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.