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.