The Kicking.

     I haven't set an alarm in four years. A few people have contacted me lately asking why this blog has gone silent. To clarify: I haven't had to set an alarm in four years because my children wake me up. That's right, plural. We've had another one. Which means we either really liked the first one or didn't learn our lesson. I'm not always sure which one it is. Our second girl is about 19 months now and things are starting to calm down. A little. Which is why there is now time to write this post. On the other hand, maybe I have habituated to the level of insane living accompanied by having more than one child.

     It's probably the last one.

     Let it be known now and forever that I am not the world's greatest dad. I'm a good dad. Not the greatest. Little stuff annoys me way too much for me to be the greatest. Things that shouldn't get under my skin, get so under my skin it touches bone. And there is no reason for it! It annoys me when I go pee and am immediately thirsty. It's as if the issue of "full bladder" has just been dealt with, do we really need to begin the cycle all over again so soon? I have things to do today.

     It also annoys me that, apparently, we have to sleep with the door open. This would make more sense if you knew that our youngest slept on a different level of the house. However, we bought a baby monitor so it sounds like she's right in the room with us. Just...right there! It's a VTech Cordless thingy and, you know what? Works great. Has multiple notification settings (vibrate, lights, sound, small bombs) and have never had an issue with connectivity. Which begs the question: Why do we have to sleep with the door open? You don't need it open to hear the baby crying, which she still does, in the middle of the night, even though she's 19 months old. This also annoys me even when I'm asleep.

     I have always been a heavy sleeper. When I was a child, fire alarms would go off in our house and I wouldn't stir. Not only does this speak to my ability to sleep through anything, but also my mother's cooking abilities (sorry Mom!). When our youngest starts crying, I don't wake up, but my wife ALLEGES I most certainly "stir". To believe her, I more than "stir", I kick her until she gets out of bed and gets the baby.

     Is it possible I am so sensitive to annoyances that, even in my sleep, when my body should be paralyzed and I'm imagining a planet made entirely out of trampolines, there's a part of my brain that says, "Hey! Knock it off!" and then starts kicking? There's no way! Even if there is, can I really be held accountable? I submit that no. No I cannot.

     To her credit, my wife is an absolute trooper about it and hasn't complained until lately. And this has been going on for 19 months, give or take. *ProTip*, if you do realize your spouse is missing from the bed, you hear crying, walk downstairs, ask if there's anything you can do to help, and your spouse says in a very steady and calm voice, "stop kicking me and go back upstairs"; just go ahead and go back upstairs. Nothing good can come from the rest of that conversation. I promise.

The Stank.

Still haven't found what I'm looking for

     We all do stupid things. The trick is in trying not to repeat stupid mistakes. See, the one common denominator between all people is that we all do stupid things. The fine line that separates "normies" from "dummies" is how often stupid things are repeated. The good news, for anyone on the line between dummy and normy, is there can be extenuating circumstances. For instance, I'm use to taking showers in the morning. That's just when showers are taken. Lately, I'm finding a once normal behavior (showering in the morning) to be a stupid behavior. I take a shower in the morning and the next thing I know I've got some combination of spit-up, throw up (yes there is a difference between spit-up and throw up), poop, urine, bag balm, and "other". Why would I shower for that? It's like getting cleaned up to go mud wrestling. Regardless, I continue to shower in the morning, even though I know I'm going to be covered in a thin film of gross baby byproduct within a matter of minutes. On the other hand, if I shower at night, that just means I'm clean the few hours I sleep, then wake up and get dirty again. Maybe I should skip out on showering all together. Nah, that'd be stupid.

     Another stupid thing I do, and I just can't seem to shake, is something I like to call "Hideapoophobia" (pronounced hide-a-poo-fobia). There are times when I'm cleaning up after what can only be described as a poo version of Chernobyl that I get this sinking suspicion there is poo on me somewhere. Usually I have a feeling it's somewhere on my arm, like that spot around your elbow you can't actually see. I try to wipe myself off with one of those baby wipes, just to see if there's something there, but I haven't found anything, not even once. Yet I can't seem to get over my hideapoophobia. This would make me stupid. I guess children really can give you "the brain damage". I'm sure this is just the beginning of what will be a long list of stupid things I'll do as a parent. Just hope they're not too severe.

The Attention.

     Things are starting to pile up. I haven't written a post, shopped for food, done dishes, or bathed in several days. Baby girl isn't even here yet. What's going to happen when she does come? I'll be running on less sleep than ever before, with more things to do, and less time to do them in. Right now I'm trying to find a job that will allow me to work from home, but that's not shaping up too nicely. Data entry jobs are few and far between, medical transcription gigs take 6 to 12 months to train for if I go to a reputable place, and by then I probably won't even need to work at home.
     EDIT: I realized I never finished or even published this post. I came across it when I was getting ready to write a new post, and it sparked something in me. I was right. Never before have I wanted so much to not be right. I am still tired, running behind, and completely overwhelmed. If it wasn't for Catie supporting me (monetarily and emotionally, and spiritually for that matter), I'm not sure how I could do this. I have more respect for single parents than ever before. The thing is, this has me thinking about a second child. The dog is already running on about a quarter of attention he usually gets. However, if we had a second kid the dog would just about fall off the radar entirely and attention spent on Evy would necessarily be divided. Regardless, people have done this for thousands and thousands of years. So, why do I feel like I'm the first person in the world to have kids? On the other hand, I am the first person in the world to have this kid.

The Communication.

     Have you ever been walking down the street, and you see someone on the other side of a window, waving at you? You're not sure if you know them, and they're pretty far off, so you look around to see if there's anyone else around. Nope. No one. They must be waving at you! So, you start to wave back. But as you do, your feet have been carrying you closer and closer to your mystery waver. Now, you can clearly see them, and they can clearly see you. And you can clearly see a confused person on the other piece of glass...the glass. They're not waving, they're washing the window! You don't know them, you never did, and you look like a weirdo flailing your arm at some stranger as they clean. Okay, take that feeling, and experience it every few hours and you pretty much have my experience as a stay at home dad.
     Evy's cries are starting to mean specific things, but many times it's hit or miss. It's like I think she's waiving at me, but she's really just washing the proverbial window. But, I'm getting a little better at recognizing what she's doing on the other side of that window. Eventually, she'll learn how to talk, and I may not have to guess... as much. I'll tell ya though, one thing I have learned how to read pretty well, is when poop shoots right out of her diaper and up her back. Know how I know? Because I can usually feel it on my hands as it soaks through her onesie. Ya. That one I've got down solid.

The Apparent.

     It's apparent that I'm slowly becoming a parent. I'm starting to realize that having a child only proves two fertile people got together. Creating a new life doesn't make me a parent any more than a bad toupee makes someone not bald. Membership into the parent club happens in tiny increments, one diaper at a time. Each time I pick her up when she cries, give her a bath, make a bottle at three A.M, I'm taking one step closer to being a parent. At least I think so. It's not like driving, I don't know if I'm half way, or even when I get there. What's weird about parenting is if I do it right, I'll work myself out of a job. I will always be Evy's dad, even after I die; but I won't always be her parent. And I guess that's the point, isn't it? I spend the first year of her life just trying to keep her alive. The rest of my life is spent trying to keep her safe and myself sane. There's parts of this job that really tax my patience and even my relationship with Catie; but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

The Consensus.

     So, one of the easiest ways to decide if you're crazy or not is to see if other people experience reality the same way you do, there's a good chance you're not completely bonkers. As long as everyone else experiences the squares between the squares in the illusion on the left, even though they're not there, it's okay. Now, if you see Jesus in the picture on the left, you may have a problem. Seek help.
     This is a very important thing to remember when you have a kid. If she cries a lot, all the time, and there's nothing you can do about it, you can often feel like a terrible parent. It's an easy assumption to make. She's crying, there's something wrong with her, I can't help her, so I must be a bad parent. But, when a seasoned professional, like grandparents for instance, can't do anything to help either, it's a good thing; in a way. It means it's not just me. If there's a consensus about Evy, that means it's not just me. But it doesn't mean there's nothing we can do. We're taking her to the doctor to have everything checked out, and hopefully we'll be able to give her something that will help. But, if not, we're just going to ride this out until she's over it, and we'll go from there. I just have to keep telling myself it won't last forever... It won't last forever...

The Running.

     I'm glad my relationship isn't built on a lie because it'd be too hard to maintain; the lie, not the relationship. Could you imagine what it'd be like if the first time I met Catie I told her I was into running? I mean I could see the appeal; it'll make her think I'm healthy, in shape (read sexy), and disciplined. When, in actuality I'm not all that healthy, my shape is round (read pseudo-sexy), and the most discipline I have is stopping when the ice cream container is still half-full. Can you imagine the first day she'd ask me out to run? I show up in really new looking kicks and shorts that just seem too short on me, and I'm all, "WHEW! Yeah! Let's run!" We'd make it about three blocks (half a block) and if my wheezing didn't give me away, the collapsing that followed would. Then, as the paramedics resuscitated me, I'd make up some lame statement about how I'm use to running in colder weather. The next time she'd ask an old high school knee injury would flair up... This would probably continue until she just stopped asking.
     I know it's a ridiculous lie and it wouldn't amount to much, but still, you get the point. The funny thing is we all do it! Yes, everyone. Not necessarily out-right full-on lies, but lies of omission or bending the truth. Actually, now that I think about it Catie and I's relationship is based on a lie! It's true. I asked her if she had seen the Lord of the Rings movie that was in theater's at the time and she said no. What I heard her say was, "Ask me out to this movie because I haven't seen it and I'll probably go because I like the movie, even if I don't like you..." So I told her I wanted to see it as well, even though I already had. Turns out we had a great time and even held hands on the first date! I just hope I remember this when my kids start stretching the truth...

The Haggle.

     Readers Digest has a nice little article about haggling over the price of a car. It actually got me thinking, when did everything become an option? When my mother use to ask if I'd do the dishes, she wasn't really asking! It was never a choice, she was just trying to be polite. Now, children everywhere have turned into little Monty Hall's with bad attitudes and no goats. And this isn't happening just in the juvenile hall where I teach, no, it's everywhere! Everything is about negotiating. Bedtime, bath time, tv time, are we going to have ice cream, can we buy a Porsche (that last one is actually one of mine...). A simple "No" doesn't cut it anymore. When did this happen? Who started it? I guess I don't mind negotiating some times, but it gets pretty tired, pretty quick. Of course, I could always buy one of those, "Win Every Argument, Every Time" books. Where they tell you to start with über higher expectations before the argument, then it doesn't matter as much when they whittle you down. So I should expect my daughter to be the first woman president, then when she becomes a CEO, I can act proud with a little bit of disappointment...right?

The Steering.

     Went and saw "Couples Retreat" this weekend, HILARIOUS. Seriously, go and see it. As the credits are rolling they are on jet ski's, in pairs, screaming across these crystal blue bays and inlets. It's a great scene, and I couldn't help but think of the first concert I ever went to: Smashing Pumpkins. I know it doesn't make sense yet, but stay with me to the end.
     It was high school and three of us piled into a girls car and took off down the highway toward the Pumpkins and good 'ol Billy C. Getting to that amphitheatre was kinda like getting to Rome, most of the roads in that part of Kansas led there. Well, this turned out to be a problem. The girl who was driving didn't really know how to get there, so the directions she was getting from me and the other guy were different. While they were both correct individually, if you tried to take them together you'd never get anywhere. Then, as we're speeding toward a busy interchange on the highway, I'm telling her to stay in the lane she's in while Michael was telling her to exit. At this point, her brain just locked up and she, along with the car, came to a screeching halt in the middle of the highway. I don't know if you've ever driven on a highway before, but I wouldn't recommend going any less than 55, much less stopping. There was no pulling over, no slowing down, no warning lights, just immediate and panicked stopping. While Michael and I couldn't agree on how to get there, we did agree in a very loud and insistent voice that stopping in the middle of the highway with cars whizzing by at 75 was a bad idea. I'm sure it was only a few seconds, but it seemed like we sat there for about five full minutes before Michael reached over and pushed the gas on the driver's side, forcing the car forward, and forcing the driver to make a decision. No one died and we got to the concert without further incident, but that little experience has stuck in my brain.
     This is where the story ties back into jet ski's, relationships, and driving. Just like driving, only one person can be in charge at a time in a relationship. This doesn't mean it's the same person all the time in every situation, just that only one person can drive a car at a time. Now, the driver can get input from whoever's in the car, but too much input or conflicting advice can make it pretty hard to know where you're really going. I guess what I'm trying to say is we should be careful who we let in the car of our relationships. I mean, Catie and I do a pretty good job of switching off between navigator and captain, but we're getting ready to have a new passenger. Not only do we have to make sure we agree on where we're heading, but also how we're going to get there. Otherwise, we may end up at a crossroads, and if we're not careful our marriage can come to a screaming halt in the middle of a busy road and we may just get hit by the proverbial MAC truck of divorce.
     That's how it goes, doesn't it? Two people, in a relationship, each one going different directions? How long can that really last? I'm not even sure how long I would want it to last. Even worse than that is getting tied to the bumper and dragged along like that dog on Family Vacation. How are you going to put any input into the relationship without being in the car? You could reach your destination and not even realize it. What a terrible and bitter way to go through something. That has actually happened to one of my dear friends and I miss him terribly. But she's got her foot on the gas, staring straight ahead, with no concern for him because he's on the outside of the car.
     Please hear me when I say this: I do not think men should always steer. Lord know's we got lost just as easily as anyone else and some comedian's have built entire careers on how we won't ask for directions. But I don't think women should be in control all the time either. It should be a group decision with input all along the way. Well, I'm starting to preach now, and I apologize. Anyway, let me know what you think. See you tomorrow with the new post.

The Ruining.

     Isn't this one of those things that should go without saying? The fact humanity has to let other people know they're not supposed to leave their children on the curb says that something has gone horribly and tragically wrong. Kinda sets the bar pretty low for me, though...
     Imagine Catie walking home, setting down her bag, looking at me on the couch and saying, "Hey Honey, how'd it go with the baby today?"
"Good...good."
"Did you empty the diaper pale?"
"Nope..."
"What?!? The thing was overflowing this morning! Considering the fact that our daughter has some super human ability to turn two ounces of food into fourteen pounds of fertilizer the diaper pale should be well past critical mass. The only way you could have fit another diaper in there is if you figured out how to make a black hole and put it at the bottom of the can. As we are still clearly here and not pulled into some infinitely small point of singularity, I can assume this has not happened...would you care to explain?"
"Didn't change any diapers...."
     The T.V. was probably still on up until this point. This is when Catie would lean over, turn off ESPN, and look deeply into my eyes and ask, "What do you mean you didn't change any diapers?"
"I mean I didn't change any diapers."
"You mean to tell me she's still in the same diaper I put her in this morning??"
"Yup."
"What is wrong with you?!?"
     Now I calmly look up at Catie and lay down the ultimate, one time use, gold plated, massive excuse:"Maybe I didn't change her, and I may have wrapped the tops and bottom of her diaper with duct tape to keep the poo in, but you know what I else I didn't do? I didn't leave our baby on some random doorstep..."

     Alright, so that probably wouldn't work, but it should help with the big picture parenting thing. I mean, taking your kid home from the hospital seems like a big step. Everything after that is gravy. I mean, parents can (real "will") make mistakes. There's nothing else to do but stick it out. That's what parenting is all about.

The Dilatory.

     I'm not saying I'm supremely lazy, but it's close. This morning, as I was walking to my car, I reached my left hand to the handle and with my right hand I clicked the little button on my key that unlocked the door. My left hand was already there. There was no good reason I couldn't have unlocked it with the key. Apparently making a twisty motion with my right hand was just too much to ask at seven a.m. Maybe it's habit, maybe I really am lazy, but either way, there is a certain part of me that just absolutely doesn't want to work any harder than possible. Before you judge, realize you're probably very similar. I mean, how many of you have memorized keyboard shortcuts on your compy just so you don't have to "move the mouse so far..." Or, better yet, gone ahead and created your own custom shortcuts in order "save time"? Save time? Really? We're talking milliseconds here, people. You weren't going to do anything with them anyway.
     I guess a similar thing is happening while preparing for the new baby. Everything I look at is supposed to multitask, or transform into a billion other things. Just the idea of buying a car seat all by itself, that doesn't go with a stroller, and a rocker, and an airbag option seems ludicrous. Maybe I'm just being lazy, but I'd like to think I'm trying to prepare as best as possible as well. That maybe if I have the right stuff now it'll make parenting easier later. But I doubt it. It'll probably come down to Catie and I just trying to not screw it up. I keep reading in my psych courses about how to make a personality disorder. It's pretty easy, just start out with a predisposition and then throw in lousy parenting to trigger the inner coo-coo. And there ya have it; antisocial personality disorder. I doubt having the right car seat or changing table or crib/playpen/whosie-whats-it doesn't create a Ted Bundy. But you never know....

The End.

     You know what's unfortunate? According to the Mayans, the world is supposed to end in 2012. My daughter is going to be about three years old. That just doesn't seem fair. I mean, here she is, just getting started, really getting the whole walking thing down smoothly, and BAM, end of world. Three years old! "Hey, you going to be starting preschool this year?"
"Nope, planet is going to implode."
"Oh yeah, I forgot all about that! I was going to put it in my calendar but that year didn't seem to be there...kinda like the thirteenth floor of a lot of office buildings."
"Well, if the planet doesn't blow up, we're in trouble because I haven't even started the enrollment process..."
"I hear ya! Those things are murder. Tell you the truth, I'd rather experience apocalypse than have to sit in those asinine registration lines and plead my case for a kid that can't even read A Tale of Two Cities yet..."
"Right, right..."
     Like I was saying, end of days sounds like it's going to be harsh. I mean, as long as books and movies are any indication of what to expect, I should be okay. Usually the mother ends up dying, I live on with my daughter, and we find some ruggedly beautiful woman to start over with...even though she can never really replace my "other" wife. Regardless, I guess I'm going to have to raise my kid as if the end of the world isn't right around the corner. Who knows, maybe she'll be the key to resetting the whole thing. Like, she'll accidentally turn the the calendar upside down and now we've got until 2102. Hey, it could happen...

The Capitulation.

     Capitulation is one of my favorite words. I learned it off those refrigerator magnet words at one of my friend's house. Capitulation is a surrender without terms. It means you give up so entirely, that the enemy can do whatever they want with you. It's kinda scary when you think about it. Surrendering with no plan of recourse is pretty final. Even asking to be thrown on the mercy of someone else is still making a request. There is no request in capitulation, there is no room to make your own desires heard. Sounds terrible, doesn't it? To be so completely powerless...
Welcome to parenting.
     Catie and I weren't planning on having a kid. Now that she's on her way I wouldn't change a single thing. I am throwing myself into being a dad head first. No requests, my own desires are taking back seats, and my pride is becoming a dusty memory somewhere behind one of the couches. It sounds terrible, but it's not! It is scary and I'm not sure what's going to happen, but my life as a guy with no kids is over. I have raised the white flag and I couldn't be happier.

The Worth.

     While helping a friend (Mark) pick up some new furniture at an über trendy Swedish furniture company where they refuse to sell anything that's already put together, we toyed with the idea of having the stuff delivered to his house instead of hauling it ourselves. They can usually do same day shipping and it only costs 50 bucks. We got the stuff, loaded it on the cart, went through the check out line, and then sent to the "we can probably get this stuff home ourselves but we're not sure if it's worth our sanity" line. In front of us was a complete idiot. That may sound harsh, but it's true and I have proof. Now, I'll give her some credit, she was paying the extra money to get the brand new refrigerator she just bought shipped to her house. There's a lot of people that would have tried to manhandle the thing into a buddy's truck, wrestle it inside, and proceed to remove the existing kitchen floor by dragging it from the entryway to where ever it's supposed to end up. She chose not to do that, so that elevated her above complete buffoon.
     So where's my proof of her idiocy? After paying at least 1200.00 clams for a new fridge and 50.00 dollars for delivery, she begins to argue with the clerk over the fee to hook up the new appliance. Had the fee been a hundred dollars, I would have conceded the point and been content to wait behind her. But it wasn't a hundred dollars; it was fifteen. One five dollars. Why was she arguing this? Because she believed she might be able to hook it up herself...but she just wasn't sure. Which we all know is a giant crock.
     What she really wanted was for some powerless clerk to be like, "Aw lady! Thank you so much for buying this! We were going to go broke if you didn't. Just to say 'thank you', we're going to waive this 15.00 fee because you're the best customer we have ever had; EVER!" It was clear to the huge line forming behind her that it wasn't going to happen, but she kept at it. Eventually the clerk grew a pair and just said, "Do you want to install it or not?" The customer seemed taken aback, but caved and agreed to let someone else do the work. As soon as she acquiesced and signed the paper there was a group sigh that almost came in unison. I looked at Mark and said, "It's really a no brainer. Let someone else set it up, that way, if everything just falls apart, it starts leaking water all over the floor, then falls through the ceiling of the people living beneath you, it's their fault, not yours..." But what I've come to realize now is that it's not just the liability issue, or the fact that 15 dollars is such a small price to pay when compared to the delivery charge or the price of the refrigerator: It's a good value because it would save me time, frustration, and effort. I can change my own oil, but I'd rather pay someone else to do it for me.
     This led to the real question: how much is my time worth? Catie and I have been struggling with this, trying to decide if it's more cost effective for me to stay home and not have to pay a sitter or day-care, or if it's more practical to put the kiddo in some stranger's house and both of us work. In all honesty it'd probably be about the same, with me spending my income on her care. But the question comes back to how much is my time worth? Is it more important that I do whatever it is I do, or is it more important for me to be with my child? We all know the right answer, but that's not always the answer when reality knocks on the door.

The Cart.

     I was walking walking around Target, shopping, and I see this guy with a little girl in the seat of the grocery cart. But there was something different about this set of shoppers. While the father was physically there with his daughter, he wasn't "there". It was like they happened to be in the same place, but were total strangers. Anyone else ever see this?
     Is it possible there is a lesson in this? I've seen parents that are physically part of their children's life, but they just aren't emotionally part of their life. There's a level of intent that's important here. Instead of people who happen to be in the same room together, there can be a family that is actively participating in the lives of one another. This is what I want. I want to take my daughter to the grocery store, not go shopping with her in the cart. Does that make sense?

The Present.

     Did anyone else know that kids, while they're going through the potty training phase of life, will often hide poop in places like they were little encopretic Easter Bunnies? Just a heads up. So, there's always that to look forward to.

The Duplicates.

    A couple of days ago when I was awash in a sea of baby junk, there was a sound piece of advice given in the comments. There was a lot of good advice about particular things to buy, but one person gave long term advice we may be able to use far into the future. The good thing is that it was pretty simple: Don't buy so much crap. Baby's want you, not stuff. Makes sense.
     I know I'm going to love my daughter, and part of that is trying to give her what she wants when I can, but I also don't want her to be spoiled. This means I'm going to have to say no when I could actually say yes. That's probably not going to be too hard. The tough part is limiting the toy intake from the grandparents, aunts, uncles, and birthday parties. One idea Catie and I had was asking people to make a small donation to her college fund instead of bringing toys or clothes. Is that insane? I mean, we'll buy her enough toys and clothes to keep her happy. But the issue is going to arise if/when we have more than one kid.
     There's no reason to have two of everything! Why do people do that? My sister and I had to share a lot of things. Not clothes...except for that one time...but sports stuff, school supplies, food. We had to share! Learning how to share was mandatory. Well, the other option was one of us (my sister) was going to be killed, but when ended up sharing...most of the time. I guess the idea is to help my daughter plan for the future while understanding that she can't get everything she wants. Trust me, I had a friend that married someone who thought she deserved whatever she wanted...it was bad.

The Stuff.

     Went shopping today for baby stuff, just kinda looking around. Okay, really? Do we really need that much stuff? Really? Also, I don't get the difference in all the stuff. Graco or Evenflo or Chicco or BOB or a billion other names I can't remember. How am I supposed to tell which ones are good, which ones are bad, and which ones are just meh. I need help here, PLEASE! Can anyone of you tell me what you have, if you like it, and why I'm supposed to pay a kazillion dollars for one stroller or two dollars for a different one, when they pretty much do the same thing. I'm afraid I'm going to grab the wrong grocery cart, except I'll have to deal with a wobbly wheel for then next three years instead of just a few aisles. Little help here? Please?

The Words.

     Some words are pretty easy to understand. Once you hear them, even if you've never heard them before, they just make sense. Like titillate. That word makes total sense: "later" you're going to see or get something great. But then there are other words that you're almost guaranteed to mess up because someone didn't know what they were doing when they suggested it to Webster. Penultimate is one of those words that means exactly the opposite of what I thought it meant the first time I heard it. The word ultimate is right there! It should mean better than the best, but it doesn't. It means second to last. Why is there even a word for "second to last"? Isn't that just another in the large group of losers-that-won't-be-getting-recognition-but-we-all-act-like-we're-proud-of-them category? I think so! Regardless, since Catie's pregnancy started I've been flooded with a bunch of words that, while I'm sure it wasn't intentional, have been sorta misleading.
     Great example: "Rh Factor". It sounds like a cool racing team, or even a big hair band. "WE ARE THE RH FACTOR, AND WE HAVE COME TO ROCK!!!" See, that totally works! But, it turns out that because my blood is positive and Catie's is negative, her body may try to eat the baby. That is not a cool racing team OR a big hair band. That is jacked up is what that is! Another one is c-section. Now, we all know what that is, but it still sounds like a nice place to set up on the beach! Or maybe the good area at a football game, "Hey Jack, where you sitting?"
   "I'm in the c-section, baby!"
   "Aw man! Jack gets all the good seats!"
     This is what I'm talking about. The confusion brought about by baby/pregnancy/neonatal/delivery jargon. On the other hand, if they used words that more accurately portrayed what was going on, I'm not sure if I'd be able to handle that any better. Instead of c-section, they'd take my wife in for a cut-n-gut. Instead of Rh factor, it'd be baby-eating factor. You know, now that I think about it, jargon is good. It's our friend. When I'm in the delivery room and the nurses and doctors are saying random stuff I can't translate, I'm gonna be okay with that. Since I'm going to be a dad real soon, I guess the confusion can start now.

P.S. Turns out Rh factor actually is a band, only they're jazz, not big hair. Actually, Roy Hargrove (Rh) kinda reminds me of Old Clifford from the muppets. See for yourself:

The Magic.

     Anyone ever see the Dark Crystal when they were a kid? I still remember watching it when I was young and I loved it. It was so magical and cool and puppets were never so real. Plus, I think it was the first movie I ever watched where I thought there was a deeper meaning. The whole thing with the Skeksis and Mystics being inextricably connected while at the same time representing complete opposite aspects of personalities presented a new understanding of people as neither good nor bad, but both. It opened a whole new world of imagination for me and I still think Henson was a genius. I like the movie so much I've shown it recently to friends who never saw it when they were young. Well, I've noticed that people who didn't watch certain movies when they were kids, and experience them as adults, the "magic" factor is severely reduced. I just figured the same thing would happen with my kids. But alas, I there is hope!
    Dark Crystal 2 is coming out in 2011. Appropriate for a one year old? Maybe not. Will she remember it? Probably not. Is she gonna be there anyway? Oh yeah. I just hope the magic will be there for her as she grows up. Not just with Henson movies and super sweet sequels, but with everything. I want her to appreciate perfect mornings, sun rises, and real friends. I am beginning to notice that the older I get, the less magic there is in the world. The magic is probably still there, but my blindness to it is getting worse. I'm hoping our daughter may relight the fire of my imagination, just to make sure I can keep her imagination stays alive as long as possible.