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?