we had a poltergeist.

Alina is turning two in a couple of weeks. I have very little to do with the festivities, but noticed that a lot of stamps were gone so apparently people are coming. Remember party bags? I sure didn't. And I even feel downright annoyed that I have to provide sweets and gifts for cretanous mini creatures that I've never met. Both at daycare and at her actual party. I guess it could be worse - like renting a petting zoo and cleaning up goat shit or something. Winter birthdays rule.

Ad Nauseam. In 4-D!

Two dimensions wasn't enough. Three dimensions? Surely you jest. America wants FOUR dimensions! We went to an aquarium in Norwalk, CT over the weekend and they had this 5-minute ride/movie featuring Spongebob. You know, because it's an aquarium and Spongebob .... lives in the ocean. It's about as appropriate as having a My Little Pony ride at a Rodeo. Anyway, the ride consists of you sitting in this box with about 20 other people and watch a 3-D movie while your chairs throw you about to simulate the corresponding screen action. The goal is to give you the feel of being there. I guess the thwacking about is the 4th dimension. While I love roller coasters and any carnival-variety spin n' barf ride, I typically don't do well on these things. I guess it has something to do with the randomness of it and not seeing the path of movement ahead of time.

While I was parking the car, Katrina bought tickets to this ride. She's pregnant, Alina's is one, and I traditionally hate these things so I couldn't figure out why we were fated to do this. I was later informed that the warnings about the ride aren't posted where you buy the ticket, just at the ride itself. It's more of a legal disclaimer than a warning. Everyone is trying to cover their ass from getting sued. Please do not ride if you're pregnant, experience motion sickness, have heart conditions, back/neck problems, vertigo, ingrown toenails, hemmoroids, ocular bleeding, fisticuffs, nipple splinters, and the list goes on...

Then, we heard that you can choose to have your seat turned off, so you wouldn't have to experience what yet another sign called "Violent, Aggressive Movements". My fears were suddenly replaced with the eagerness to see Alina watch a 3-D movie for the first time. We were able to have both our chairs silenced, as they could only do it in pairs.

Surprisingly, Alina kept the glasses on despite them being too big for her head. I didn't really watch the movie - something about a pickle falling out of a Crabby Patty and getting away. When the first 3-D reach-out-and-touch-it moment happened, Alina put one hand on the side of her head and the other over her nose and said "Oh No!" Like, she wanted to cover her eyes but also couldn't look away. All around us, people in their chairs were being gimbaled and thrown about in a way that made me very happy that we weren't one of them. That action, combined with the 3-D, overtly loud speakers, and real bubbles being released completely turned reality on its head (in the eyes of a nearly two-year old). What world must this have been? Unfortunately, Spongebob and his pals had to be attacked by a robot with a circular saw for one arm. "We've clearly descended into hell," I thought. It was over fast enough. She didn't seem to hate it as much as I thought. The lights came up and she yelled "Bubbles!" as they were still floating around. Then, had a bunch of incoherent stories to tell Mommy who was waiting outside for us. So, I guess now we have to wait for the 5th dimension, where they skip the lines and the tactile, blunt-force experience and just download the ride directly into your brain.

She threw up about two hours after, but that later proved to be unrelated to the ride. But it did shed some light on how little she actually chews her food. Whole Penne pasta and clementine slices? Reminds me of a dog I once had.

3-D hangover baby below:

Sanjay Claus

Mom and Babe were at our local pizza place tonight, when an Indian Sikh with a full beard and purple turban walks in. Alina, perks up, runs over to him and yells:

"SANTA! Hi Santa! Look, Mommy! Santa! How are you, Santa?!"

The man just smiles. Katrina, trying to prevent tomato sauce from shooting out of her nose, decides to put another foot in our family's mouth by pointing at his turban and saying, "She likes your hat."

Here is an artist's rendering:

I'm No Gandalf

Once in a while, we begrudgingly make the trek up the Van Wyck Expressway to Babies r Us. It's a place I don't really like going, especially on a weekend, being nestled with a BJ's, Target, etc, making the approach and parking situation quite heinous. Sometimes we have no other choice when we need something very specific. This past Sunday was one of those times. We needed to buy nipples for Medela bottles and have yet to see them sold anywhere else. Luckily, we're seasoned veterans and don't need to speak to any of the clueless staff. Really, you'd think they'd hire someone who had a basic knowledge of anything they were selling. An abundance of choice tends to paralyze the average consumer, paired with the fact that new parents and parents-to-be are typically brain dead. When faced with 27 brands of car seats, sometimes you want to speak to a sales person.

Like the new Trader Joe's that opened around the corner from us (YES!), it's virtually impossible to leave Babies r Us once you find what you went there for. After all, you wrestled your way into the place. It'd be a shame to wait on line just for nipples. So while Mama was looking at hats on sale, the wee and I abused the furniture. Alina wanted to get into every crib and play with the mobiles, jump around. I was hoping someone would yell at us, as I was in the mood to win an argument. Alas, no one challenged. Ho hum. I've never been a particularly rowdy or disrespectful person, but I'm finding that being parent has made less inclined to placate the general public.

I felt like an elder statesman seeing all the pale-faced, shell shocked, bewildered people roaming the canyon-like aisles. I was them once. Some were pregnant, some had infants, all looked mildly terrified. Did I impart my Wisdom onto these draftees? Nope, that's their journey. And besides, a parent's unsolicited opinion is a big pet peeve of mine. Alas, there is no Oracle when it comes to baby consumer products (especially not in Babies r Us), so one's source of knowledge is usually other parents. So, I just sit back and watch the mayhem. I watch the woman who can't choose between angled bottles and Dr. Brown's ones that allegedly prevent spitting up. I see the couple argue about a swing that doesn't allow side-to-side motion and back-and-forth. I examine the Auntie that flips through every book on the shelf to find the one that will make her niece a genius. Then there's the Dad who is testing the infant mattresses to see which one is more comfortable. Okay, Ready?

- Dr. Browns doesn't do shit and they're really hard to clean
- Your kid may not even like swings in the first place
- It's not the book, it's how often you read to them
- Your kid weighs less than you, Mr. Mattress tester

Of course, my self aggrandizing attitude towards new parents is limited to just new parents. Someone with a couple of 10-year olds probably looks at me the same way, thinking, "Dude, you have no idea."

New Year's Rockin' Eve

12/31/07 11:06 PM

As you may have deduced from this photo, things are a bit laid back this year. My mother-in-law even came down to watch Alina so we could go out and we didn't take her up on it. THAT'S how much we didn't feel like going out tonight. Katrina's weekend of retching probably didn't help the motivation factor. Maybe I should try and take on that bottle of Veuve just to balance out the party universe.

My one regret from 2007: That "L. Ron Hubtards" never took off as a catch phrase to describe those Dianetics people who give stress tests and Scientology books in subway stations around the city. It seemed promising.

I mUsT BE sHROomming

Alina just grabbed the Cinderella DVD off the dining table, brought it over to the player, removed the movie that was in there, replaced it with her selection, and hit play (after a few unsuccessful attempts at hitting the pause button). Then, did a little dance and yelled out 'Rella 'Rella! when it started. I didn't really want her to watch TV at the time, but how could I say no to that??! It would be like getting nearly to the top of a hill and having me make you go back down before reaching the top. So, I decided to keep the carpet firmly under her feet tonight.

The prideful and horrified father in me is reminding the intrepid readers that she isn't even Two until mid-February.

Attention Shoppers - Everything Blows

Alina is still at that age where we can take her with us when we're Christmas shopping for her presents. Since she has five spoiling grandparents and we're saving for Baby #2, we personally felt going present crazy with her was ill-advised. We've seen other people's homes and how easily the kiddie fodder can pile up. Hey, Santa gets all the credit anyway. Justification, check! We went to KB Toys with her, which was like walking into a junkyard - mostly because the ransacking that had already taken place. Once you swept past the toys dipped in lead-based paint, Dora, Spongebob, Barbie, and Transformers, there isn't much left. They actually had child-size boxing gloves! Not the novelty inflatable kind, but actual boxing gloves. I want to meet the family that settles sibling disputes with these. "Tape up your wrists, Timmy. You and your brother are stepping into The Octagon." Then there were kids who seemed to be tasked to pick out their own Christmas presents and hand them to their parents to buy. Lets hope that trend doesn't catch on.

For this adventure, one of us would walk through the store, making mental notes of what we like, while the other monitors Alina as she wades through the vast piles and corridors of things that go bleep blop bloop.


We ended up buying a 7'x7' bouncy house. It inflates in 30 seconds and will fit rather nicely in our kitchen, when needed. I guess it could be used to tire out the kiddies while we cook dinner. Either that or cockfighting.

Phew! Just One Yolk

Oh thank you thank you thank you thank you. Okay, so there's only ONE baby cooking right now. The ultrasound was this afternoon. It's still looking like late July. They say Katrina is 8 weeks and 3 days pregnant. Apparently they can tell. I think it's more like 7 weeks. But what do I know? I'm just the person who put it there.

They saw the heartbeat and everything is looking good. They actually asked Katrina if she was going to have more than four kids! You ever have have one of those moments when your throat closes up for no reason and won't allow air in? That's about where I was when I heard this. But they ask because Alina was a C-Section and this one will most likely be one too. Ultimately, they can't keep doing it lest you be left with a uterus that resembles something from Freddy Krueger's Juggling School.

Alina was in attendance but slept through the whole process. In about two months, we're going to have to break the news to her that mommy isn't allowed to pick her up anymore. Doctor's orders. Toddlers also have a tendency to jump on their parents stomachs without provocation. I'll try my best to remember my defensive tackle moves from high school football. We also need to get her out of diapers soon. I'm off work from December 22nd to January 1st, so it's going to be Potty Boot Camp. Maybe I should roll up the carpets.

Pregnant Again!

Bet that title spiced up your RSS feeds this day.

Just when I thought I was running out of things to talk about in this place. I mean, how much can one read about my delightful and genius daughter? It's still very early, about six weeks. We've known since before Thanksgiving and our first ultrasound is on December 12th. I know we're supposed to wait to tell people, but I really couldn't bring myself to write about anything else. How could I?

So this time around, the PeePee Wand of Life Altering Delirium (pregnancy test) was handed to me by Alina. Her mom with the all-knowing grin in the background. She approached in what seemed to be in slow motion. I had a feeling it might be happening, but Katrina actually took the test without telling me. I was wondering why she had initiated that group hug. I mean, I didn't do the dishes or anything. Oddly enough, I was making fish and mushrooms that night. Two things that are now off her menu, of course. And, as a result, was one of the first things I uttered after looking at the little blue plus sign on said Wand. I smiled, said Ohmigod, and then asked why she let me make fish.

Was it planned? Not yet. The plan was to start trying again this summer. So, she or he is a little early. The downside here is that Katrina will be barfing through the holidays and in her third trimester in the summer. Ick. Katrina was born in late August and her mother regails us with tales of showering twice a day and being very hot. If everything goes smoothly, we're looking at a late July baby. And, just like last time, Katrina's symptoms started up about 36 hours later. With the first pregnancy, her morning (noon & evening) sickness lasted for the first 15 weeks. Now we make three dinners at night. Mine, Hers, and Little Hers.

Naturally, I'm excited and freaking out. Thus far, every parent who knows about the second baby has said the same thing: You just make it work, everyone does. Last time it was easy to save money, we had no daycare expenses. But we spend $1300 a month on daycare. Yes, really. Which brings me to the other reason why we were going to wait until the summer. By the time (or if) Katrina went back to work, Alina would be starting school and there wouldn't be two kids in daycare at once. So I guess the making it work part will have something to do with ditching traditional daycare and onto Au Pairs, Babysitters, etc. That's how my parents did it. That's why I can count to ten in Finnish.

I was walking by Alina's room last month, about a week before this news broke, and saw her there sitting on the carpet with her jammies on, reading a story. So cute and quiet, yet sad. I thought to myself, "She really needs a sibling." Be careful what you wish for, papa! But, she needs someone to chase around, have a pillow fight with, bunkbeds, etc. They'll be two-and-a-half years apart, about the same as my sister and I. So hopefully they'll be very close. I think Alina will make a great big sister. She already puts her toys to bed, rubs their head, and tells me Shhhhhhhhhh. It's a good start.

So keep your fingers crossed for our doctor's appointment next week - and don't even say the word Twins.

Please Stop Growing

These photos are almost exactly one year apart and taken in the same place.

November 2006

November 2007

On Vacation

We went to our timeshare in Florida again. It feels like I just wrote about this. It was a year ago. Great weather, with the exception of about two hours which yielded the photo above. I think that sense of deja vu is what kept us from taking too many photos. Of course, I haven't really looked at them yet because my friggin' computer is down again. Thus the limited posts in November.

We did a drive-thru safari, something that none of us had ever done before. I always avoided them because my car never had Monkey Insurance. I kept hearing these stories where the animals screw with your car. This particular "safari" had most of those creatures moated, with the exception of the Rhinos. You'd think those would be behind something...anything. They tell you not to stop your car near them as they may "inadvertently cause damage to your automobile." Fair enough. But what if the Rhino blocks your exit while his buddies come at you from the side? This is what happened to us. They're slow creatures, so we got to panic for about a minute before we saw a park ranger speeding towards us in her pickup, slapping the outside of her door and beeping her horn to scare them away. I've never seen a Rhino jump before, but this woman was essentially playing chicken with it. She kept speeding towards it and at the last second it leapt out of the way. I tend to do the same with Jaywalkers. They've made their choice!

Little Nemo

Here's a YouTube video that some of you have probably seen of Halloween this year. But, to the rest of the universe:

Gone Fishin'

And she's NEMO! Not a pumpkin!

The Dream Is Over

A lot of you everyones out there won't believe this, but: Up until about a month ago, Alina went to sleep without a fight - Every Night! One of us would sing her a song and we'd say Night Night and put her down in the crib. Simple. She'd roll over and just stay there. Quiet. Content. Drifting. We miss this so. For some reason, ever since we got back from my sister's house in Florida, nighttime has turned into a wrestling match. It may have something to do with the fact that she climbed out of her pack n' play (that's a portable crib to the offspringless) and onto the our adjoining bed while we were down there. I guess she thought, "Hey, I don't have to take this lying down anymore?!"

After asking around, people suggested it was time for a Toddler Bed. So, I took the fourth wall down from her crib and lowered the mattress. Alina's bed was meant to be convertible and even came with a curved slat of wood meant to stave off the rolley polleys onto the floor below. Sometimes she sits up and cries, sometimes she decides the fuzzy blanket on the floor is a better place to sleep, and sometimes she just runs into the living room and yells HI with a wide-eyed grin. I've spent at least one night on her floor using a stuffed duck as a pillow.

Chalk it up to teething, growth spurts, not exercising enough at daycare perhaps? Either way, I guess we're like every other parent now. Dazed rockings and careful escapes on the creaky floor. We didn't really brag when we had the chance. Coming out of her bedroom after three seconds and having someone gasp "She's asleep ALREADY??" was a point of secret pride between Katrina and me. Well, I can still say she can count to ten already. She's only two in February. Take THAT developmental pediatrician chart! Not that it matters that much. By the time she's old enough to go to college, they'll all be downloading lectures off YouTube - education pirating!

Them's Headstones, Not Speedbumps

Taxi drivers are striking because they don't want expensive GPS systems installed in their cars. Besides the cost, drivers are protesting their lack of privacy. Personally, I'm protesting the GPS system because it sucks! Here's a snapshot of the "expensive GPS" while on I-495, aka the Long Island Expressway.


The blue circle represents the taxi and according to the readout, we're driving through a cemetery. While on Lexington Avenue it thought we were on Park Avenue. At first, this wasn't surprising as the GPS in my own car isn't perfect when among tall buildings. The only time the taxi one was accurate was when we were at a stop light in Queens, away from skyscrapers. So, to recap: It doesn't work when you're moving and it doesn't work when you're near buildings ...(??)... way to go TLC!

The Chamber Pot

Katrina likes to order things online and have them sent to my office, as we don't have a doorman to receive packages. Last week, a little potty showed up. As much as I wanted to lament that toilets were being delivered to my office, I had to take the pragmatist stance that it just doesn't fit into our mail slot. I thought for sure it would need batteries or something. However, it turns out the kiddie crapper seems to be the only mainstay of child rearing that hasn't fallen victim to 21st century bells and whistles. No Dora The Explorer Outhouses with flushing sound effects, etc. Cowards. They put their brand on everything else. Montezuma's Revenge comes from Dora's home country, doesn't it? But no, the junior commode is the same as it was thirty years ago. No accessories like plumbed lines, disinfectant pouches, or mini-Charmin.

Apparently, the timing was right for delivery of this thing because Alina used it for the first time, this morning. Katrina had to work at 7am today so everyone was up early. Alina's diaper was dry so Katrina thought that this would be a good time for a test run. She sat her down on it and turned on the faucet. You know, to set the mood. And boo-ya! Success! Deposit! Numero Uno! Good job, baby! Of course, no one will find this nearly as exciting as we did. But I suppose it can be a different answer to the arbitrary 'How was your weekend' question I get at the office.

Mickey Mickey Mickey

Good job, Disney World. You've managed to turn my daughter into a bona fide Mickey-phile without her ever having seen a Mickey Mouse before. Some kid at her daycare loves Mickey mouse merchanidse, I'm told. It was another one of those random discoveries where she saw the iconic mouse among a cavalcade of other characters on the back of a Golden Book at home. Much to our surprise, she pointed to him and yelled "MICKEY!" She did a similar thing to a Barney balloon in a party store a few months ago. The stages of grief as parents are: Shock, Realization That She's Watching TV at Daycare, then the Forehead-Slap With Eyes Closed.

We did Disney World for a day, driving there from my sister's house near Tampa. Bob Barker fans take note: Actual retail price for two adults at Disney - $247! That's just to walk in the gate. We opted to get a "hopper" ticket so we could go to multiple parks during the day, thus inflating the price. We had our reasons. Mostly they had to do with a fish named Nemo. We also thought that it being during the school year, we'd walk on rides fairly easily. Not necessarily the case. Apparently free chicken tenders was enough incentive for parents to pull hundreds of kids from their 'rithmetic. Disney was offering a promotion: Stay at a Disney Resort, get Free Food! Get the wheelbarrow, Cletus!

About half way through the day, after she passed out on the Peter Pan ride, we got her a small Mickey and Minnie. She wouldn't put them down for the rest of the day. The Power of Branding.

Some thoughts on Disney World: Animatronic of Jack Sparrow/Johnny Depp on the Pirates ride was eerily lifelike. When you name a section of your park Tomorrow Land, don't sell prehistoric looking turkey legs there. FastPass to avoid lines - great idea, Walt. Walking in and out of air conditioning and 90 degree heat then getting rained on a couple of times will get you sick - plus all the filthy kids running about with and without their leashes. If a thunderstorm is clearly approaching and people are bottle necking for the exit, maybe get that Electric Parade out of the way - there was no escape! When your parking lot is the size of Iceland, maybe install some visible cues marking sections that you can see from afar. Was booking Albert Brooks really too expensive to record a few lines for that Nemo ride? Seeing that animated fish with someone else's voice felt wrong. Thank You for making It's A Small World less annoying. Alina wanted to ride it three times. You don't hear the actual lyrics until the last minute. It used to just play and play and play on a loop until you wanted to drown yourself. Snow White is a really dark and scary ride - dark forests, evil witches, she tries to drop a rock on you. Geez! How 'bout a song, dwarves?? I tried distracting her by making her Mickey & Minnie toys dance. But in the blacklight, their eyes and hands glowed and it just made them look menacing.

Alina sorta kinda liked the people wearing the character costumes. I thought she'd either love them or cry and run in fear. Something in the middle ended up happening. She really wanted to see them, just from 5 feet away. "I can see them just fine from here, thanks" was the vibe she put out. They even tried to get on one knee and spread their arms out for a hug. Ummm, no. However, pictures had to be procured. So we just made sure there was a human between her and the loveable 6 Foot Rat.

We had a great time, though. And we'll most certainly go back when she's a little taller and more used to the idea of animatronics. It turned out to all be about repetition. The first time on any ride she was mostly staring and sucking her thumb. She didn't know what to make of it and it was damn un-photogenic of her. After a few tries though, she'd be dancing and pointing things out. Very cool.

First Haircut

After literally months of debate and continual comments about how Alina looks like a shaggy dog when she wakes up, we finally took her to get her first haircut. And it was the most anti-climactic thing in recent memory. It was one of these places that has little cars for seats, stuffed animals to hold, stickers to stick, and DVD players in front of every chair to ensure complete distraction while the Barbizon graduate wields her tungsten steel around my child's earlobes and eyeballs. The stylist basically took her first row of bangs, cut them to over the eyebrow, and tied the rest back. The End. $15 please. They even saved the trimmings in a little plastic crack vial with a pink top, just for us. But they barely cut enough to see. Not exactly the lock of hair we were expecting. But I paid close attention. Why? Because I'm totally doing this next time. All parents cut their kids hair, mostly badly. But I think Alina is rockin a fairly simple style that can be reproduced with my eyes closed.

Before:



After:



My mother kept my hair fairly long. Dutch boy-esque, even. People thought I was a girl for about 3 years until I got lice and it had to be cut off when I was in first grade. I don't really know if my hair was kept long because of my mother's skill, the fact that it was 1982, or that my mother's fear of kidnappers left her wanting to take me to the ladies room instead of letting me go into the men's room alone. This is my...er...daughter, Athena. I didn't mind the girly moniker. After all, I was given full access to the YMCA women's locker room. You're never too young to learn about the carpet matching the drapes.

Shoot The Freak

We went to Astroland at Coney Island recently, before it goes away to make room for Luxury Condominiums. I shot The Freak. I shot him "in da friggin' head," as I was instructed to do by the wife-beater wearing, crew cut dude with the mic. He's got this relaxed, Brooklyn-ite delivery as he tries to solicit customers: "Shoot the freak...shoot him in da friggin' head. Whaddya gonna do when you come to Coney Island - watch da hot dogs cook at Nathan's? No, you're gonna shoot the freak." It takes place in what appears to be a plot where a building once stood along the boardwalk. You basically pay for the right to be given a loaded paintball gun and shoot at a human target: Some prancing git wearing pads, a helmet, and a shield. I can only assume he made a bad career choice somewhere along the way. It was moderately satisfying. I would've liked him to move around a little more in the interest of difficulty. Fish in a barrel doesn't quite describe it, but it's close. Although it's going away, I somehow doubt Alina will have missed her chance to shoot at people for fun. Something like this will surely crop up again, but it will be called Shoot The Terrorist, Hipster, Evictee, Section 8, or Republican.

And Fuck Luxury Condominiums. Are there even guidelines that stipulate what luxury is? Remember when putting "Lite" on a food label wasn't anything more than hype until the FDA stepped in? I have a feeling it's the same thing. Just a word. I wouldn't call drywall and aluminum studs luxury - you can hear your neighbor fart. But I digress.

There was a lot of Save Astroland people around on its final weekend. And while it's an institution and the idea of it being saved is nice n' all - no one was going. We were there the weekend before it closed and it wasn't crowded at all. It would be good to have some kind of kiddie amusements in the greater NYC area though. But like most seasonal attractions here, they're too expensive to keep up if they're only open a few months out of the year.

There are pockets of real communities in New York, but they're dwindling. We're in a Playground For The Rich, bordered by a Trust Fund Ghetto. They're building luxury condominiums on 118th Street - and branding the neighborhood "SoHa"! Are they kidding? So I guess in a few years we'll all be going to trendy bars in SoBro, er the South Bronx, I mean The Boogie Down...whatever it's called.

No!

Lately, Alina has been saying "No" when she means "Yes". I really hope she straightens this out before she starts dating. For example, we'll ask her if she wants a banana, and she'll say No but take it from our hands anyway. Our running theory is that she is hears No so much more often, its kind of sunk in. We actually caught her giving Elmo a time out. She sat him down against the wall, pointed at him and said No, then walked two steps, turned around and said No again with the same accusatory pointing finger. That finger part is probably my doing. We say no a lot but I make sure to use the finger when I mean it, so she knows the difference between a little no and Big No. In addition to punishment, she has been feeding her stuffed animals food and giving them her bottle. Katrina wanted to buy a little doll baby for her but those things just creep me out - especially when a baby is doing the feeding. It just feels so wrong. I'm contented to watch a stuffed Muppet or farm animal get fed instead. And it's not always edible. Alina took her mother's birthday rose and fed the petals to an open-mouthed toy as well. It was like she was attempting some kind of ironic mummification.

18-Month Vocabulary

Maybe we'll just invest more on her education so that when she grows up she can buy us a house.

She had her first sentence recently: "I Seeee You". Since she does so much copying and mimicking, it's not always easy to tell if she knows what she's saying. But this sentence came out as she was hiding behind a curtain last week. Context!

Other words that I've previously mentioned were Hot and Cracker. Now she says without prompting: Yes, No, Hi, Bye Bye, Wow, Yay!, Ball, Outside, Inside, Uh-Oh, Please, Thank You, Slide, Cookie, Kitty, Fishies, Duckies, Nemo, Mickey, Elmo, Tigger, Doggy, Bird, Moon, Airplane, Bagel, Pretty, Nice, Bear, No More, Balloon, Bus, Bubbles, Again, Eye, Yummy, Apple, Banana, Shoes, Car, and Superior Vena Cava. Well, maybe not that last one. I don't think "Moooooo" is a word but she says it in response to the appropriate question.

Katrina says she heard 'Where are you?', Nose, and Foot recently, but I haven't confirmed that myself - which is, like, required for it to be official as you know.

She loves watching fish at aquariums and animals at zoos and farms. But we also serve it to her as dinner. I often wonder if she has had any kind of catharsis about that before she's old enough to ask why. It's like when your father comes home from a hunting trip when you're four and asks if you want any Bambi Burgers from the grill. When she sometimes refuses to eat chicken, is it because she knows what it is?? We're so used to it and accept the idea of eating animals. I think by adult standards it would be like someone offering you kitten tenders.

Old Laundry

I have more black socks than white socks.
I no longer buy my underwear in packs of 10.
I have more white undershirts than dark t-shirts.
I recently have discovered...
I have a favorite pair of slippers.

First Solo Ride

Dutch Country

We went to Lancaster, PA over the weekend. Some of Katrina's co-workers had recommended this place out there called Dutch Wonderland. It's an amusement park that's geared more towards little kids. Not many big rides here. And there's a water park there as well.

In an attempt to break up the drive, we stopped over at my mother's in western NJ. What we didn't realize, was that the lack of major north/south interstate made the trip even longer by doing that. 60 miles on state routes alone. Oh look, Corn! Arby's! A Church! Rinse. Repeat.

We stayed at a place that was also recommended by Katrina's co-workers, Willow Valley Resort. In fact, we pushed this excursion to August when reservations were available. This place had grounds. Pond, animals, golf, playground, an indoor water park, and a corn maze. We never got around to the latter. And, in case you were in the mood, there was a full Victorian Chapel on site. It seemed to befit the region. This was Amish country after all. But don't expect to sleep in on Sunday with those bells tolling away. I've never been less afraid of leftover bodily fluids in a hotel room in my life. Maybe you'd find an old PB&J stain on the carpet. Between all the kids and the God-ness of it all, no one gets laid here. There's a restaurant on site which wasn't too bad. When we went up to the host, they asked if we wanted the "Menu or the Smörgåsbord". At first we opted for the menu on general principles, picturing fried mayonnaise balls with gravy at said Smörgåsbord. But it turns out they also had broiled fish, so it wasn't all banjos, moonshine, and other preconceptions. There was fried fruit, however, and a porky lump called Scrapple.

We mostly wanted to stay because of the indoor water playground, in case of rain. Alina doesn't like having water poured on her head, but prefers to swat at it when it comes out of the ground. So we had to choose our water playground spots accordingly. Since there were so many children, we would have to, like at the Dutch Wonderland water park, stake out a spot and just stay there. Then, hope some bigger kid doesn't come along and knock your kid out of the way. But Alina got braver as the weekend progressed. She went down mini waterslides by herself and also would jump into the pool if we were standing under her, ready for the catch. The bottom of the slides had sponges, instead of water. Like I said, geared towards little kids.

With the weather hitting the mid-90s on both days, any place to dunk our heads was appreciated. Unfortunately, Alina's favorite ride at Dutch Wonderland was the 5-story slide you'd ride down in burlap sacks. So we took turns panting up those stairs, then eke out a tired sweaty weeeeeee. Alina rode some things by herself, mostly because there was no way we'd fit into it. She measures up at about 34" so she couldn't get on everything, but almost. The water park area was the wettest place on earth. Water shooting, falling, or being shot at you from every angle. It was water chaos. No one was safe. But it was hot, so it didn't really matter. Alina was the only one wearing a bathing suit that covered her arms and legs. She had a hat and water shoes as well. So we're either great parents or paranoid ones. But it seemed like Alina was the only one running around who was 18 months old. So maybe the real paranoid parents are the ones who didn't even show up? Yeah!

On our way out to see Amish country, Alina decided to throw up her breakfast in her carseat. In hindsight, she really ate a lot. We were too busy being impressed with her appetite for whole strawberries, yogurt, and a full bottle of milk to think that she was overdoing it. We pulled over in this field and took her out of the car while still in the seat. Luckily we had some hotel towels in the car. I was coughing because I had sucked back a Triscuit the wrong way and my hacking had alerted the woman living in the house next to the field. She gave Katrina some jugs of water to clean the carseat and offered up her bathtub because she saw our license plates and remarked, "Wow, you have a long way home." So, Alina got an impromptu clawfoot bath in a stranger's house. The stranger turned out to be a mother of four girls and was super nice. She even gave us some ginger-ale, extra water, a towel to cover the wet carseat, and some crackers. Conversely, when we were driving home through Manhattan, some little shit wouldn't open up his Starbucks so we could get warm milk for a very cranky toddler who braved a 5-hour ride in a stinky seat. It was supposed to be 3 hours, but they decided to close all the lanes on I-78.

Boy, the Amish have changed since the 80s. I lived in Lancaster for a few months after leaving Manhattan as a kid. This one place, pretending to be Amish central, replete with a store, restaurant, buggy rides etc., had a movie theater that said "The Amish Multimedia Experience!" Huh?? Oxymoron! And we saw Amish using rollerblades! The first time was two kids being dragged behind a horse and buggy with their parents driving. The second time was a guy skating solo. I guess they've found a loophole in the Old Order. They can't have cars or buttons on their clothes, but they can 'blade. Could satellite television be far behind?

Talking Through Toddlers

The following exchanges and others like them have happened recently because Katrina thinks Alina can understand everything she's saying.

Katrina: Do you want Daddy to change your diaper?
Alina: Yah
Me: Do you want mommy to shut up?
Alina: Yah

-and-

Katrina: Do you want PePe to hold the bunny while you pet it?
Alina: Yah
Me: Do you want to saw my legs off and eat them for dinner?
Alina: Yah

Ah Tee Cees

She's fairly consistent with her interpretation of the alphabet and 1 thru 10. Though ABC and 123 sound very similar in Alina language. When we do the alphabet together, she bops up and down to the rhythm and eagerly waits for the letters she knows so she can yell them out. Mostly, she favors anything that rhymes with C, but she says "Osh" for the letter H. It's a lot of fun to see which new letters she's testing out vocally. The J was solid last night. We should have a scoreboard.

We bought those square foam tiles that have the letters and numbers on them. You know, the ones that fit together like puzzle pieces? They're in our kitchen now. Mostly, Alina just likes taking it apart. So we removed the borders and the little pieces that go in the holes like in B, P, O, etc. The letters themselves can be removed from the square as well. So, it was getting ridiculous, putting that back together every day. The stripped down version is easier to deal with. Well, the whole thing seemed like a good idea at the time. I don't know why we thought she'd do anything other than try to dismantle it at 17 months. But I started holding letters up and asking her to point to ones I call out. And if she plucks a letter out of the its foam square and carries it around, I try to teach her what it is. I'm hoping to balance out the fact that she probably watches the fucking Doodlebops at daycare. When Katrina was reading the blog entry about them below, Alina walked up and pointed to them with horrifying recognition. I was horrified, not her.

Disease of the Month

Ah daycares. If they had commercials, I think they'd be something like:

Great socialization for your child
More than you care to pay
Teletubbies Teletubbies Teletubbies
More illness than you can shake a stick at

Last month was Croup. Now we're looking at Rotavirus, which is all about vomiting and watery poo. Sweet! Though it seems she had it mildly, considering what I've read about it. Basically your kid refuses to eat or drink, which is bad when they're exploding from both ends. So you have to force fluids on them or they like, can't do math or die or something. You know, your garden variety baby plague. I remember her first fever, almost a year ago today. She was 5 months old and it was a nail-biting 101. Heh, Amateurs. The only positive I can pull from this is her immune system is getting some extra fortification. By the age 12, she'll be able to drink from the Ganges River using a rat's asshole as a straw.

The New Satan

Aww Mannnnn.....what the hell are these things? The Doodlebops? Dear God, please don't let Alina get hooked on these ... things. I don't even know what they are. Aliens? Insects? Canadians? Those gloved hands make it tough to play that bridged F chord, I imagine.

They seem like a reinvented form of the Bugaloos, a Brittish hippie insect rock band from the 70s. Then there was Barney, The Wiggles. I guess we were due for another LSD conceived, pre-school aimed musical group. There were probably others, I just never cared. But these things just scare me in more than the obvious ways. I think about the focus groups that probably decided which face paint resonated more with children. I think about seeing these people on some talk show five years from now, all strung out on tranquilizers to combat the artificial high they had to maintain to perform.

Evolutionary Trailblazer

Yeah, that's me. That's my title. That's my burden that I take on for all humanity. I am personally taking on the responsibility of evolving the human race to the point where they'll need less sleep to function. It's a slow process to be sure. But I'm evolved. I have no wisdom teeth. Had no use for them. They never showed up. They were introns to my exons. But hey, aren't they all? Yeah!

I'll keep sleeping less and less ... for all of you. It's okay. I'm used to it. Then perhaps one day, a few hundred thousand years from now, you'll all only need 28 minutes of sleep per day to make it through. I'm sure there'll be lots on cable then. But medical science, with all their lasers and machinery, will probably make a pill that you can take when you go to bed to get 8 hours of sleep in 4 hours. The body will do what it needs to do, just faster. And then the stores will be open longer. And we'll have more time on our hands to buy stuff, if I do prognosticate so myself. But I'm the evolutionary trailblazer. And I want to do it naturally. Take that, Pfizer.

Wordsmith

Why can't our daycare use common sense? If someone's mommy gets depressed and upset every time you tell them something their child did whilst they were at work, maybe the daycare should let the parents discover it on their own. Such is the case with the place Alina goes three days a week. It's basically a married couple and their mother running the place. Katrina does drop-offs and pick-ups because it's five minutes from the hospital where she works. But when she goes there and hears "Oh, Alina said Hula Hoop today. She's really talking up a storm," then that stinging feeling hits her right in the gut. I missed it. I'm missing everything. Then she starts with the I want to work part-time. Which would be great, if we didn't have six-figure debt. Maybe there can be some kind of clue-based system. Like, the daycare lady could leave a Post-it inside of an empty baby bottle. Or maybe she can just tell me in an email and I'll stage the discovery of the word when I get home that night. Manipulative, yes. But it may preserve Katrina's sanity.

Croup Croup ba-Doop

The Croup! Or is it just Croup? For those non-parents it's the kiddie form of laryngitis but with a fever and congestion. And since the larynx is swelled up, you can't execute a productive cough to get the phlegm (such a strange and wonderful spelling) out. The end result is usually difficulty breathing, a barking cough, and if you're really unfortunate your lips will turn blue from the lack of oxygen. Sometimes, the phlegm can come out of your nose after a good sneeze and you end up looking like a Garbage Pail Kid:
Doctors don't take chances with this kind of thing. So they asked us to take Alina to the emergency room because of her Stridor (labored) breathing to suck on some cool, medicated steam - A Nebulizer (more cool words)! Then they sent her home and said to come back if the breathing issues came back. Well, it did. And they kept her overnight this time and gave her some kind of steroid to open her throat more. I don't know what the side effects of that is, but by the time I got to Schneider's Children's Hospital, Alina was standing on her head, looking back between her legs saying "Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!" talking to the Pooh characters stitched into her bedding. They kept her in this elevated crib made of metal so she looked like a carnival sideshow attraction - The Incredible Barking Baby. Alina's roommate had surgery on her shins and had a mother who watched TV all night long and continually asked for fruit punch. Anyway, doctors were saying Croup is the worst on day one and two and that it would be easier after that. So she's almost back to normal now.

Somewhere through all of this she learned how to say "Cracker". Her 2nd official word. The first was "Hot" because, you know, it comes up a lot. Is that food/bottle/bathtub hot? Don't touch that, it's hot! So for the last month or so, she has informed us when things are indeed Hot. But the interesting one came this weekend when she put her hand to her feverish head and said, "I .... hot." Oooooh, first person narrative. And also terribly cute and heartbreaking at the same time. So yeah, now Cracker. She was pointing to the cabinet where we keep them and kept repeating it over and over. Katrina wasn't facing her and was thinking she heard cracker but didn't know she was actually requesting one until she turned around and saw where Alina was pointing. "OH MY GOD, I'm sorry Alina, did you want a cracker??" Katrina then felt guilty because she didn't respond quickly enough. MOM, I'm saying a word over here. Can a baby getta snack?!

Inter-Toy Communication

As I was giving Alina her bath last night, I was puppeteering a green squeaky frog wearing a bowtie as he hopped along the tub's edge. The curious child looked on and gingerly reached into the sudsy water to find an old school rubber ducky. She brought this yellow critter up to the tub's edge to meet the well dressed frog. There was a sense of anticipation in the steamy air. As these two opposing species came together - one amphibian, one fowl, all rubber - something unprecedented happened ... at least in the eyes of a 15-month old. They spoke to each other! Well, voiced by me anyway. Alina's eyes lit up and a giant grin splashed across her face. It's like she didn't know her toys were allowed to have conversations with each other. As if she thought only she could talk to them. She became very excited about this Bath Toy Summit. In her mind, alliances were probably already forming. "The bear on the innertube will side with the squirting fish. The frog is wearing the tie, so he'll be perceived as The Leader. Oh, the debates to come! The things they'll say! It's a very exciting time!" Then her machinations were interrupted when I poured water over her head to rinse out the shampoo. The cabinet appointments will have to continue next bathtime.

Just Ask!

As it turns out, this child of mine is apparently learning things behind my back! How dare she get educated without me! I'm finding more and more that I don't know what Alina knows unless I ask. And she constantly surprises me. "Where's your belly button," I asked this morning. Lo and behold she took her two index fingers and pointed right at the thing. I started moving onto other body parts. I thought this skill was limited to locating her nose. Nope. She found her ears, eyes, and mouth next. What the hell? What else does she know?? I asked her for specific toys and to point out animals in a book. Butterflies, Fish, Giraffes, Elephants, Cats, etc. Crap! I mean ... Gooood Girl. She knows all of these. So she's clearly comprehending, just not communicating. But her babble has picked up considerably and some new syllables are coming out. Ending her made up words with 'TH' and 'L' sounds n' such. The documentary continues.

Interesting note: We're going to a wedding this weekend and it will be the first time Mommy will be without her daughter overnight. Ohhhh boy. That, coupled with an open bar. Oh my! Anything can happen! I apologize in advance for the Drink n' Dial - "Izza bebe ohkaay?"

Do You Speak Alina?

As with the walking and various other steps in Alina's development, Katrina and I debate real vs. imaginary when it comes to new words. Most of the words she says now sound like Jur, Truh, and Dih. She nods affirmatively and shakes her head no when the situation presents itself. Of course, the No was first. Alina will say, "Jih-kih" and her mommy will say, "Did you hear that?? She said Kitty!" Or Alina will say, "Gruh-kuh" and her mommy will say, "Listen!! She just said Again". When I gently attempt to interject a little realism into this, the reply is usually, "Well, you just don't speak Alina." Okay, I can admit that Alina's intention is probably there when it comes to these words. And when she uses the same babble consistently for words like Again and Kitty, then sure, it will be Alina's language. But I still maintain she hasn't said these words yet. Is that so wrong?

Ferdinand The Bull

....she liked to sit just quietly and smell the flowers .

The Scream

I guess we were past due but Alina has finally found her screaming cry! Before, it was just a vocal whine that was practically amusing. But waking up in a strange, cold room has awakened this blood curdling sound within her. When I say cold, I mean not 90 degrees like our last place. So, cold to her. She used to be able to go to sleep in just a onesie. Now we've graduated to feety pajamas. I wish I had some. Spring is taking its sweet time getting here.

New Home. Is It Over Yet?

Several weeks, a nearly broken finger, and a gash in my head all lead up to this: Alina finally slept in her own room for the first time this week. It's a fun place. I get to play in there and not worry about chasing her into the kitchen so she doesn't splash the cat's water dish again. It's two shades of blue and there's a fish wallpaper border splitting the horizontal. So, I suppose if we have a boy one day it doesn't have to be repainted. A note to all those who think they want to paint their walls. Don't. Use. Dark. Colors ... Ever. Our room is a deep red and while it looks good now, it took Forever to get right. But we had to do it. The people before us decided to paint the walls, trim, doors, window sills, and windows in Periwinkle. I'm surprised they left the ceiling alone. It's like they used a garden hose to do it. Must've been their kids room, judging by the 1-2-3 lightswitch plate on the wall.

This move has been a long process. And my computer died somewhere in between. I safely can say, without fear of repercussion, reprisal, or boycott of sex that my wife is the worst packer Ever. Two pots in a box wrapped in sweaters, emptying drawers and cabinets part way and then moving on to the next one. But, she was one half of our muscle over Easter weekend helping to load large objects into the moving truck. Boy, it was so tempting to pick up those nice Latino men who waited outside the U-Haul parking lot, asking for work. Last night, the dining table and carpet came over and Katrina finally has a real dining room (with my PC in the corner). Now she wants a hutch in which to display wedding china and I'm having a really hard time getting behind the proposal. My compromise is that it has to be very small. Not one of these huge, 400 pound Granny Specials. Maybe if it held some of the 40-odd wine glasses we have, it would serve some function other than to display something I assumed we registered for because we lost a bet.

I'll miss my neighbors though. There's the guy who had a permanent scowl and smoked in the hallway that I would go out of my way to be overly cheerful towards, calling him Mr. Smiley. The hip-hop playing personal trainer who amazingly used finger quotes "at" the only words in a sentence "where" it made no sense. The woman over us who wore wooden clogs and liked walking around in them at 3am. Last but not least, the old deaf couple below us whose TV was so loud I could tell what show they were watching. But I think Alina's crawling phase evened things out in the noise department for those below. Ah, New York Buildings. They don't make them like they used to.

Where Grown-Ups Live

My little sister Kelsea once called me a grown-up when I was in my mid-twenties. Instead of taking five-across-the-eye I explained to her, "No, I'm an adult. A grown-up is much different." On that note, we're moving finally! We've dubbed it The Grown-Ups Home. Mostly because it resembles a home insofar as it's a house (the two-family variety) and not a teeny apartment, there's a wee yard in front for the Wee, a free parking spot in back, and ... ! ... we're Painting The Walls. Which, if you've ever rented in New York means you're staying a while. I even scoped out the school district beforehand and Alina isn't even going to school for three more years. But does this make me a Grown-Up? A title I've besmirched, spat upon, and otherwise avoided all this time? And if I am, do I like it? Will I ever like it? Seth MacFarlane, you're my only outlet because deep down I know your shows are made just for me. And Botch and Doll until they move to Portland in June.

This will be my 7th move since 1999. Astoria, Astoria again, Boston, Manhattan, Williamsburg, Forest Hills, and now Forest Hills again. So I think I'm done for a bit. When we had that 4-story walkup in Brooklyn and Katrina was pregnant, I moved everything myself and with our car. One van load that had the box spring, mattress, and Ecko's (iguana) 5-foot plexi-condo was the only thing I had assistance with. But this time? Bah! We have such a long crossover in leases we could move one box a day and still accomplish it. Well, there's all that furniture I built while living at our current place.

Maybe I'll pay some young, strong adults to move my crap for me.

Toddler Toddling

A couple of days ago, Alina spent more time on two feet than she did on all fours. Of course, she falls about every six to eight steps. But then she gets right back up again, not to be outdone by pesky gravity. Her "first steps" weren't really steps. TV has lied to me ... again! She didn't spontaneously start strolling along while everyone clapped and snapped photos. She actually advanced by taking what can only be called quarter steps. Well, my criteria for walking differed greatly from Katrina. Letting go of Mommy and falling into the couch didn't count as steps to me, though it was a debate. To me, a Step is putting one foot forward and then bringing your other foot to meet it. Done. Tough criteria? We're a Superpower, people! So for a while, Alina would put one foot forward and just fall. Katrina would say "See? She walked!" but I wouldn't have it. About a week later the other foot came to visit, but not all the way, and she'd fall. Slowly over the next few weeks, the other foot came but restarting the process made her fall. So really, multiple steps took much longer than I was lead to believe. Screw you, Hallmark commercials! If I knew the reality of it, I could've saved a lot of videotape.

Tall and Sans Pox

Alina's 12-month appointment at the pediatrician introduced something that I didn't really think existed. A Chicken Pox vaccine. The people who make Calamine Lotion must be reeling from this. I've always wondered when they were going to cure something new? Seems like its been a while. Smallpox, Polio, Measles, etc. Of course, they cure the virus that's probably the least profitable to the health care industry. It wasn't something that you needed drugs for or could be treated in any way. You just had to itch it out for a week unless you were one of the rare few that got shingles. I guess all the smart doctors were busy patenting male pattern erectile bicep milkshakes (Now with new flavors Rocky Rambo & Banana Hammock!). We're almost living in a Pox-less society if they can get a bead on the Monkey variety.

We also found out that Alina was almost 32 inches long. I looked at that graph thinger where they chart growth and I'll be damned if this kid isn't off it. Like 99th percentile in height apparently. She was 23 pounds which rests in the 75th percentile range. So, what should we practice? Jump shots from the top of the key or spiking one into the sand?

The Big ... One

Cupcakes, Family, Presents, Ferris Wheels, Toys r Us, Times Square, Bubba Gump (don't ask), and Snow. Alina was probably wondering why everyone she saw at daycare, the party, and elsewhere collectively decided to sing the same song in her face. Quite a First Birthday. Sure, she won't remember any of it. But, it's really the best justification for doing things like riding Ferris Wheels. "The BABY will enjoy it!" Mmm Hmm. It definitely helps to make you less cynical. And in true Full Circle fashion, we were in the E.T. car on the Wheel.

We actually tried to go to Mars 2112 for dinner because it was the only restaurant we could think of other than Jekyll & Hyde Club where characters walk around and harass, I mean, interact with you. But it was closed for a "corporate event". By the security lining the front of the place, either Death Row Records or BET was hosting. But we ended up going to Gump because it was close to Toys r Us, had a big open floor, and chances were they had a changing table in the bathroom. It's no surprise that restaurants get big points for their bathrooms now. It overlooked Times Square so there was a lot of eye candy. Plus, Alina used crayons for the first time! Sideways at first, but she still made her mark.

The picture above is from this past Sunday. Family came over and it was like a red carpet affair. Cameras, both flash and video, and couture were flying. Then Alina got a hose-off with Daddy in swim trunks in the tub after she destroyed that cupcake.

Another happy/sad milestone for both Mother and Daughter: Alina weaned herself completely from breastfeeding a few days prior to her birthday. On the one hand, Katrina will miss that bonding though at this point it was limited to once in the morning. On the other, Katrina can get totally shitfaced at her discretion! I saw her with drinking wine at the Sunday party and did a double take. I forgot she could do that now without worrying about pumping. So bring on the kegs and the blow! Mommy is ready to Party!

Happy Birthdays

"What do you want for your birthday?" I was asked. It was a tall order. I requested that I be able to sleep in on both Saturday AND Sunday. The reaction to my answer was a concentrated "Hmmmmmm". As if she was pondering if such a feat could actually be accomplished. Yeah, it has come to that. I'll reach in my coat pocket to grab my phone and I'll pull out a small sock.

So I turned 31. About as exciting as turning 26. But on an interesting mathematical note, I'll turn One Billion Seconds old this year. October 7th at roughly 8am. At least, that's what http://www.brainbashers.com/billion.asp says. Katrina took me out for a really kickass dinner at Le Bernardin and had their 8 course tasting menu with wine pairing on each course. Unbelievable meal (foie gras, caviar, kobe beef, etc) but you'll need to take out a mortgage once the bill comes. It was actually a surprise. A 10:45pm reservation at that. One of the grannies showed up at our apartment to watch Alina. I really had no idea and was certainly perplexed when Katrina asked me to wear a jacket and shave. Maybe it's because I look older or maybe restaurants are worried about being sued, but lately when I order something spicy the waiter feels that they need to point out that it's spicy. Okay, I get the little red pepper next to the menu item means it's spicy and it's not like I'm 50 and have an ulcer or irritable bowel syndrome. They'll say "Sir, that's spicy." I typically respond with, "I hope so!" Next thing you know someone will be offering to help me cross the street.

So, I blinked and then Alina was almost One! February 13th! I was warned repeatedly that this would go fast so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. People ask when the next one is coming. I tell them Katrina will have to catch me first but in all honesty, we've got Baby Fund II accruing as you read. As a child, since my birthday is just after the holidays, the running joke was to get me batteries for all the toys I got for Christmas. They weren't always included. Or, if they actually came with batteries they'd be dead by my birthday. Now I'm experiencing that all over again. We try to go old school when we can and buy blocks or those plastic rings that fit on a pole. But, A LOT of Alina's toys need batteries. Literally every size is needed. Most of them get used, which is nice. But she's ultimately happy with eating my cell phone or the remotes. Must be the silvery color. Lights, Colors, Music be damned. My kid prefers knives! And the occasional old Cheerio discovery under the table.

Holi-Daze

Was that Christmas that just ran me over? I feel like roadkill. It just bulldozed me and I have very little recollection of whether I enjoyed it or not. We got to see a lot of family, which was nice. Luckily, this year we stayed in the same place, my mother's house, and people just rolled through on a conveyor belt. Traditionally, our other Christmases were spent on the road, in the air, or on the rail getting to all the various families. Screw that! It was great seeing everyone but I think I spent the better part of actual Christmas morning making sure Alina didn't put wrapping paper in her mouth. Other than that, I don't recall much else. I look through the pictures and I don't even remember taking them. I think that can partially be attributed to having five Christmases over three days. New people kept coming and we'd start all over again.

I was surprised to see that the wee was actually interested in what was under the paper or in the box. Everyone told us that she'd just spend her time playing with the packaging and not the actual toy. Turns out Alina is a little more materialistic. A few fun waves of the crinkly stuff and it was off to Mrs. Potato Head to see what her arms tasted like. She's starting to walk via the furniture now, by the way.

I think Katrina and I were both out of our brains. When the baby woke up a little before midnight on New Years Eve, Katrina brought her down and was asking for wipes 30 seconds before the ball dropped. "Umm, honey? Can this wait like two minutes?" My first act of the new year? Molting some parental paranoia, apparently. "Oh look, Alina wants the confetti falling from the ceiling fans made of construction paper. Meh, probably not too poisonous. Eat away, baby!"

Creepy Frickin' Toys

I really REALLY hate it when I hear Alina's singing/teaching dog toy say "Peekaboo! I see YOU!" from the toybox. THE TOYBOX. It's touch activated! No one is touching it in the toybox! This particular toy can say or sing about 20 different things. Does it sing Paddycake? No! Does it sing Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes? NO!! It says PEEKABOO, I SEE YOU.

Hey Chuckie, wanna play?

I work up the nerve to take the thing out of the toybox. You know, to see if it attacks. I grab it by the head, the only place to touch it without activating it, and place it on top of the toybox. It sits for a second and says in a singsong voice, "SOOOOO BIG!" What, are you mocking me, dog?! Are you insulting the fact that it took me about 5 minutes to decide whether or not to open the toybox? I huff and sit back in my chair. Then about 20 seconds later the dog comes at me again with "I LOVE YOU!" You can't fool me into a false sense of security, singing demon-pooch! I know you're evil.

Kidstmas Kards

Why do people insist on sending me pictures of their kid(s) in the form of a Christmas card? I didn't say "Holiday Card" because the Jews don't typically don't this. Who knows why? But just about every parent I know sends us a card with their kid dressed up. Doesn't matter if I see them once a month or once a year, it's always the children. The kids are typically dressed in fashionable sweaters/santa hats and are set in a winter or Christmas scene. Now, if you have an infant, I can see why you might do this. It's excusable. Some people perhaps haven't seen the baby yet and let's face it, new parents aren't much to look at. What, with the bags under their eyes and correlating double chins. But much older children are arriving in my mailbox every day. And all this really says to me is "Look, they're still alive!" or "I didn't feel like dressing myself."

What a Monday!

Without notice, a phone call, or a poster on the door, our daycare was shut down by the State yesterday. Apparently, the administrator kicked out an inspector because she claimed she was being harrassed back in September. They technically should have been closed since then and have been getting fined $500 a day for remaining open. When the employees found out this fine would also be charged to them, they all resigned. Phone calls were placed to people that were listed in the phone book. But we're on cells only so that didn't work for us and one other family. Katrina called me after waiting outside the daycare for 20 minutes, banging on the doors and windows, saying that they were closed. I called the office of family services and confirmed it. So we were scrambling to find another place that had availability, takes infants, is open 7am-7pm, doesn't have any pending violations, and does more than turn on the TV for stimulation. Luckily, we've found a decent placeholder for now. It doesn't have all the bells and whistles of our last place (swings, sandbox, garden, etc) but at least it's a little closer to Katrina's hospital. Unfortunately it costs more too. A wife, husband, and grandmother run this place that has anywhere from 3 to 6 kids depending on the day. Some are wee, some come after school. They playroom has a giant TV that takes up a big chunk of the space, but we're told it's off most of the day. Katrina asked about that specifically. Now we're trying to get some money back from the old place so we can pay these people. Although we're told a refund is coming, I'm concerned about the rubber content of the check. Would we go back if it reopens? Not sure. Katrina was a big fan of one of the employees that watched Alina from the morning until 3pm, Ms. Joyce. Who knows if she'll come back? I try to stay positive, telling ourselves that at this age she doesn't need anything high tech. Safety and stimulus are the main things. I figure we can request that certain games be played and that those friggin Teletubbies stay off the TV.

School Zones...

...Or should I say fences? Maybe this isn't news to anyone but I can't find much discussion of it online. Most people I know don't have kids so I'm going to come out and reveal this shocker. The way public school zones are drawn in New York City are completely corrupt, discriminatory, and utter bullshit. The only thing I could find on this topic was an old court case in Tennessee where they were complaining that the school zones were drawn to keep the schools segregated. In NYC, your child has very little choice but to attend a school in your zone. What got me started on this? Our neighborhood in Forest Hills, of course. It's a very diverse place, both in nationality and economically. Case in point, our building is a co-op where the apts range from $150K-$250K. Right across the street are actual houses that are about $950K-$1.75MM. Down the street on the co-op side of the block is where the apts start going for $500K-$700K. And wouldn't you know it? The best school zone in the area, containing P.S. 196, manages to zig and zag it's way around the cheaper buildings and enclose the richer ones. Check out this map below. We're the red dot:

If you knew the neighborhood well enough, you'd see that the grey chunk in the upper left is all moderately priced apts. I find it interesting that the grey area even juts out at 67th Drive to exclude part of a block.

Now, this could all be for naught because who the hell knows where we'll be living in 5 years when Alina starts school. And the zone we're currently in, containing P.S. 175, is a very high achieving school itself. But P.S. 196 is the kind of school they advertise in real estate listings because of how sought after the district is. And for the moment, it taunts me as its lines run up the middle of my street. Right outside my window! Where the children draw with gold plated crayons and eat paste made from crushed pearls. For now, I just throw my hands up and try to find out who at the Department of Education draws these lines and why. And who influences them?

Funny 'Coz It's Florida

Musings from the Sunshine State...

It's a whole new audience!
Ethan at Age 6: Mom, watch me! Watch me jump in the pool!
Ethan at Age 30: Alina, watch me! Watch me jump in the pool!

Mommy ESP!
Trailer Chick By The Pool: "One time I was taking a nap and just lettin' the baby crawl around the house. Then, I felt her pulling on my blankets. I woke up and she was making this choking sound! So I put her on my lap and started beating on her back and PENNY came out! When my husband came home I was like, "Honey you can't be leavin' change around the house!" But, you know? I just knew somethin' was wrong. The way she was pullin' on my blankets, like? And that sound she wuz makin'? I just knew. It's that mother daughter thing."

7-Day waiting period? Great! That's how long we're here!

Oddly enough, these stores were only a mile away from the mansions of Palm Beach.

First Airplane Ride

Oh, the preparations you'll make. Blankets, toys, lunch, snacks, distractions, teething devices, removing magazines from seat pocket, booking aisle and window seats so the middle one stays "empty", Mama keeping her udders full so she can nurse during the ear popping ascent. But who knew she'd whack herself in the face with the seatback tray table? She was playing with this harmless little peanut and beverage holder and decided to lift it up over her head like one would a car's hood. Then, she let it go and POW! Right on the bridge of her nose. Well, we didn't prepare for that and she cried very loudly for about two minutes. Other than that incident on the runway at JFK, it went very well though.

What must she have thought of all this? Looking out the window at the strange, fuzzy ground that didn't seem to move. The only time she paid attention to the outside was when we were landing and the houses and roads got clearer, closer, larger, and went by faster. Did she think we were in some long car with very tall tires? Flying may prove to be harder the more mobile she gets. For now, she's a decent crawler but usually has nowhere to go unless she's chasing the cat.

On the return flight she actually slept in the coveted middle seat on her back, legs draped over Katrina's lap. About 90 minutes into this slumber, Mama confronted her bladder and decided she couldn't declare victory without getting up and using the bathroom. When she broke the bad news of her imminent walk to the back of the plane, I calmly paused, shrugged my shoulders and said, "I don't care." She seemed puzzled by this response. Who was I to begrudge her this most natural and satisfying act? "No no," I continued sedately, "You're not moving." I somehow thought my soothing tone would make her liquid pressures recede - like I was attempting a Jedi mind trick. "She's sleeping and this is the best possible scenario we could've hoped for." Logical? Of course. Maybe I failed to wave my hand across my eyes the same way Obi-Wan had instructed because this just didn't take. "Ethan! I'm gonna pee my freaking pants," she threatened! I wasn't really willing to test this possible bluff and although she moved Alina's legs with the precision of a champion House of Cards builder, she woke up. Not terribly fussy, really. But Katrina walked with her on the plane for the next 20 minutes after returning from her release so that there was zero chance of even the slightest whine. Because any whine would've probably been followed by an accusatory stare from me that said, "Well? You woke her!"

A Spoonful Of Nature Makes The City Go Down

Just like Queens, with a few exceptions...

What is this green stuff? To my knowledge, it's the first time Alina has physically been on grass. Typically there was blanket involved. Weird isn't it? But, I've always maintained that the key to happiness in New York City is having the means or ability or ambition to get out of the city as often as possible. The unhappiest New Yorkers I know are the ones who spend the most time there. And I don't think it's a coincidence. It's like recharging your batteries, assuming you have a second to take it all in. The picture above was taken in my father's backyard. We lovingly refer to him as Colonel Kurtz because after being a New York City lifer, he went up river and didn't come back down. But I think there are far less decapitations taking place.

First Halloween

"I get all the oogly eyes and cheek pinching and *mom* gets to keep the candy!"

A cow? Yes, a cow. Alina has a healthy self image so she was able to deal with the stigma of representing the bovine family that night. The lamb outfit was too big so wait until next year. We were in CT and we only visited a few houses, all people we knew. I was surprised at the total lack of Halloween destruction that I remember from my time in the suburbs. Eggs, toilet paper, shaving cream, Molotov cocktails. Though there were those big kids dressed as slasher film icons like Jason, Michael Myers, and even early Jason when he had that sack on his head. One was carrying an actual axe! I thought Jason used a machete. Well, I wasn't going to question them. They didn't seem to be carrying any candy. Just walked real slow and stared at people. Wicked. When we drove back to Queens that night I thought for sure we'd be ambushed by dairy flinging youths. Alas, nothing. I did see three eggs on the ground though, so there's hope yet. Most kids aren't even allowed to dress up on Halloween in school anymore. I've run into a lot of youngins who've said that their school has "Spirit Week" the week before Halloween. You know, Pajama Day, Hippie Day, School Colors Day? Weak, dude! I actually called my cousin's principal and asked why they don't let the kids dress up. I got the VP and he hid behind the Spirit Week excuse as well. I think it's a religious thing. One catholic school girl we know told us her teachers said in as many words that they'd go to hell if they dressed up. You tell 'em, Jesus!

Goober and Babycow

Prostate Check, Anyone?

Having a baby wasn't enough to make me feel old. Being older than the Playboy bunnies, the starting lineup for the New York Mets, certain congressmen, and being amongst those who will never know the world without the internet wasn't enough to make me feel old. But when my dentist walked into the room after my cleaning, for that final looksee, and didn't look older than 19! That twinged my reality synapses for a moment. Signs that say You must be born in 1988 to purchase cigarettes. The fact that Ghostbusters came out 22 years ago, Pulp Fiction 12 years ago. Pretty soon, my doctor will be younger than me and probably Alina's teachers. Then, perhaps, my boss. Then, the President. You can feel young and act young. But those little benchmarks always find a way to creep me out something fierce.

Buddhist Cat (call PETA!)

Electronic Babysitter

About a year ago, we appeared in a segment on a Sunday morning show called Business Weekend. It was all about how people are moving due to energy costs. We were taped in our Queens apartment talking about how we were paying for oil in Brooklyn and got out to save money for the baby's arrival. Partly true, but that's TV. Anyway, we had recorded this show on our DVR (aka low rent TiVO). RCN Cable blows, by the way. It was going to be erased (some "software upgrade from RCN) so we put it on one last time. Something unexpected happened. Typically, Alina doesn't really pay attention to the TV. She was sitting on the carpet, between Katrina and the TV, playing with a toy. When Katrina's piece came up on the show, Alina's head popped up and she looked at her mother's glowing face talking on the screen. Her mouth dropped a little, then she turned to look at Mommy on the chair, then back the TV, and started laughing. We kept replaying it and she kept cracking up when Katrina's face appeared. Maybe when we go away for the weekend and leave her with a grandparent/auntie we can make movies of ourselves talking to the camera, reading stories. Electronic parenting! Baby Einstein be damned! I hear some daycares have webcams so you can watch your kid's toys get stolen by bullies while at work. This could be like an inside out version of that.

Dom Perignon vs. Peas and Rice Cereal

The Kitchen Shelf

How did I let this happen? There was a bottle of Dom from our engagement, the Lladro figurine from our wedding cake. They're getting .... buried. Too. Much. Symbolism. Note to self: Must sip wine before week's end and say something intellectual. I CAN DO IT. I can remember how!

Baby-Fu Kicking My Ass

Alina is, for lack of better words, kicking my ass lately. I'm being pummeled by a 7-month old. Kicks to the throat and groin. Punches to just the right spot on the upper lip to make you tongue the swollen spot for the next hour. She rakes my face with her nails and tries to take out my eye. I'm reminded of the Iron Shiek and Rowdy Roddy Piper from my brief WWF phase when I was ten. Although it's kind of pleasant when she pulls my hair. I hear that keeps it from falling out or something.

Baby Shangri-La

It looks like we found a daycare for when Katrina goes back to work. Alina will be 7 months old this week and will probably start school around Thanksgiving. While looking, there were a few prerequisites. It had to be open after 6pm, accept babies Alina's age, be near one of our jobs, do more than just watch them stare at the wall, and of course have an open slot. This place we found is pretty kickass but it's like giving a Mercedes to an 8-year old. They learn to read and write, learn about science, plant thier own gardens, have lots of time in the backyard with slides, swings, and sandboxes, learn about cooking, and the whole place is run by a retired nurse with a staff of early childhood development majors. Open 7am-7pm (Woo!), 10 minutes from Katrina's work (Yay!), and already took my deposit (Shit!). Yeah, this place costs almost as much as my rent. And I don't think Alina will truly be able to absorb the benefits of this place for a little while yet. But it's really the best place ever. There are kids there up to 5 years old and every graduating class ends up skipping kindergarten (Brakes!) Hmmm, do we really want that? Will she be bored and destructive and outsmarting her teachers if we don't let her skip? It's not like I want her freshmen year of college to get any closer. Some have told me it's easier for girls to be younger, but they were all male. So that's a skewed focus group. I suppose we'll have to see for ourselves. She may just have to eat paste like the other kids.

Chunky Monkey

I've touched on how complete strangers want to hold the baby, compliment the baby, talk to the baby, throw rocks at the baby. Also, you occasionally run into people who think you want their opinion. Like the woman who thought that our 9-week old Alina shouldn't be outside in mid-April even though she already had a round of shots. Then there are usually benign comments about her pretty blue eyes, all that hair, how she smiles so much, and those little chubby thighs. But, the problem is that last one. To the casual observer, Alina in fact has chubby little thighs. No problem. But it's what follows that particular observation that I feel warrants a smack to the sides of some heads, like: Don't worry, my daughter had thighs like that and now she's skinny or Don't worry, those thighs will go away. WHAT? People! She's a BABY. She eats the dietary equivalent of whole milk for most of her meals (although recently we added veggies/fruit after 6 months), she doesn't yet have the burden of moving around under her own steam, and did I mention she's a baby. I hate that I feel the need to whip out the pediatrician's growth curve chart and point to the dot that says she's perfectly healthy. Or get into a debate about self-image, self esteem, and all the problems that can arise if those aren't addressed correctly. Do they really think I'm worried about her thighs and need to be consoled? The next person who tries to assuage my fears might find me consoling right back with "Aw sweetie, no wonder your kid was bulemic. It's okay, you did your best, I'm sure." At least the fall is coming which means more pants.

In The Future...

Baby treadmills, formula lite, and low carb teething biscuits -- Baby Cosmopolitan with 10 Ways To Turn Those Chipmunk Cheeks Inside Out -- New Slimming Huggies -- Pacifiers With Whitening -- Baby Wigs, why wait for hair when you can be strand-tastic!

Let's Egg Their House

Threat Condition: Little Shits. Katrina was coming out of our building on the way to Gymboree and this little 5-year old is walking by, about ten feet behind his parents. He sees Alina in the stroller, stops, picks up a rock, and throws it at her. What the hell? Katrina yells at him to not do that and he yells something in Russian or Polish and moves on. His parents don't even turn around. Luckily his aim was off. Then when they get to Gymboree, Alina is playing with a ball. Some 11-month old boy decides to come over and steal it from her and walk away. Alina doesn't quite know how to process this. She doesn't get upset because there really isn't that "MINE" reaction yet. I guess self entitlement is learned. This time the little boy's mother nabs him and tells him to give it back. So he starts crying. What the hell? Keep these unbalanced booger eaters away from my kid - forever, okay? I forgot all about this aspect of growing up. Those confrontations and life lessons as simple as someone taking your toy from you. How do you react? Kick him in the shins? I forget how this is done. I start to think back to W.C. Fields tripping children. He'd probably be touching his toes without pants at the 55th Precinct these days.

Sitting and Surprised

Screw You, I Spread Joy

Little Miss Smiley holds her own in the midst of Manhattan Madness. It helps having that swivel wheel on the stroller so we can dart around depressed idiots. But Alina takes it all in stride and at this point doesn't seem too alarmed by the masses of pedestrians we encounter while walking about. It's interesting to see the varied reactions to her. She looks people in the eye when they walk by so most of them can't help but crack a small smirk under their pierced lips and deep eye liner. One young woman asked if she could hold her. It's hard not to sound rude when you turn them down, but what do they expect? Maybe it's just us.

Summertime, Fathertime

"Where's that kid with my Latte??"

My company gives us four days during the summer to take off and do summery type New York things. Bake asphalt, recycle old people, play Guess Which Subway Car Has No A/C. I think my boss wishes I gave him more than 40 minutes notice but I'm not wasting one of these precious things on a day when it might rain. Only on the morning of can I predict that with absolute accuracy. So, we've gone to Long Beach a couple of times. Alina has her little bungalow that blocks UV and we manage to keep every grain of sand off her skin. She's not a big fan (<-- that's a web link, geezers) of the ocean just yet. But she has time. Assuming Palm Beach isn't under water again this November we're going to make another attempt at our time share. This will be the 4th year and I have yet to stay there for all 7 days whether it's due to lack of vacation time, Third Watch, or Hurricane Wilma. If nothing else, the water will be warmer. Item: Katrina and I actually made it out to a movie together. Like, in an actual theater - alone. We left Alina with her Nana (Katrina's mom) and we saw X-Men 3. This was actually by Mommy's request. How lucky am I? She made me promise I'd go out during the movie and call just to check though. But, again we all survived. My phone was running low on battery because we were in the basement of the theater so I actually had to turn it OFF to conserve. We were out of contact for about an hour! I think if Katrina had known that at the time, she'd have backed over me with the car.

My standard comeback for the How's the baby? question has lately been: "Oh, she just lost her job at Target and she's dating. It goes so fast." Although I'm forgetting who I've told that to and one person has already called me on that. I'm starting to feed Alina more, which if you don't know you're a parent yet, really helps focus that reality. See, since she has been on the boob almost exclusively up to now and I'm not home during the day, Alina has been more like 'The Coolest Pet Ever,' instead of, 'My Child.' You carry her around, she's appreciative, you roll her around, she plays, makes sounds, she sleeps at night, she poops, she drools, she gets bathed - but so does my cat. I haven't spent enough time alone with her or doing anything that requires much Parental Responsibility to feel like a Father yet. But I think spoon feeding helps. It actually takes effort, it takes time. You feel the need to do it correctly. All that other Father stuff, or the stuff that would make me feel more like a Father - teaching, enlightening, discipline, values, trust, molding a mind, etc - seems far off. People walk up to us on the street and look at Alina and say "Cherish this. This is a really fun time." I don't dispute that. She's a blast and I couldn't be happier. It's going to get progressively difficult from the moment she starts crawling but, believe it or not, I'm actually looking forward to the challenge. When Katrina sees this I'm sure she'll be more than happy to give me a gallon of frozen breast milk and go Here, Challenge-Boy. I'm going to a spa for the weekend. Where's your credit card? But I don't think I have enough cell phone minutes for her to be gone that long.

The First Cold

Anyone remember the rubber ball that your mother probably used on you to suck snots out of your nose? I called it the Light Bulb. Maybe you had a different name for it. I really didn't enjoy the light bulb. It usually involved being horizontal with someone's knee in my chest while I yelled Nooooooo! So yeah, I used one of these devices over the last week. They really haven't come a long way. Although the part that goes up your nose is way longer and thinner- for Maximum Penetration! Alina's eyes would roll back in her head when we use it. We lovingly refer to Alina's new worst enemy as The Boogie Suckie. Well, she can't talk and come up with her own name. What would you call it? Snot Extractor? Mucous Puller? Deboogifier? The Boogie Suckie even has it's own song which started out as a way to get her to smile, but now it's more like a warning siren. It resembles the Ziggy Sokky drinking chant at the end of the Man Show. We should probably stop doing that.

All things considered, we handled her first cold fairly well. Not much panic. We mostly felt bad for her because she had a congested cough and we couldn't give her anything for it. The fevers are usually the thing that gets us the most worried. We gave her this infant drug called Little Fevers. Ohhh, how cute. More seasoned parents would scoff at us with: Pffft 101? You don't have to start worrying until 103.

Of course, Katrina and I both caught the cold after. Luckily we each got it at different times. Baby viruses are interesting to catch because they don't kick your ass like typical viruses. They're mostly annoying. A scratchy throat, some irritating nasal congestion. Fortunately, we big kids can take all kinds of fun stuff like Afrin and NyQuil.

Gone Baptizin'

I should probably mention that we got Alina baptized in the Catholic Church. I'm fairly neutral on organized religion in general since my parents were Jewish and not Jewish (Protestant or something. I think my Grandmother became a Mormon so those nice boys would paint her barn). But you know, I've never understood why the phrase half Jewish is an acceptable way to describe oneself. How can you be half a religion? 4 days of Hanukkah and a pine shrub in December?

Anyway, we dressed her up in Katrina's old christening (or Xstening for those who celebrate Xmas) outfit from when she was an infant. So that was a nice tradition to continue. They sat us up in the front of the church with several other couples plus godparents. Then Alina took a big dump about halfway through. Is that good luck? Myself, I was willing to wait until the end to change her but Katrina showed me the quantity and consistency of this new arrival and sternly warned, "The priest is going to lie her back over the holy water and it's all going to spill out." Hmmm, as funny as this would be to me personally, it was decided that we leave our seats and do a mad dash change. Wipes and clothes flying everywhere, the priest is doing another round of chrism oil and will soon get to our empty chairs. I hear my father say No pressure from the congregation. I don't know why we were rushing. It's not like if the priest passes us we get canceled or something. The rules, and there are just a few with Catholics, don't include staying in your seat the whole time. We're dealing with infants here. It's bound to happen.

So, we get back up there, get oil on her forehead and chest, then it's over to the big holy bowl thinger (did I mention I had to lookup Original Sin?) and Presto! With a wave of a hand, a few words, and some God Juice, Alina no longer has to bear the burden of that bitch Eve eating the apple. Yes, I'm cynical. But I'll say this. We have been incredibly lucky or blessed with Alina. Always smiling, very healthy (knock on wood - my religion), and just about the Cutest. Child. Ever. If Katrina quietly praying at night while pregnant had anything to do with that, then baptizing is the least we could do.

The Takeover

Alina furniture and accessories are slowly starting to out number big kid objects in our apartment. When you walked into our living room, all you saw was a swing. But once they start sitting up, then in comes the Exersaucers and High Chairs. You'll be folding laundry or making the bed and music will start because a stuffed animal fell or some other chain reaction somehow activated a random toy. Ack! Find it before she wakes up! I've been to people's homes where they have toddlers. You'd never know adults live there. Between baby proofing tactics like removing tables and anything with a right angle and all the objects you receive or buy to keep your child entertained/educated/enriched, you'd think you just stepped into a Gymboree. I'd like to think we'll be able to balance the aesthetics of our living room, the flow, the feng-shui if you will. Or, at the very least make it so that a walk from the bedroom to the kitchen doesn't involve carefully choreographed vaults and sidesteps. But The Takeover has certainly begun, if not stepped up a notch. It starts out slowly like sleeping less, rearranging your closets and things you'd expect like not going to movies. But before you know it, you're watching Dora the Explorer at 8pm on a Saturday. No! I will not be sucked in by that repetitive and teeth gnashing little traveler and her freakin' purple monkey!

Chewy!

If oral fixation is a sign of a future smoker, then Alina is going to be at two packs a day. Evvverything is going in the mouth. Now that she can partially sit up on her own and grab at objects, that's where they go. Thumbs, stuffed animals, blankets, basically anything we allow her to hold. I'm going to miss the days when we allowed her to hold things, as opposed to later when we'll turn around and she'll be chewing on the power cables to the TV.

Champion Baby

Over the past weekend Alina did 4 Restaurants, 2 Zoos, 1 Park, 2 Museums, and the film Cosmic Collisions at the Hayden Planetarium. Through all of it she just looked around, being enlightened. She even slept through a really awful rendition of Take My Breath Away from the plug-in piano guy at Restaurant #4 on Mother's Day. And, as it turns out, Alina really likes Egyptian sculptures. Lots of eye candy at the Met, who knew? I think we'll definitely go back there. Lots of diverse shapes, images, and lighting - Alina was enthralled. We stayed away from the paintings and stuck with the 3D stuff like Egypt, Medieval, etc. She was so full of culture by the end of it that she slept all through a dinner for eight.

Cosmic Collisions marked Alina's first movie experience. We weren't sure if it was a good idea at the time, and in hindsight we barely made it out alive. But luckily the (really really bad) film was only 20 minutes long. She made a few grunts when the lights went out and the seats started subwoofing. But we prepared for this by sitting in an isolated section of the theater and Katrina whipped out Lefty. She actually fell asleep, but of course the moon had to be formed via collision and the comets (No! Not the comets!) had to hit the earth. We just held her ears and hoped for the best. It was the first time I felt anxiety from cheesy CGI. I was hoping the Earth would dodge the asteroids. Oh well, we survive.

+12 Weeks

Damn, that went fast. She's already looking at 3 months old. Of course, she grew out of her 3 month old outfits ages ago. People keep warning me to enjoy this while I can. The next thing you know you'll turn around and she'll be One. Yipes. Don't make me think that far ahead, please.

When I come home from work, Alina usually has a new trick or ability to show me. She's like my 24-hour documentary on child development. She does little things that we take for granted. Yesterday she pulled up her shirt. This is new. She never had that whole hand-eye coordination before. Imagine wanting to grab something, but instead of reaching for it, you just flail your arms around. The other day she matched the pitch and vowel sound I was cooing to her. And she recently discovered her thumb. These are the things I find fascinating, other parents consider old hat, and non-parents couldn't care less about. So I guess these are all for Katrina and me.

When she was first born, a friend asked if I yearned to see her when I was away and if it was love at first sight. At first, the answer was honestly no (although I think I told them yes). That part of my brain hadn't turned on yet and I thought I was a bad parent for not loving and yearning yet. The thing is, when she was first in my arms, I didn't think Love. I thought, If anyone hurts you I will fucking kill them, rip their arms off, and set them on fire. So clearly the protective instinct was well in place. But now, 12 weeks later, the best parts of my day are when she smiles at me while I'm getting ready for work, and when she smiles at me when I come home.

A Muffin Basket Full of Rainbow Kisses

"How's the baby?" I hear this question about 8 times a day. But it's not one of those questions you can answer with another question like "Wassup?" It took me a little while before I realized no one expects an actual answer to that. A simple Wassup in return will suffice. But, with the baby question, people actually want to know how she is. Happy/not happy, sleeping/not sleeping, gaining weight/losing weight. Geez. I feel like I should walk around with a sandwich board draped over me giving Alina's weight, last sleep pattern, biggest poop to date, and behavior nuance. People no longer ask me about anything else - politics, opinions, activities. I am a 24/7 Alina update machine. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to do it. But when I get the chance to hang out with a friend they're surprised that I'm not talking about her. It's because I talk about her all day to people at work, relatives on the phone, etc. I'm never at a state where I've got pent-up stories and I'm just busting to tell someone - so shoot, you're stripes, I'm solids.

This Ain't Make Not Sense

Can someone explain to me why baby pants and baby jackets have pockets? Is it just to make babies look more like little people or does one actually use them to hold objects? Sometimes the pockets are in the front, sometimes in the back, and for the life of me I can't figure out what they're for. But that isn't what scares me. You just know someone will create a purpose for them and then sell it to you for $12.99 at Babies r Us. Like a little My First Comb or My First Fake ID. "Well Officer I know it says I'm 23 inches long but that was like two weeks ago. Now I'm totally 25 and 1/4 inches long."

We also have a number of noise making objects meant for babies around the house that are meant to soothe Alina into deep slumbers. But how can these sounds soothe if she doesn't associate them with anything soothing? Like the ocean, jungle sounds, or babbling brooks. She doesn't hear this, close her eyes and think, "Yeah dude, I'm totally there." She hasn't been to the ocean, the jungle, or to a brook so I would think all this stuff would just sound like hissing and noise to her. The only familiar sound on any of these machines (4 D Batteries not included), at least early on was the one that has a heartbeat noise. Sure, that makes sense. She knows that sound from the womb. I think there should be other buttons on these gadgets with familiar sounds like "Mom's Lungs Inflating" or "Mom's Colon After Mexican Food". Alina has heard that much more than 5-foot waves breaking over a Caribbean coral reef.

Distraction - The Movie

We have all manner of things that go *blop* *bleep* and move about. But mostly she just likes to be held.

Look At That Faaaaaaaaaaace

It's Hard to Be Hard

Pushing a baby in a stroller and listening to metal on your iPod creates a really bizarre vibe of opposites. When you listen to hard music, your walk changes, your attitude changes. I have a special playlist for when I feel like saying bite me to the immediate public. But when you're pushing a pram with a cute little baby inside, it's really hard to get your metal walk on.

0 + 3 = Spring

It's hard to complain about gifts n' such because they're gifts afterall. I didn't buy them for myself. But sometimes I can't help but slap my forehead. We were auditing the baby wardrobe because there's just too much of it. We found clothes meant for a 3-6 month old that were for Winter. Alina was born in February. What is she going to do with a sweater in June? They're cute and all but I think we'll be re-gifting this stuff to a woman we know who is popping in late August.

Here Wife-y Wife-y

Unlike the baby, when I put Katrina in the car it's like having a puppy again. She has been cooped up so much lately that when we go out it's like when you say to your doggy, who wants a ride? WHO wants a RIDE? Then Katrina scampers out to the car and sticks her head out the window with her tongue wagging.

Red Light, Scream Light

Alina is for the most part a very smiley baby and not much of a fusser unless she really wants to eat and mommy is in the bathroom washing her hands. It's like the urge to pee when you're about 4 seconds from actually doing it. Your body starts without you. Anyway, a peculiar trend Alina has started is crying at red lights. She's not a huge fan of the carseat, but the motion tends to knock her out fairly quickly. For some reason though, at just about every red light or stop sign she'll let out a little wahhhh depending on how long I stop. Even if I only stop for a second. She'll fuss for exactly one second. Sometimes she can't get it out fast enough so it just comes out as a quick sigh.

Baby Sufferance

Alina was born with a lot of hair and still has it after six weeks. It's actually getting long. But with this comes one problem. She doesn't have the hand eye coordination so when she's sleeping she'll grab hold of it and instinctively squeeze and pull. We'll go into the bedroom because of her screaming and find that she will have a handful of her own hair and yelling. Oww, this hurts. Why can't I stop pulling my own hair?! Arrrrghhhh! I hope she quells this Sadist quality before her toddler years.

Movies!

The future of this blog is uncertain. But I thought I'd at least post this link:


Alina Movies! (these are all on YouTube now, plus others.)


I hope this sates until I figure out what I'm doing. I feel that hearing about sleepless nights, poopy diapers, and feeding schedules isn't very interesting or unique. Maybe this will turn into a Strange and Unexpected Alina Behavior blog. Those little moments where your child asks "Does God have feet?"

First Few Moments - 2/13/2006

Alina Charlotte

I feel like I just inherited a really big boat. Wow, a boat! Boats are fun! Gee, I don't know much about keeping a boat, driving a boat, or maintaining a boat. Hmm, I better not sink this boat or run it aground. That's closest analogy I have so far until they come home.

We went to the hospital on Sunday night because Katrina was feeling very nauseous and dizzy. I thought it was the Thai food she ate but the doctor told us to come in and they would check her out and the fetal movement as well. They're obsessed with the movement. I was moderately annoyed at the prospect of leaving our newly dug out and salted parking spot that just hours ago was under 26 inches of snow plus snowplow mounds. I said to Katrina on the way to the hospital, "They better induce you tonight...because we're never going to find another spot if we come home."

Once again, Katrina was hooked up to the fetal monitor while they checked everything out. You never really see a doctor at this point. They call on the phone from wherever they are until they deem you worthy of their presence. The on-call doctor said that they were most likely going to induce labor with a suppository. However, after physically examining Katrina herself it was decided that she would be kept overnight since there were signs of early labor anyway. Why induce if it's going to happen by itself, right?

So they put us in this room with four other beds, one of which was occupied by a woman who was 28 weeks pregnant and whose water had already broken. The plan was to keep her there for 7 weeks, pumping her with fluids. That's rough. But this was the intermediate labor room - one of 5 rooms we'd be occupying over the next 29 hours. We really couldn't sleep at all and they kept coming in to poke prod and replace IV bags full of various fluids. So we just sat there and watched the full moon move across the sky. Probably contributed to the 20+ babies we saw in the nursery that day. I kept an eye on the monitor because it kept losing Alina's heartbeat. She was moving around a lot and that involved moving the readers on Katrina to find it again. Getting Katrina back and forth to the bathroom was cumbersome. Unplugging various cords from the machine and slinging them around your neck, collecting all the IV tubing and making sure you weren't stepping on it or rolling over it with the pole-on-wheels everything was hanging from.

For myself, I didn't really know what I could do except say Want some ice chips? But at around 6AM Monday the real fun started in the form of P A I N and contractions. They ask about your (tolerable) pain scale from 1-10. She went from 3 to 7 to 9. After about 90 minutes of that it was time to move rooms to the Labor and Delivery wing. There were epidurals to administer after all. The only baby-safe painkiller they offer.

The changing of rooms was like moving from a clinic to a suite. Better machinery, more comfy chairs for Dad, and other things to distract you like a stereo and a TV. Someone left behind a CD with Hindu music. Our nurse, Heather, had a Tigger watch. We took that as a good Omen because our nursery at home is all Pooh'd out. The room was very clean, but you could tell it had seen a lot of action. The floors were scratched up to such an extent that you'd think they had just performed an exorcism on a rottweiler. The anesthesiologist came in (they're always slow talkers, as if they're sampling their own product) to hook up Katrina to the la la juice. About 10 minutes after the epidural was inserted into her spine, she said "Mmmmmm, this feels like slipping into a warm bath surrounded by candles." I wasn't allowed in the room while they did this for some reason. I had to go to the 24 hour Au Bon Pain in the main lobby of the hospital. Granted, I was very hungry so I didn't mind but I cursed the bright sunlight and scorned all the awake people. The lobby was flooded with happy folk starting their work day. They all got sleep, the bastards.

I got back to the room and the nurse said that the epidural will make Katrina's blood pressure drop and that they would be keeping an eye on it. In these moments, I trust no one. They told us to try and get some sleep but how the hell could I do that now? Tee hee, your wife's heart may stop, but let's all get some shut eye. I thought about how that was way worse than not letting the bedbugs bite. Katrina's face got a little pale. The machine she was hooked up to would beep and boop and I didn't know why. I asked the nurse and she said, "I dunno, it does that sometimes." Ah yes, now I can nap. In Katrina's zonked, half asleep state, she must've thought the monitor's beeps were the dinner chimes on a Holland America cruise ship because out of nowhere she mumbled, "Hey honey, if we hurry we can go to second seating." I told her I would have the venison. She agreed.

At 9AM and 4cm they decided to break her water for her. Nothing happens naturally anymore, silly. Hey doc, you knitting a sweater? She whipped out this plastic crochet hook and promptly popped my baby's warm condo. At 11AM they decided that naturally wasn't being naturally prompt, so they gave her an IV of Petocin to speed along her dilation. “You can’t turn off suppositories,” the doctor said. The problem with this method is that it makes the contractions more painful so they have to up the happy spine soup to counteract it. Dr.Kaufman at your cervix. Over the next 7 hours they kept checking to see if the she was dilating and if Alina's head was dropping. Neither was really happening. So they decided at 6PM to perform a C-Section. Dammit, they're taking all the spontaneity out of this birth thing.

I suppose there are pros and cons with natural birth vs cesarean. Baby’s getting stuck in the birth canal, episiotomy (meat scissors!), pelvis breaking, etc. But the latter ends up being a little anti-climactic. There's no go baby go aspect to it. No rounding second, third, and heading for home....push! push! Here comes the head! You're doing it! Just:

Slice.

Baby.

It's a mixed bag really. You're in the O.R., the third room of the night, wearing scrubs and watching your wife's eyes roll around in her sockets, trying to talk to her. You're both hiding behind a sheet so you can't see anything. Not that you'd want to. You hear a little cry and then a quick flash of quivering grey baby when they show her over the vertically placed sheet. And then she's....born. 6:39pm. 8 lbs, 19.5 inches long. Not a big crier at all, really. But I stayed at Katrina's head and kept her awake. Then they give her to me! Because the doctor has to put mommy's parts back in and her arms are pinned down outstretched like Jesus. You want focus on your new baby but you can't help but be concerned about what's going on next to you. They put me in a room by myself (the fourth room) for close to 45 minutes while they closed Katrina up. Just me and Alina. I spent a good portion of it trying to take photos with my phone while holding her at the same time. There were people to alert, after all. But Alina was very inquisitive. Looking around, raising her eyebrows and bringing them together in a confused expression like, This place is way different from the one I was just in.

After a few hours in the recovery room, they moved us to our fifth room in the maternity ward. A wing full of very slow moving women and very loud babies. They gave us ID bracelets that I have to wear all week and put a Baby LoJack on Alina's ankle. So if anyone decides to take her outside the wing, alarms go off, nets go down, and shotguns are drawn. And that's where Katrina and Alina (yes, I know it rhymes) will be until Friday. They can't come home soon enough. We have a world of work ahead of us but it's a very exciting time. Katrina is healing nicely and Alina got a clean bill of health from our new Pediatrician.

Everything Alina does, no matter how normal, is somehow fascinating. Look, she blinked! Wow, she yawned! Oooh, she sneezed -- oh shit, does she have a cold?? Call the doctor and ask if that's okay!


The Dad.

It's the Square Footage, Stupid

Katrina was very nearly induced last night? Why? Because doctor's are worried about being sued. We were at the doctor's office for the now weekly checkup since we're so close to the end. When the doctor asked if Katrina had been feeling the baby move much, she said No. What Katrina's follow up to that answer would've been, "Well, I'm getting used to be karate kicked on a regular basis, but the baby has grown so much I don't think she has any room to do that now." Ain't no nevermind. The doctor told us to go to the hospital right away and that she might be induced. What? There's like a heartbeat and stuff. The doctor added, "We take fetal movement very seriously." So, freaked out, we drove to the hospital without the suitcase and Viacord box to get checked out.

They hooked Katrina up to a fetal monitor and did an ultrasound. The baby was moving, only Katrina wasn't feeling it. I was watching the ultrasound, the baby was fine and breathing. The amniotic fluid levels were good. And she's already over 8 pounds. Head down, all that good stuff. So we sat there for two hours and listened to Alina's heartbeat on the fetal monitor, which is essentially a very sensitive microphone/EKG/contraction detector. Everytime the baby rolled around, the heartbeat went up and it sounded like she was moving furniture around inside the womb. I told Katrina it sounded like the baby was a roadie doing a soundcheck before a concert. Check One (blowwwwww) Sibilance. Turns out it's not a good idea to make someone laugh when they have a fetal monitor on. It skews the readings and puts spikes in that long printout.

The whole time Katrina ate ice chips, which I must say, were perfectly constructed for someone who can only eat ice chips. Small, barrel shaped, rough surface to prevent slippage, easily crumbled with the slightest bite (Insert word for the kissing of the finger tips to denote deliciousness). Now she's at 2 cm and having mild contractions so it's very very close.

Now there's a bloody blizzard coming. Fitting really. I was born during an ice storm, my little sister was born during a lunar eclipse/snow storm. My grandfather had a theory about low barometric pressure inducing labor. If that's true, it's going to be a busy weekend at the hospital. We tend not to get too much snow in NYC. Snow either misses us or turns to rain. It must be that protective layer of sarcasm over the city.

Any Day Now

Ready to pop doesn't even begin to cover how Katrina is feeling right now. We'll reserve that cute little euphemism for the other mommies out there. We're gonna go with, and I mean this in the nicest way sweetie, Fixin' to Blow or Engorged Tick or Geddit Ouuuuuuuuuut!! The baby was over five pounds a month ago and they say it will grow nearly a pound a week in the last month of pregnancy. People even ask her if she's carrying twins.

The last two weeks has been all about organizing our space and closets, building furniture, broken furniture, replacing furniture, putting batteries in everything that jingles and bubbles and swings, and lets not forget turning 30! That changing table was a beast to put together and that's coming from me -- the Ikea Obi-Wan. Nevermind that it weighed about 150 pounds in the box, but the pre-drilled holes weren't always in the right place and when you're dealing with drawers, they really need to be. We also put aluminum foil on the things we don't want the cat jumping on. Apparently cats on foil is like nails on a chalkboard to them. They just can't take it and spaz out, forever associating the changing table or the baby swing with an audible pain that can only be found by listening to Yoko.

Over the weekend, Katrina had what was believed to be a series of contractions! Maybe it was something she ate, maybe it was the potholes on 37th Street, but something made her go from relative inactivity to 2 minutes apart instantaneously. The bad part was that we were on the wrong side of both rivers that night. So from now on we're staying closer to the hospital. I think that Superbowl party will be the last time we'll be seen in public together as a mere twosome.

Ramping Up

Ramping up aka getting ready. That's one of those amusing "biz speak" phrases I've learned in my various office monkey jobs. Like, "I'm gonna have to give some push back because I simply don't have the bandwidth to work in this pipeline or operate in all these verticals." We are officially swimming in baby paraphernalia. It looks like someone is moving in, which I suppose has a ring of truth to it, if you replace UHaul with Uterus. Our living room has piles of bags and boxes, jingly fuzzies and fluffy jinglies. Katrina's co-workers told her there wasn't enough stuff on the registry - HA!! At this point, a hardcore reorganization of the closets is at hand. Maybe now she'll let me throw away all that random lotion and body butter.

Pretty soon we're going to have to pack the bag for the hospital. Ms. Lamaze teacher gave us this long list of items to include, some of the less obvious being CDs, games, pictures to focus on, chapstick, a handgun, 12 hard boiled weebles, and a tambourine. We also have to remember to bring that cord blood kit to the hospital.

The baby registry got a nice chunk taken out of it this past weekend, in some cases repeatedly. We got three nipple sterilizers. Most humans only have two nipples. Two diaper champs, a nifty garbage pail with a relatively airtight rotating lid that acts like the bulletproof divider money thinger from a taxi. For now, we have a garbage chute in the hallway of our building so I'm hoping to just use that. The super is going to love us. Other assorted duplicates will probably be brought back. With the objects we're returning, we may have enough store credit to buy the electric breast pump, maybe a changing table. We actually tried to get the table this past weekend but they were out of stock. As is the entire eastern seaboard, we soon discovered. So, while there we bought a giant bottle of Dreft, baby laundry detergent. Apparently, washing baby clothes with store brands like Tide and Cheer cause your baby's skin to bubble and smoke and eventually fall right off.

You know, gazing upon the giant pink baby pyramid of loot in our living room has made this experience feel very real all of a sudden. I think I'm drifting back to the panic from the first trimester. I'm going to be a father? Surely you jest. This is some kind of clerical error, right? I feel like I know nothing, mostly because I don't. We all have our little fantasies about how you're going to play with, love, and fairly discipline your child. But that's not even a tenth of it. Thus far, I've successfully busied my mind with planning, registries, accounting, iPods, and work. But, eventually I need to get my game face on. Like, soon. Honey, call an audible. I'm going deep.

Third Trimester Digest

Katrina grunts and says "God!" while I'm sleeping. I wake up and ask her what's wrong and she says that she's too big and can't get out of bed to go to the bathroom. So, I push her over on her side so she can swing her legs onto the floor.

Alina gets hiccups about four times a day now. While being cute and apparently very normal, I feel bad because I want to help somehow. Like, I want to reach in there and pat her on the back or something.

We're already preparing a menu of items for Katrina to feast on when she's post partum and ready for it. Cappuccino, red wine, sushi, stinky cheese, diet coke with lemon, pate, morel mushrooms, and assorted items that give her terrible heartburn while pregnant like marinara sauce and spicy foods. She'll probably pump a few bottles and save them for the weekend.

She's now up to a size 10 in the feet and has taken to wearing shoes that have no backing so she doesn't need to bend over to put them on. That, and it helps when her feet are swollen at the end of the day. P.S. Walking Company rules!

Getting impatient. Want this baby to come now! Feels like she's been pregnant for a year. Time is moving very slowly. Expectation does that.

Baby gains one pound a week now and Katrina is starting to put away foot long subs - with chips!

Nesting. I woke up for work and found that the apartment had been cleaned sometime between 12am and 8am the previous night.

The family baby shower is next weekend. Where do you keep a nipple sterilizer? We're gonna need a bigger boat.

Happy 4th Quarter

And I Wasn't Informed?

I don't know, maybe it's just me, but I think that New Dad's should get a bachelor party type event. It seems more warranted than when you're about to get married. Before a wedding (hopefully more than a week before), a bachelor party happens because supposedly you're about to enter into a union where you don't get to go out and get shitfaced on a regular basis. And I guess the strippers are there to remind you about what's about to be off-limits. I started floating the concept of a New Dad Party at my office recently. Turns out, in Australia and the UK they have something like this. It's called Wetting the Baby's Head. Ah those hooligans, they can come up with any reason to drink. Now, this evening shouldn't be confused with a stag night. No one wearing body glitter should be present. But over there, they do it while your wife and baby are still in the hospital. I don't think I can get away with that. Besides, how would I have the stamina after 20+ hours of being Coach Ethan in the labor room? But really, what do we do here? In America, as I understand it, we just hand out cigars or something and go right into the sleepless stretch called early fatherhood. Luckily, I'm turning 30 about three weeks before Alina is due. So this could work out nicely assuming she doesn't come early, which I'm told is a real possibility. She is very active - kicking and poking like she wants out.

So consider this a call to arms, gents. I'm the first among you to jump into this pool, naively unaware of its depth. We're going to wet the baby's head, my head, your heads, until there's nary a dry hair in all of Christendom.

Baby New Yorker

I discovered a new word this weekend: Exurb. It's like a suburb, but further away. Like when cookie cutter housing developments crop up in the middle of nowhere, beyond the traditional suburban radius of a city. My sister recently relocated to one of these, 30 miles north of Tampa. It's a new breed of Frontierism. But replace covered wagons with UHaul trucks. One of the ideas is to create communities where housing is affordable enough that parents can take a more active part in their child's lives. I know my sister was attracted to the idea of saving $500K on a house. But problems can arise when these communities are placed in towns that aren't ready for the population explosion. More schools need to be built, wider roads need to be laid down. You've got to hand it to Starbucks though. They were there before the houses were even finished.

It feels like a lot of people think that you can't or shouldn't raise a child in New York City. With what you hear on the news, why wouldn't you think that? They make it sound like if my child is a product of the local schools they'll have a crack pipe in one hand and list of misspelled vocabulary words in the other. I used to be very proud of my NYC public education and would tell people how I didn't have any problems. Then I read in New York Magazine last month how there were a few public schools that rival the private ones in their quality. PS 59, the one my sister and I went to, was on that list. But to sound fancy they call themselves the Beekman Hill School. D'oh! There goes my case. I personally know of only one other native New Yorker my age that was born here and still lives here. Even the kids from PS 59 have moved out.

You can save for a home, save for college, save for retirement, pay down your debts but not all at the same time. So what do you do? Stay in NYC and swallow the cost of living here with under-educated, but cultured and stimulated children or go to a place where the local NRA screens Red Dawn every Saturday? Wherever it is, I hope they have trees.

Drugs

A choice Katrina is going to have to make is whether or not to use drugs during labor. I'm not talking airplane glue or putting a lighter under a spoon. These are the socially acceptable kind. This choice will most likely come on the day depending on how she feels. Or how hard she pulls on my shirt collar. In our lamaze class, they talked about several kinds. There's Demerol, which is technically a narcotic. It doesn't numb you but it certainly takes the edge off. But, they say it penetrates the placenta and your baby will come out very sleepy and possibly in a tie-dye shirt. Besides other variations of the turn on, tune in, drop out variety there's also the alternative -- Epidural. They poke you in the spine and it numbs everything from the waist down for the entire labor. It doesn't penetrate the placenta but it makes it difficult to push when the time comes. Then they literally go in with a vacuum and suck the baby out by the head or use forceps. I'm told I was a forceps baby. But then again, I was a 33-hour labor. I don't even want to do something that feels good for 33 hours. Not my joke, but true nonetheless.

Another drug issue is that Katrina actually has a cold right now. So I'm up to my ankles in snotty tissues and clementine rinds. But she can't take any friggin' medication. How she must long for the slow kiss of NyQuil, the expectation of expectorant, the vapors of VapoRub. Hell, even the placebo effect of a handful of Vitamin-C. All off limits. It's just lots of drinking, bathroom trips, and questioning my lack of snuggling. "I have to stay healthy so I can take care of you," I say. This line of logic doesn't seem to penetrate though. Pregnant ladies need lots of affection, I've learned. That or Haagen Dazs -- the rumors were true.

Lamazarific

We had the crash lamaze course this past Saturday and Sunday. It was definitely more involved than I thought it would be. Before Friday, everything I knew about lamaze I learned from Bill Cosby in 1982. Turns out things have changed. It's not just huffing and puffing anymore. It's way more advanced! You watch VHS tapes of new mothers wearing acid washed denim jackets with shoulder pads (and matching pants). Aside from that amusing antiquity, the nurse who runs it goes into more detail than most men in the room would care to hear. And of course there's the live birth videos. Yum.

There were about 8 couples of all types in the class. We had the bald guy who stroked and played with his wife's hair for the entire duration, the couple with the doctor who knew everything (used words like "aspirate" instead of inhale, the brown nosers, the sleeping husband, the ones who clearly feared their parents, and the woman (guess who) who kept asking for bathroom breaks.

But they do cover everything, basically minute by minute (placenta anyone? It'll be out soon!). One important thing I learned is that Hollywood lies. They say for the first child, labor takes on average about 24 hours. So, the rushing to the hospital and giving birth in taxicabs is all hooey. And to think, I was concerned about being sober on my 30th birthday in case Alina comes early. They also covered postpartum depression, kegels (ewwww), exercises to help with back pain and heartburn, and how not providing juice or water at a free lamaze breakfast was taking your life in your hands.

See, they won't let you in the delivery room unless you have a lamaze certificate. So although I was forced to be there by the hospital I'm still glad I went. We got a tour of the high security in the antepartum unit that prevents baby stealing. We perused the delivery rooms with bright theater lighting in case a baby wants to give a soliloquy. We put our noses to the glass and peered inside the nursery where they keep all the new bundles. Luckily, our instructor had all kinds of helpful tips like, "When you go to the nursery, steal everything in that drawer over there. They refill it anyway." But she was informative in many physiological and psychological areas too. At one point, I was used as an example to show the women what position they'll have to put themselves in during the last stage of labor. She stuffed two pillows in my shirt, made me lie on my back, held one leg in the air, and had me do the hee hee hee hoo hoo hoo breathing. Amusing in practice. They left out the part where Katrina grabs the back of my hair and screams

"You did this to me, you sonovabitch! Blaaaaarrrrrggghh!"

Baby Monkey

More Bodily Functions

I put a diaper on a stuffed monkey the other day. I think I did all right. Of course, the real thing will be slightly different. The last time I actually changed a diaper was 1989. It took 30 minutes and it was like this darling child's anus said "I don't know, I'm feeling like chunky pea soup today." I think a garden hose would've been faster. Little wipes just weren't doing the trick. I'm sure I'll have plenty of diaper war stories in the months to come though.

Katrina has gained a total of 12 pounds so far. This is the only time in my life where I can ask, "Honey, how many pounds have you put on?" and she answers me happily. "Thank God I still have my ass," she says. Unfortunately her heartburn is getting out of control. She has it pretty much 24/7 now and has drank so much Maalox that Alina is going to smell vaguely of mint when she comes out. It has gotten so bad that she's considering going on some kind of esophageal healing medication when it's safe to do so. Instead of lying there thinking about the hot poker in her throat, Katrina has taken to reading children's books aloud when she's in bed. It's supposed to get the baby used to your voice. While she was doing it recently Alina got hiccups. They're much faster than ours and, of course, when they happened we were all get the book, get the book just to make sure that was normal. It's not like we can pat her on the back, scare her, make her drink through a napkin or hold her breath. By the way, that napkin trick works every time if you do it right. It's probably the most useful thing I took away from Sophomore English. The teacher was full of bartender tips like that.

*Pow* *Bang* *Flaggle*

"Come feel your daughter kicking my ass," Katrina says. How can I say no? Although I only feel about a third of the movement, "D'ja feel that? How 'bout that?", I must say that this child is certainly giving Momma a wallop. I think the baby is used to having more uterroom. Sometimes when we're on the couch Katrina will stand up, put her hands on her belly and say, "What?! Why?! No, not there! Ohhhh, Momma doesn't like that!" Like she's trying to reason with the baby. This inner battle is hilarious to me but I can't let her see me laugh, else I get the YOU try carrying a baby talk. Mmmmm, that's good trimester. This has made sleeping on her side an absolute must. She's been able to get away with not thus far. And when she finishes her post-shower ritual she looks like (or maybe I'm just fantasizing) she just had a hot oil wrestling match. This is the battle to stave off those stretch marks. Cocoa Butter, Vitamin-E oils, Apricot oils, you name it. I think some people are just destined to get stretch marks though. No matter how much you slather yourself.

Cribbage

Some say it's bad luck, but I have assembled the crib. I don't know when the good luck cutoff date is, but that thing was sitting in the back of our truck long enough. I would say built but that would be a slight exaggeration. Allen wrenches and screwdrivers were all I needed. We've been having crib usage drills like the Is It Deep Enough Arm Reach Test and the Baby In One Arm Crib Wall Slide Test (since it has a moveable wall) and Balancing On One Foot While Holding Baby Foot Pedal Test (wall only moves with a pedal release) and Quiet Wall Movement Test. We're getting better. You can allegedly convert it into a toddler bed for when they get older so it came with all these extra pieces that we'll now have to keep track of. But it works. Our bedroom has a nook where it fits almost perfectly, the only problem being that the crib is too large to wheel out of the room. I don't know that we'd ever actually need to wheel the crib around, it just seemed like a handy idea. But no, she's trapped....or we are....depends on how you look at it. Is she going to hold us prisoner in our own bedroom? I think we're getting some kind of white noise or sounds generator so that we won't wake her when we go to bed. Although, one thing New York promotes in children is the ability to sleep through anything. Garbage trucks, buses, police cars and ambulances. We all got used to them. When Katrina first moved to New York she actually turned her head when ambulances drove by. HA! That seems like a long time ago.

A Pound of Flesh

More tests and more tests. Last time Katrina went to the doctor she felt faint so the doctor prescribed a battery of tests to make sure it wasn't just fatigue. They had us drive to Bay Shore on at 8am on a Saturday morning to get her blood glucose levels tested. Well, they actually sent us to the wrong place. You see, when a medical lab moves, they apparently don't tell anyone except the Weight Watchers supply office next door. For this glucose test, they used to take your blood, have you go out and eat a balanced lunch, and come back in two hours to see if your pancreas was doing its job with the insulin. Instead, they had Katrina drink 6 ounces of the sweetest orange fluid known to the likes of man. You could get diabetes just by looking at it. I checked the label, 54 grams of sugar in this little bottle. That's like the sweetness of a 20 ounce bottle of Coke squeezed into half can! Of course, that test came back negative.

Recently Katrina started getting this twitch under her left eye around where the socket is. Instead of prescribing more sleep and possibly a warm compress, she now has to go see a Neuro-Opthamologist to make sure she doesn't have Freaky Face Syndrome or something. They really don't leave anything to chance in this litigious land. They make her stress about everything. It can send you over the edge. Hell, even I've leaned back a bit. For me anyway. I let her have a bite of my bacon at breakfast the other day. See? I'm not made of stone.

Pregnant in the Tropics

We just spent a week in Florida, our last vacation before the baby comes. We felt it was important for Katrina to feel what it's like to be pregnant in 85 degree weather. The panting, the shortness of breath, loss of appetite, dizziness, disorientation. Lets just say she's happy for a February delivery in the frigid northeast. Actually, we have a time share down in Palm Beach. And to all those who've heard me gripe about the "baby fund" we had bought the tickets to go down before we knew about the baby. Her doctor gave us the all clear to fly. Sometimes they don't let you if you're having complications. Plus, if you read the right pamphlets, you can scare yourself into worrying about solar radiation at 41,000 feet.

However, a week before we were due to go we got a call from Palm Beach saying that Hurricane Wilma had screwed them up enough to close down for the next few weeks. Apparently their phones and computers had just come back online and they were frantically calling everyone to let them know and send them elsewhere. The options were: A) Don't come and use your week another time or B) Stay in Orlando. Well, airlines won't let you fly if you're to close to delivery and we really wanted to squeeze in a vacation before our parenting adventures began. So, we were off to Orlando ... well Kissimmee actually, the asshole of Mickey if you will. Now, we've done the whole Disney thing and hadn't planned on going back until we had little ones. So we weren't really sure what we were going to do for a week. The main draw of the time share is that it's right on the beach and all Katrina was looking forward to was doing nothing but relaxing on the sand. But Kissimmee is beachless for at least an hour in each direction. That, and the airlines were so booked into Orlando that we had to keep our original itinerary of flying into Palm Beach -- a 3 hour drive away. The best the plane people could do was move our flight to the earliest going in and the latest going out, to give us more time. Knowing that we'd be in the car for most of this trip, I went ahead and changed our Economy car rental to a Convertible. If we couldn't get tan on the beaches, we'd get tan on the Turnpike.

In the airport, Katrina asked for a pat down instead of going through the metal detector. Luckily, it was easy for the rubber gloved security lass to see that Katrina would have trouble concealing anything. She wears very loose fitting clothes these days. There hasn't been any conclusive studies about metal detectors and pregnant women but they say you can get frisked for peace of mind. The baby didn't seem to mind the cabin pressure and was pretty docile through the whole flight. It was a pretty empty plane because so many people opted to cancel their vacations. We flew Song down which has TV monitors in all the seats and they have an interactive trivia game that you can play against other people on the plane. Since the game only allows 6-letters for a name, I chose Herpes. I kinda liked seeing "Herpes is the Winner!" and "Congratulations Herpes!". I'm sure the other passengers didn't like losing to Herpes.

We got on the road after making a brief detour to see the damage at our time share. They had cleaned a lot of it up by then, but we were surprised to see that the town itself still had no traffic lights in some areas and still lots of work to be done. This hurricane was in mid-October and there still isn't power? Then it was off on our 3-hour tour of Central Florida's really really long and really friggin straight highway system. The speed limit was 70 and there were 30-40 miles stretches without any exits. It was citrus and swamp country. It was the first time I was tempted to drive 100 mph just because I could. I don't think we got above 90 though. We needed the convertible to work all week and it would be pretty stupid to get my unborn child in an accident on a straight road with no other cars. I guess 90 mph can kill you too, but 100 just seemed like the sound barrier and the car would start doing somersaults if the needle got that high.

When we finally got to our multi-building "vacation villa" we found that the room smelled like cigars and headboard had been ripped off the wall and placed on the bed. Like, "in case you need this headboard, I've placed it here for you." That and the rest of the bedroom furniture was pulled away from the wall for some reason. It was basically a 1-bedroom apt. Somehow, I had the foresight not to take the luggage out of the car. Well, I was tired and didn't feel like carrying anything at the moment. But good thing, eh? So we had to drive back to the front desk. "Hee hee, all our rooms are non-smoking. Are you sure you smell smoke?" I suppose the previous NASCAR fans in our room didn't agree with the policy. The only room left was on the ground floor, which lessened our view of the highway but made it easier to unload groceries. One just traipses through the bushes and puts them on the patio. That night Katrina realized how much she missed body pillows.

It's hard to be in the theme parkiest place in the world and not be able to go on rides. Katrina is a big roller coaster fan. One day we met up with my sister, her husband, and their 3 year old at Epcot because we figured it had the least amount of temptation for thrill rides and it had more variety of foods for the pregnant mom. Every ride there moves slowly, or so we had remembered. A lot there had changed. The 30-mintue film in the Universe of Energy about why OIL RULES (brought to you by Exxon) they make you sit through before seeing animatronic dinosaurs was replaced by Ellen Degeneres and Bill Nye Science Guy being goofy and talking about alternative fuels. Then they had a few things that pregnant women couldn't ride. Luckily they have this new system where if you're riding alone, you can cut the line. So when the 3-year old was sleeping we would take turns, sometimes just I would go in, sometimes two of us. But not Katrina. I could see her heart sink a little. I think she was vilified when she saw how green we all got from *urp* Mission: Space! Basically a souped up carnival gravitron but with more movie stars, blinking control panels, and claustrophobia. We knew we were in trouble when they said "Don't look to the left or right or you will become disoriented." My constitution has clearly become more vulnerable to G-forces. It was the first ride I had ever been on that screwed me up for pretty much the rest of the day. I felt like I was in my first trimester! Queasy, headache, the slightest movement (even the mild pool current later that night) making it worse.

We took it pretty easy the rest of the week. Everywhere seemed to be "Festivals" which I think places do to try and get people to come down during the slow season. What is Oktoberfest anyway, other than a way to get people to go to Germany in a lame time of year? It wasn't easy finding palatable food. Everything was fried or steak or fried steak. Katrina can't have most fish they serve down there. She loves Grouper and Mahi but wasn't allowed to have that either. The closest she has come to alcohol during her entire pregnancy was at a Fondue place where they put wine in the boiling broths & cheeses. But we had our beach day, though I made Katrina cover her belly with a towel so the baby wouldn't bake. We had our coral reef snorkeling day (salt water enclosure, not the ocean) at Discovery Cove, we got splashed by Shamu, and took a gander and old NASA rockets. But 7 days and 3 tanks of gas later we headed back home.

Overall I'd say Katrina did fairly well. There were some bouts where being an August baby herself made her say, "How the hell did my mom do this in the summer?" But we walked slowly, occasionally put the top up on the car when she would get overheated, and had lots of bottles of water at the ready. We're coming up on the Third Trimester soon and Katrina won't even need a coat to go outside, I'm told. Next year, we'd ideally like to take the baby to Palm Beach but we'll see. Watch, there'll be a Hurricane Alina now. Did I mention we picked her name?

26 Week Belly

Teenage Girls in the 21st Century

A blond, football playing pretty boy in a sporty red car pulled into our driveway to take my then Freshmen sister to the Junior Prom. My father came up from the city to witness this event. After giving him the kneel before Zod knuckle crunch handshake, he said to the boy "Now I hope you make sure she wears her seatbelt...but you don't have to wear yours..." The boy raised an eyebrow "...because if you get into an accident with my daughter in the car and you survive?....I'll kill you." My sister's middle finger was firmly planted against the passenger side window all the way up the driveway.

A father's relationship with his daughter is the most complex, but also the most important. It defines the way she sees men for the rest of her life. It will affect the ones she chooses. Holy crap, I have a lot of work to do. To me, just keeping them breathing is about 25% of being a father. Unfortunately, some think it's 100%. I never thought it was a coincidence that most of the girlfriends I had were fatherless. But being aware helped. It's not like they were saying "Help me with my algebra...then spank me!" but I tried to not let it get to the point where I started being something other than a boyfriend.

And here she comes. My own little girl. At first all we worry about is keeping them alive, making enough money, ABCs, college funds, etc. She'll probably think the Simpsons are stupid yellow people. Can't help that. It's the person that she will become that is concerning me more these days. Would I worry as much if she were a boy? Yes, but in a different way. They say girls mature faster than boys. That seems to be true. I don't recall many girls my age hitting mailboxes with baseball bats when I was 16 and setting things on fire. They were too busy dating older boys. Yipes! As much as I'd like to trust myself to wing it and make the right decisions, I think I know enough licensed psychologists to make sure I'm not permanently damaging anybody. It starts out simply enough with little pink dresses. Then you swiftly move onto schools, friends, playdates, the right toys, makeup, you're wearing what to school?, classes, homework, not too much TV, crushes, piercings, reading, tab A, slot B, braces, I want my own room, tampons, instruments, bras, hip hop, peer pressure, getting cultured, no thongs until you're 30!, exposure, athletics, and the avian flu. Don't be afraid, baby. I'll do good.

Two Baby Registries

Babies R Us and BabyUniverse.com

Why two? Because we needed an online based registy that shipped large items like cribs and strollers -- and they only charge $6.95 to ship. We wouldn't want all you far away people to miss out on the fun! The default shipping address is my office.

Wishing For Contentment

I need to put a picture of Katrina on here soon. You've got to see this great new belly she's got now. Of course with all pregnant women, a new shape brings the personal discomfort, frequent trips to the bathroom, the need to be complimented ... constantly. I guess they think the big belly = not attractive -- women think weird things. But, she's about two weeks away from chucking our couch out the window (defenestrate!). She just can't get comfortable on it anymore. "I want a big kid couch!" she says, as she rolls from side to side, feet up on an ottoman. Her right butt cheek was already asleep from her uterus pressing on her sciatic nerve before she sat down. Granted it's not a very cushy couch and you're screwed if you have any form of back pain. So I'll go to our room and fetch the two body pillows, a quilt, and whatever else I can find that's poofy -- now the couch looks like a Fort. All she needs are Star Wars action figures and she'll look just like me at age six. And just like the child that you've just dressed in his winter snow pants, hat, and gloves, she has to get up and go to the bathroom. The baby is sitting on her bladder. Then we start the get comfy process all over again. I assume this won't get any easier the bigger she gets. But it's all just part of the process. Oh, and note to all you fathers-to-be: Never use the word 'Moose', even in jest...even if she crashes down on you while you're lying on the floor. You won't live it down.

They say you shouldn't sleep on your back when you're pregnant. That's a hard habit to break, as it turns out. No matter how many pillows and blankets we put on either side of her and make her look like a pregnant hotdog in a Goose Down bun, she will always roll on her back at some point during the night. Maybe if we tape thumbtacks to her shoulder blades she'll be conditioned not to roll. She wasn't a big fan of the idea -- they can't all be winners. She can't sleep on her stomach either, obviously. The baby gives her a kick to the gut if Katrina isn't lying down correctly. This tends to wake her up, then make her aware of her bladder, then keep her up for the rest of the night once she comes back to bed. Take notes all you future mommies.

She's on her feet most of the day at her job, which sucks, and it makes her feet and ankles swell up. So the nighttime foot rub will start to become more of a tradition. It'll be a good time to start dishing out more of those compliments. Yes, you're still sexy. No you're not too big. Wow, that big beautiful belly is so beautiful, you beautiful beauty, you. You did the dishes on your day off?? How wonderful are you?! I can only do so much to help the physical ailments. But as long as I keep dishing the happy thoughts, all will be right with the world.

It Nudges

I finally started to feel something when I put my hand on Katrina's stomach. After weeks of botched attempts of poking, pressing, and prodding I actually felt a push back! I couldn't tell you what body part it was, but I'm guessing a shoulder or butt cheek. I'm still waiting for the day when I see the movement by looking at her tummy. Alien! It feels like she has a parasite, which technically is true. It is feeding off of her.

Katrina keeps asking me to talk to the baby. I do it a little, but I should probably attempt it more. Everything I read says it's good so the baby can recognize your voice. One thing said, "Speak to your baby no more than two hours a day. Don't sound bored, the baby will sense this in your voice." She's already judging me?! Not even out of the womb yet, and I'm a bad parent. And two hours?! That's a lot of monologuing. I find it hard enough to do this for more than 5 minutes. I guess when I read that Week by Week pregnancy book with Katrina I can speak to the wee one then. Although I suppose the content isn't as important. I could read stereo instructions or Senate confirmation transcripts.

We're getting a lot of advice about what kind of things to register for. At this point Babies R Us is our only registry but I'd like to change that seeing that almost half of the content is not available for online purchase and shipping. Mostly the furniture but simple things too like rattles and DVDs. So we may do a BabyCenter.com or some other type of registry to go along with the first one. Brick and mortar be damned. They're all dim-witted twits at Babies R Us anyway. You'd think the employees there would have some kind of useful advice or a mildly clued-up sales staff would be present. But I swear, they'd walk into the glass doors if there weren't stickers on them. And then there's the new parents' advice from people who had babies in the last few years. I find this to be the most helpful, of course, but it varies from pragmatic to ridiculous. Like people telling Katrina not to breast feed because her boobs will never be the same again. I have strong opinions on this and I'll keep this short. People who don't breast feed for cosmetic reasons should be brought up on charges of abuse. There are so many health benefits for the baby like receiving the mother's antibodies to fight infection, for example. I just don't get it. Maybe because I don't have breasts. Well, not ones that have the capacity for lactation anyway.

So, the Top Names so far are: Alina, Zoe, Autumn, & Vivian. We haven't officially chosen any of them yet. Some people say we should wait until she's born and see what kind of name she looks like. I hesitate on that, because then she may end up with a name like Screamy or Gooey. I think it'd be hard to see past the guts and gloop and havoc make an informed decision like, "Yep, that's a Zoe, all right."

IT'S (will be) A GIRL

I'll post more soon. My brain isn't working after Babies R' Us.

--A day passes--

Wow, I really needed that time. My brain was so foggy that I actually felt like a newborn myself, overwhelmed by my surroundings and seeing things for the first time. It made me very tired, and I wanted a boob of my own. But now I am refreshed and can put sentences together enough to announce that some time in mid to late February, we will have a wee daughter. It's official and confirmed. So all of those people with their theories like...

If your stomach is pointy it's a boy
Your nose will get flat if it's a girl
More heartburn means a hairy baby

...can silence themselves now. Katrina made a cake with vanilla frosting the night before and wrote on it "boy or girl?" I think baking was the only way to work through her excitement and impatience for the next day. After we found out, we took the cake downstairs to her co-workers and circled GIRL with a cake pen in pseudo-ceremonial/gameshow fashion. Naturally, all men fantasize about having a son but in reality this works out very well. If we didn't have a girl this time, I have a feeling that Katrina would want to try again sooner rather than later. I say confirmed because we went in for this final Anatomy Review sonogram session and got a really good angle on the baby that left nothing for assumption. Yep, there it is, no doubt. The sono tech even pointed to the evidence with her mouse arrow. Yes, okay I see it! We brought a videotape this time as well so we got to record some movement. The doctor was preoccupied with trying to get the hands measured, which you can't do unless the baby spreads her fingers out. This took a while. They measured basically everything from ventricles to upper lip to femurs. And everything was perfect. But I think we were too dazed about knowing it was a girl to notice. Katrina smiled so big you could see her molars and bottom gums. She kept repeating excitedly, "It's a girl, it's a girl!" I wasn't expecting this, but they turned on the 3D imaging so we could get a better picture of the little miss. It was, well, interesting. The technology isn't really there yet. The 3D ultrasound picked up on her skull more than her face so she looked like the Crypt Keeper. It didn't help that she was hiding under the placenta so the ultrasound had a hard time picking up her face. But, I'm willing to wait for that. We did however get to see her rub her eye and play with her nose in 3D. This is a very active child. She was rolling around and moving a lot. Perhaps it was the quart of orange juice Katrina drank beforehand so the baby wouldn't be sleeping for the sonogram.

Then we went to Babies r Us and good God that was exhausting. We spent 3 hours going through that place, zapping things with the laser gun. Yes, I got to hold it. Katrina mentioned how it was more tiring than the wedding registry. I said, "Well yes. When you choose plates you don't have to think about if they will kill your child." Strollers, bathtubs, breastpumps, bottles, carseats, portable playpens (pack n' play), glider chairs, diaper bags, changing tables, cribs, bouncy seats, baby carriers, high chairs, and a bevy of Pooh & Tigger related items. We weren't allowed to register for clothes because the shower is in January and we have to wait. So everything you zap you have to think, Is this safe? Because apparently, a lot of this stuff isn't made for baby's safety as much as Mommy's convenience. I mean, a Cappacino maker on a stroller is a bit much. Hot steam hurts! By the end of it, I wasn't even thinking "do we need this?" My head was so blurry, Katrina would walk up and put a bar code in my face and I'd just limply hold up the gun and zap it. I wouldn't even ask what it was. We got home and we were completely drained. I went to the bathroom and found the lightswitch on the first try. Ah, it's home now, I thought.

Monday, We'll Know

On Monday at 3:30pm, we will know what the sex is. So keep an eye out for updates that night for the answer. Katrina wants to make a bee line to the Babies r Us to register for stuff. That will most likely be one of several places. Personally, I'd rather do the whole thing online. But I do like the laser gun registry device, if they have them. I wonder if registry gun lasers are bad for the baby? Well, even if they're not, I'll use that excuse so I can play with it more. Mine! I'll already be setting examples of maturity.

Katrina is still getting used to her new girth. She has smacked her stomach with the car door a couple of times. Not too hard, but she's going to need longer arms. She still continually pokes herself, trying to feel baby parts. One time she had me poke a spot that she swore was an arm. It felt like it could've been an arm, but I wasn't convinced. Felt more like a part of her stomach muscle wall. "Stop poking yourself so much," I'd say, "the baby's going to come out with dents!" She's also moving a lot more slowly and gets winded easier. When we walk around our neighborhood I tell her to dictate the pace. Until now she'd gotten used to my long strides.

We've been pointed to an article that says we'll need to acclimate our cat to baby stuff slowly. Since cats get skiddish when you move a table, What are you doing to my space?, this seemed like a rational approach to bringing in a new family member. Especially one that doesn't really act as we do. We're supposed to start wiping our hands with baby wipes, putting diapers on the ground for her to investigate, and pooping and screaming in her face. Well, maybe not that last one. The cat is still getting used to the new apartment. For that matter so are we. Maybe once we get all this baby stuff loaded into our place, it'll feel more like a home. I still slap the wall for several seconds in the dark before I enter a room. "It's not home until you can find the light switches." - Ethan's Law

No Short Bus

Okay, I'll be the first to admit the title is crude. But it's official. We got the results of the integrated tests and the baby was negative for Downs and mental retardation. Yes, I know you don't have to be retarded to ride the short bus. But let's hope there won't be a reason. There was also another test where they measure Katrina's cervix to make sure it's not stretching. It causes early labor. The alternative is, no joke, a stapler. That too, was a positive test. So for now we're chipping away at these prenatal worries and cruising into the bliss of the 2nd Trimester. The best Mester of all.

Katrina is finally eating a little more because her nausea is all but gone. The only problem now is that her stomach is starting to get squished by her other organs so usually after half her plate is half empty, she's all full. Then she gets hungry about an hour or so later. This must be what it's like for stomach staple people. I think this is also why the father is known to gain weight along with his pregnant wife. He's eating what she doesn't finish!

Meanwhile, she's desperately trying to get me to feel the baby move or kick. I still can't feel anything. She stands at the ready for the slightest movement and then yells "the baby's kickin'" and puts my hand on her stomach. Although last night I think the onions she had were giving her gas because she put my hand on her liver. "Honey, I don't think the baby is up this high," I said. Or maybe the baby's kick sent her organs flying into a domino effect that ended with her liver. But soon I will feel it, perhaps see it. In my nearly 30 years of existence I have yet to feel a pregnant woman's belly when a baby was kicking. Like Maraschino Cherries, I got to the point where I realized I had yet to experience it and thought, why start now? When I got to my 20s, I decided that I would rather wait to feel my own child kicking. I figured it would be a nice way to usher in fatherhood and have this first contact be a completely foreign sensation. But I'm sticking to my guns with those fake cherries. All bloody chemicals anyway.

Boy or Girl?

Katrina went in for some tests on Friday and while the doctor was doing his sono-izing to measure some of her bits and pieces. Then he asked Katrina if she wanted to know the sex of the baby. It was right there on the screen, but the doctor's head was blocking it. Katrina threw up her hand to her eyes and said, "You know already? No! No, not yet I want to wait until Ethan is here." Soooo, the information is available. Now all we have to do is ask for it. We'll definitely know at the end of the month when we do the anatomy review. They'll be using a much more sophisticated ultrasound appliance. I'm picturing something from Wonka's laboratory but I'm sure there's less steam and whistling. Not only will the pictures be of better quality but we'll have the option of bringing in a videotape too. Katrina says she'll drink lots of orange juice on the day so the baby will be running laps between her ascending and descending colon (which is working more normally these days thankfully).

She has been telling me that the baby gets very active on sonograms. I'm just hoping it's not like that cartoon frog that sings Hello my baby, hello my honey only when that guy is watching. Once we know the sex, then comes the fun yet arduous task of the baby registry. Color schemes, furniture, developmental mobiles that play Mozart. Our large living room looks like a roller rink because of it's size and lack of furniture. But soon there'll be large plastic things that roll, jingle, squeak, and tell me what the cow goes.

Daddy's First Office

Okay, it's official. I have a normal job again. And I got an office. Well, not because I'm important or by any means high up. But more because the confidentiality of the documents I guard. This will surely come in handy when Katrina goes on her hospital sponsored unpaid maternity leave. Thanks Long Island Jewish Medical Center! You complete me.

But yes, a job. Brilliant! But any mistakes I make will be most obvious. You see, one of the many duties in my charge is the company payroll. HA! So let's hope I don't accidentally wire someone's 401K to Borneo or something.

The doctor says that the "flutter of life" Katrina is feeling is probably gas. I'm forced to not agree with her medical opinion. You try telling a smiling Katrina that the kick she just felt was a fart, and not her unborn baby.

We're finding out the sex of the baby sometime this month. Most likely towards the end. There'll be more pictures of baby parts for your enjoyment. Until then, I have to figure out how to do this job. The previous occupant left no instructions. This should be interesting.

Magic German Dwarves

I think I've realized how we were so lucky in getting pregnant on the first try. When we were on our way back from our honeymoon, on a layover in Chicago, we were going through some of the photos that we'd already had developed from our Alaska trip. Katrina then went to get a Starbucks fix, back when she could, and I noticed that the 4 foot woman sitting across from us with her feet dangling was none other than Dr. Ruth Westheimer. When Katrina came back with her Grande Mocha, the gateway coffee, I said "don't look now, but the country's most preeminent sex doctor is sitting across from us." So we gave her one of our honeymoon photos to sign. She said, "Ah, I knew you vas honeymoonahs," signing the photo of us kissing on top of Mt. Whistler, "Dat's a goot kiss." I thought it was good omen to get a marriage send off from Dr. Ruth. Turns out it was.

By the way, I think Daddy got a job today. Nothing has been signed yet but I'm told by the recruiter that they made me an offer. It almost doesn't seem real, so I'm waiting until I've been there a month before I accept that I have a normal job again.

We said goodbye to our rooftop deck in Brooklyn the other night, with the panoramic views of Manhattan. It felt like we were saying goodbye to a lot more though. Youth? Decadence? Spoiling ourselves? Katrina was sad, but I gave her a kiss and said, "Come on honey, let's go start a family."

Baby's First Co-op

Phew! That move was physically taxing. But it's pretty much over now. We just have some light cleaning to do in the old place and to rescue some plants. I baited the hell out of this place and haven't seen any scurrying little friends since. I think Embers, our cat, helped too. Although I only saw a few small ones before we moved in, they always say when you see one, there's 50 more hiding somewhere. We set up the bedroom and have plotted where the crib and changing table will go. So for now, with these items absent, our room looks HUGE. See? The huge letters I used in huge should allude to it's hugeness in a subtle kind of way. You could probably fit our old apartment in the living room. Ooh, I have a tape measure...(measures)...well the kitchen and living room combined then. We have more closet space but have somehow managed to run out of room with more unpacking yet to go. That's not good. Especially when you consider all the baby stuff we will soon have. Note to family members: Keep the toys and books you already have at your house. Then the baby can play with it when we're there. Until then, an extra chest or shelf somewhere should do the trick.

I finally got to hear the baby's heartbeat yesterday. It took the doctor about a minute to find it, but when she did I let out a large sigh. Heartbeats are good, very good, outright necessary. Mama has had some real hardcore cravings. So much so, that when the urge comes along she throws down the food she's eating and says, "I can't finish this chicken until I get a chocolate shake from Johnny Rockets." Fine with me. The doctor says she needs to start gaining weight anyway. Since this began, she has actually lost a total of two pounds. But nothing to freak over, not even for me. This week we're planning on making a mad grocery run on Whole Foods. With the move going on, we didn't do much shopping.

I'll miss Brooklyn, but I'm really liking Forest Hills. It's a lot more diverse. More families instead of hipsters and trust fund babies. One side of our street has an ethnic marketplace and the other side looks like this and has more high end shops and restaurants. Who knew you could get foie gras in Queens? HA, Katrina just called and she wants General Tso's Chicken, despite the fact that everytime she has consumed chinese food in the past 3 months, she has gotten ill. Well, let's see if the General can break the curse.

Moving Sucks

Moving a little bit everyday in your SUV is like slowly tearing off one giant band-aid that covers your entire body. I've had two other epiphanies during my frequent trips to Queens and back. One: New York City should subsidize all of our tires and shock absorbers for driving these roads that look like they've been hit by asteroids. Two: The mob needs to start hijacking gas trucks and selling it to the locals for $2 a gallon. I'm sure it's more lucrative than the Fulton Fish Market or Monday Night Football.

But I'm making sure momma isn't carrying anything heavy...or light for that matter. Her main vocation has been guarding the car while I park next to a hydrant to unload objects. That, and letting her nest in the new place. Note to self: Buy roach bait. Distracting her for those crucial 10 seconds after the lights go on is proving to be more difficult. Run little guys, run! Don't let momma see you. I'll kill you later. Somewhere roaches watch nature shows about New Yorkers trying to talk their way out of parking tickets.

BTW, Actual proof our new neighborhood is nicer: When I told Geico what our new address was they actually lowered our premium. They're even sending us a prorated rebate. What the hell? When did corporations start writing checks? I know our 1199 health insurance isn't, judging by all the red envelopes I get with the 6 perforated tear strips to open it - which is really weird seeing as how there are only four sides to an envelope.

Tomorrow is our 2-year wedding anniversary, followed three days later by her 27th birthday. Tactical error on my part putting the two so close together. So between that and the moving madness I don't expect to be posting much more this week. Here's to hoping the internet connection in Forest Hills is up and running soon. Then I'll accomplish more. Well, more for me anyway. Look at the chinese, they want to put menus...I mean men on the moon by 2012 according to the news last week. I guess we should start having goals for that decade too.

The Flutter

Katrina is starting to feel movement now. So, of course, we're experimenting. When I start talking up close, the baby moves. We put headphones on her tummy and put on everything from Renaissance Choral music to Jimi Hendrix. However, it's hard to say if the movement is the baby saying "oooh, what's that?" or "bah, where's the off switch!"

13 Week Sonogram

It's Human Afterall

Look at the size of it! This kid is growing so fast, the doctor has pushed up her due date to February 18th. We're getting into Aquarius territory now! Just like me. So either we miscalculated or taking those horse vitamins since Week 4 has really helped. The baby was 2 weeks old then, don't ask me why they deduct that way. So now we've scooted ahead a bit and we're at Week 13 of pregnancy.

The above ultrasound is a result of the latest nervous ninny test we insist on having. Katrina went in today to get what's called an Integrated Test, sometimes referred to as a Three or Four Screen Test. They do it to check for Down Syndrome and other abnormalities. It's where they do a combination of blood tests and measuring the skin on the back of the baby's neck. Apparently you go through this twice over a six-week period, then you find out if your kid rides the big bus or the small bus. Who knew? Basically, it's a non-invasive version of amniocentesis where they stick a needle inside the uterus and extract fluid. But being as young as Katrina is the odds are very low. I've read that women over 45 have a 1 in 35 chance of a Down's baby. According to the doctor, things are looking good.

The doctor wanted to get a better angle of the baby so she was poking Katrina's stomach to get it to move. Just like its daddy, it found waking up at the behest of others unnecessary and decided to keep snoozing. They told Katrina to walk up and down the hall a few times and eat a chocolate bar - I can only assume to give the kid a sugar high. Also, to empty her bladder so there was more room to move around. You could actually see the lump where the full bladder was pressing on the uterus and taking up valuable napping space. At one point, the baby actually leapfrogged over the bladder. Then we got some kicks, waves, sitting, and sliding about. If you bring a blank videotape, they have the means to record all of this. But who knew there was going to be so much action!? The next ultrasound will show the baby doing lasso tricks with the umbilical cord.

This new picture really brings out some actual facial features. No more talk of "That blob with the dot, see it?! Close one eye. No, turn it over you have it upside down!" There's no doubt now. We can start the debate of whose nose that is and where that determined little chin came from. Still no telling what sex it is yet. And yes, we want to know. We've got enough going on in our lives right now. We don't need more unknowns and we'd like to start shopping blue or pink as soon as possible. None of this neutral yellow and green for parents who want to be surprised. Hey, a child you created is being extruded out of your shrieking wife in a most painful and gooey manner. Isn't that enough fun and surprises for one day?

Kings to Queens and In Between

We found a new apartment in Forest Hills, Queens. Elevator building for the new mommy and over $800 a month cheaper than our current place. We'll miss our roof deck though. However, we'll be taking some of the veggies and flowers with us -- assuming our cat agrees. So, this is all a good thing but may result in fewer postings while we're packing and unpacking. The new lease starts on August 15th but we don't have to be out of our Brooklyn place until the 31st. Still haven't decided how we should do this. I've always done the one-day move out of necessity. And by strange coincedence, lots of people I know are coming down with back and joint problems. Maybe we'll do a slow move. Maybe I'll hire movers. I don't know. 4-Story walkup here so you know I'm not looking forward that. Not to mention my better half isn't allowed to carry heavy things. Maybe we'll sell everything and have all beanbags in the new place. Super Baby Proof apartment.

Competition among parents starts in the womb, as I've discovered with my earlier post about the 138bpm heart rate. But then, when the child is born, we always have to hear about how much it weighed; how many inches long the baby is...since it can't stand up and therefore cannot be measured in inches tall. People tell you the baby is seven to eight pounds if they want you know they have a normal baby. They tell you the baby is nine pounds if they want you to know that mama'll be limping for a while. Six pounds or less? They keep it to themselves. We'll think you were sneaking Benson & Hedges in the bathroom.

The Evil Cycle

We last left our intrepid hero flat on his back, under a pile of vitamins, fish oil, teabags, sickbags, soymilk, and Maalox. The fair goddess emerges from her bedchamber in an almost chipper physical and mental state. "My God," he thought, "Could the Evil Cycle be over?"

I am referring to the never-ending and cyclical joke God is playing with my wife's insides. Increased progesterone makes you constipated --> Constipation is cured by eating fibrous foods --> Fibrous foods give you heartburn --> Heartburn is cured by Maalox --> Maalox gives you constipation. Yes, I know I said I wasn't going to mention it but we've come a long way with this blog. Maybe I'm just building you up for placenta stories. Alas, the cycle is here to stay and will probably only get worse.

But, the new spring in Katrina's step exists because she's coming out of having morning (afternoon and night) sickness everyday. She's finally eating more, which is great for many reasons; one being that she was actually losing weight when it should've been the other way around. I was happy at first, but leave it to me to think of the 'Paranoid Parents 101' angle. You see, being that sick all the time, while annoying and crippling, was also a nice reminder that the pregnancy was going well. Now, how will I know?? I kinda relied on that telltale sign and it was almost reassuring. Some people hear retching in a plastic bag on the Long Island Expressway and think 'poor girl'...I think "Ahh yes, my child's doing that." A proud papa, I am. So until she starts showing, I'll just have to assume there's a healthy baby in there. The second trimester is just around the corner and it's the one that's known for being much easier on the mother and relatively symptomless. Daddy likes symptoms, though. There's no hope for me, is there. I'm my mother's son and will be telling my child not to kick boxes on the sidewalk because they might have bombs in them as she did to me. (You see son, that last sentence was funny because back in 1981 the odds of a bomb being in a box were nearly impossible.)

We bought two body pillows today to take the flip-flop out of Katrina's new slam-bams. It's not so much that they've increased in circumference, but in sheer mass and density. These pillows will also help with sleeping positions when her tummy gets bigger (and bigger and bigger). She mentioned how when the baby sleeps with us we can put the body pillows on either side so we don't roll onto him/her. "Yeah right! I'm not sleeping with an infant," I...(let's see)..chortled, "I'll be too paranoid about suffocating it that I'll be awake all night!" Here I go, foreshadowing the future entry on SIDS. No, you calm down.

Cord Blood

So I've been reading up on this option they're offering new parents for when your child is born. When they cut the umbilical cord, they save the blood and thus the stem cells. Then, for a mere $2000 they put them in frozen storage for the day when your child (or apparently even you) gets some terrible disease. And of course, there's a yearly fee to keep the ice cold. People can even donate their baby's cords if they don't want or need them to, I dunno, poor people with the similar blood types?

My question now becomes: Am I being guilted into technology that isn't really off the ground yet? I mean, how dare I not do this, right? Because, what if...? Our child could have leukemia or something and some smug prick in a white coat will say, "If only you saved the cord blood." I can almost hear my future child wheezing, "Daddy, dying hurts. If only you weren't such a cheap bastard." This kind of thing really plays into the laundry list of ever-present new parent worries. You want to protect them. You want them to be healthy. I think in the future, we'll all grow our children in a bio-box under our bedside table. It'll look like a mini-fridge.

Better Than Your Uterus.
Daily Feeding Options To Promote Creativity, Intelligence, & Strength.
Now Mommy Can Drink Diet Soda & Eat Sushi
No Messy Births or Stretch Marks

Designer babies are not far off. Rent Gattaca.

Last time I checked, Bush said that he wouldn't spend Federal money on stem cell research that involves new lines and supplies. Old lines only. As if I need another reason to hate this guy. So I guess we roll the dice, make some room on our credit cards, and hope that if something does happen the research and technology has had some time to be more than experimental.

My Name Is, My Name Is...

I've been told not to tell people what we're thinking for names because everyone has an opinion. We go through a lot of phases with the whole name issue. We had the New York themed names like Brooklyn or Holland for a girl and Hudson for a boy. The more common names like Alexis or Isabella. And the hippie names like Rain and Bodhi. Lately we've been juggling names like Jackson, Dean, Hunter for boys and Alina, Vivian for girls. One problem is that these names tend to synchronize themselves with our lives. When we come up with a name, it's almost guaranteed that we'll meet or hear of three kids with that same name.

The Social Security website for baby names has been helpful to find out what's more common now and 100 years ago. Statistics geeks will enjoy going through the Top 1000 names by decade or finding out what year their name was the most popular. Perusing this I found thousands of children with names like Unique, Baby, Princess, Mercedes, Lexus, and about 6 spellings of the name Madison Madisyn Madyson Maddison Madisen Madisson. So whatever we name our child, I'll take comfort knowing that it's not any of those.

What's the big deal with a common name? I dunno. When I was born, Ethan was ranked 321. It was cool having a name that not many people had. These days it's ranked #5, so it gets annoying when I'm in crowds at the beach and keep hearing my name being yelled to children and wanting to answer.

Since American names tend not to mean anything like in other countries -- "Hello, I am Munkás. It means River in Hungarian." -- why not just make one up? Just throw some vowels and consonants together and come up with something that has rhythm with a difficult name like Aronoff.